Detoxing from achievement - by Vinamrata Singal
I have this itch for achievement, to prove myself to the world. Ultimately, I want the approval of an authority figure to tell me that I’ve done work that matters. Somehow, I believe then, I will finally feel enough. Maybe it’s because I struggle with feeling enough being me, comparing myself to my peers who have achieved traditional markers of success (promotions and book deals), or suffocated by the weight of my parent’s immigrant journey, redoing their medical training at 40. Is that what all that hard work was for, so I can write silly little words about my silly little life?
This feeling was only magnified when I finished the first draft of my novel, at 57K words. The first thing I did after finishing was Google “how many words is a novel,” disappointed when most websites said novels were traditionally 70-80K words. Maybe it could be a novella, a friend suggested. But that felt like admitting failure, maybe because I have a subconscious belief that novellas are inferior to a novel.
You should still celebrate, they said. The last thing I felt like doing was celebrating. All I could envision was the months and months of revision that would be required to turn this into anything good. Then, a dangerous thought appeared. What if this novel is never good enough to get published? Have I wasted my potential? In my dreams, I saw the flashbacks of my product career: the highs of shipping big projects, the news that I got promoted, the steady paycheck. Maybe my subconscious was trying to tell me something.
