Let’s assume that, for whatever reason, you sign up to run a marathon. Race day arrives, you find yourself at the starting point, and as the cue goes off, it dawns on you that there are 26.2 miles ahead. As you run, 26 miles turn to 25, and then 24, and so on, so that at some point, if all goes well, you’ll have just 13.1 miles ahead of you. Now you’re officially halfway there. That’s the good news. The not-so-good news is that by now, your body is starting to feel it. Your joints are spent, your muscles are tired, and your resolve is wearing thin. It’s only natural, you’ve run more than a dozen miles after all.
It might seem daunting to realise that although you’ve run a whole 13 miles, you still have another 13 to go. At this point, you might want to give up. Nobody will blame you if you do. 13 miles is a lot. You’ve run the equivalent of two 10Ks, or four 5Ks. You’ve already run more than most people ever could in one go, and you’re still going. You might wonder whether you have it in you to finish the race. Your whole body is screaming, so how on earth can you see fit to get to the finish line, 13.1 miles away?
This is where it pays to look back on how far you’ve come. This is where it pays to recognise that you’ve made a lot of progress. This is where it pays to remember that you’ve covered a lot of ground and haven’t been running in place the whole time, that all that progress counts for something, that the 13 miles you’ve already run matter, that it all makes a difference. It might not seem like it, given how far you still have to go, but you have truly come a long way. The path that lies ahead probably won’t be easy, it’s a whole 13.1 miles after all, but it helps to realise that you’ve done so much already. You’re capable of much more than you know. Keep going!
This post is not about marathons, or running for that matter. Running just seems like a fine metaphor for this thing we call life, and for all the big and small things we aim to do during our lifetimes, things like pursuing a creative career.
On any journey we find ourselves, there’s a time to look ahead to see how much further we have to go. And we do, a lot. We fixate on the ETA, how much longer there is, and whether there are any anticipated obstacles on the path (be they literal or figurative). But we forget, I argue, that sometimes it pays to look back on the road we have already travelled, to appreciate how far we’ve come from the starting point, knowing that not everyone has been able to come as far as we have.
Recently, I’ve found myself agonising over the forthcoming release of my first book, wondering whether anyone would care to buy it, asking myself whether anyone who bothers to read it would enjoy it, fearing that this release will go so terribly wrong that no one will come near anything I write ever again. I genuinely have had all these thoughts in the last few weeks, and just a few days ago, while I was silently and privately catastrophising as I do, my wife said something that might just be one of the most timely and germane statements ever uttered.
We were watching a movie that evening, and when we paused to make hot drinks, apropos of nothing she started telling me about a conversation she’d had with her friend a few days earlier. She’d gotten her showreel scenes back and was worried that they weren’t good enough, so naturally, she was downcast. She felt she wasn’t making enough progress, she wasn’t advancing quickly enough with her art, and she wasn’t happy about this. Enter her friend, to remind her that she’s come a long way with her acting.
“Remember how far you’ve come,” is how she put it.
Remember how far you’ve come. This was just what I needed to hear in that moment, and it stuck with me. I know now that I need to remember how far I’ve come. I need to remember that I’m on the verge of becoming a published author. This is a dream come true, literally. This is what I need to remember the next time I find myself catastrophising. In this “marathon” I’m running, I know I’m nowhere near the finish line. In fact, I’ll probably never get to the finish line because, in life and art, it’s all about the journey, not the destination. I suppose this is where my marathon analogy starts to break down, but that’s okay. I may be nowhere near the finish line, but I know I’m not at the starting point either. I can always look back on the progress I’ve made, on how far I’ve come, and that might just suffice to spur me on, that might just provide the impetus I need to keep going. Maybe it’ll do the same for you too.
You can pre-order A Hollade Christmas here, and if you would like to read and review it before it officially comes out on November 10, please reach out.