Gifts and Challenges

The paradox of loving the writing life yet sometimes finding it more challenging than paid employment

Hello beloved reader,

I absolutely adore walking the path of “The Way of the Fearless Writer”—and many thanks to Beth Kempton for this book, which is my all-time favorite of the countless books I’ve read on the art and craft of writing. And while I’ve loved living the writing life for the past dozen or so years, I still find it far more challenging than the twenty years I spent working in the publishing industry in New York City—where at least I got a steady paycheck!

(Please also know: this in no way diminishes my deep gratitude to the generous souls who have chosen to support my work here with a paid subscription. Your presence is felt and deeply valued. May your generosity return to you tenfold.)

So yes, I love living the writing life, and I’m grateful for the privilege of being able to live it. I love the freedom and flexibility it offers, how it invites you to follow curiosity wherever it leads. It allows for meandering thoughts, wild tangents, and sudden moments of clarity. You are not confined by borders—you can dwell in mystery, investigate paradox, or dive into memory and imagination without asking permission.

I love how writing shows you who you are. Often, I don’t know what I think or feel until I write it down. The page becomes a mirror—sometimes a confessional, sometimes an oracle. Over time, it may become a record of an arc of awakening.

There is joy in the alchemy of turning the raw material of life—grief, wonder, confusion, beauty—into something shaped and shareable. A writer gets to transform suffering into art, which may lead to an evolution of consciousness. Pain becomes poetry, the ineffable can become tangible. The writing life honors slowness and solitude in a culture addicted to speed and noise. It rewards quiet listening. Even when it’s hard, there’s deep satisfaction in giving language to something formerly unspeakable.

I love how art brightens the connections between us. Though often solitary, writing is also a bridge. My words may resonate with someone on the other side of the planet, or years from now. To write is to risk being seen—and I get to offer readers a sense that you, too, are a spiritual being having a shared human experience.

Writing puts you in touch with something larger—call it the Muse, Spirit, the Collective Unconscious. When you’re in Flow, it can feel like you’re being written, like you’re the conduit. That kind of communion is rare and sacred. Writers live with a heightened awareness. The ordinary becomes luminous. A fallen leaf, a half-spoken sentence, the way light hits a wall—these small details can become portals. Writing trains you to notice the world with reverence.

I love this technology of Substack and how it allows me to offer my writing in the world to find and connect with readers who are interested in the writing that flows through me. I love how offering my writing gives me the sense that I’m living my ‘dharma’ as I write about below.

But even with all the gifts of the writing life, it doesn’t mean it’s always easy.

I still wrestle with self doubt, and the Inner Critic always has plenty to say.¹

At least I’ve learned how to simply observe the words of the Inner Critic, and not identify with them.

And this is where the magic of synchronicity enters once again. Another of those moments when it feels like the universe gives you a playful wink to remind you, Yes, we’re all interconnected.

I had shared the above image on Facebook many years ago and it recently came up as a Facebook memory. So when I wrote the above about not identifying with my thoughts—especially with what the Inner Critic says—I remembered this image as such a great illustration that shows this idea of not identifying with our thoughts.

After copying and pasting it above, I noticed the handle @revelatori in the corner (I love that name). I followed my curiosity to Instagram where I learned the illustrator’s name is

Tori Press

, and I clicked on the link to her Substack… where I discovered she had launched it just 20 days prior. And guess what her most recent post was about?

The Inner Critic.

Dear Inner Critic

I mean… come on, you cannot make this stuff up.

It just seems that more and more human beings all over this beautiful planet Earth we call home, are waking up to this simple but life-altering truth: we are not the thoughts in our heads.

I often tell the story of the contrast between two powerful voices in my life.

When I studied world religions with Rev. Dr. Stephanie Rutt, she would say to us, “Yes, thank your Inner Critic for sharing, and ask her to Please go sit on the couch.”

And my now 87-year-old mother’s attitude: “Yes, tell your Inner Critic to f#ck off,” said with vehemence.

This difference in approach still makes me smile. Perhaps it’s because my mother embodies a deeply irreverent, anti-patriarchy, subversive attitude, that surprise, surprise, I have inherited too😁🪷💕🌙💫☀️😎💃🕺☯️

But back to the challenges of the writer’s life.

I don’t think I could have begun walking this path if I had not first studied The Bhagavad Gita—the ancient, Hindu sacred text that continues to shape how I live and create. Long-time readers will know of my obsession with it, and that I wrote about it in the memoir I serialized on this Substack (I’ve removed the paywall on this chapter if you’d like to revisit it, or read it for the first time).

Chapter 15. The Bhagavad Gita, New Hampshire, April 2013

My biggest takeaways from the Gita are in the verses that discuss the importance of first connecting with one’s “dharma” which is kind of like your soul’s purpose, or your “sacred duty” or What is it you will do with your wild and precious life? to borrow Mary Oliver’s words.

And once you have identified your dharma, the teaching that changed everything for me appears in this verse:

Focus your mind on action alone, but never on the fruits of your actions. Do not consider thyself the creator of the fruits of thy activities; neither allow thyself attachment to inactivity.

—sloka 2.47

Buddhism also echoes this wisdom. As Beth writes in The Way of the Fearless Writer, (and the bolding below is mine)

The four noble truths of Buddhism are the truth of suffering, the truth of the origin of suffering, the truth of the end of suffering, and the truth of the path to the end of suffering. Regardless of our faith or beliefs, there is wisdom here for every writing life.

The truth of suffering is that we get old, we get sick, and we die, and along the way our desires and cravings are unsatisfied. Therein lies the source of all the inspiration a writer might ever need.

The truth of the origin of suffering is desire, and the truth of the end of suffering is letting go of that desire. This is why desirelessness is a gate of liberation for the fearless writer.

The truth of the path to the end of suffering is the Eightfold Path of right understanding, right thoughts, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.1 These can be gathered into the themes of wisdom, ethical conduct, and meditation, which sound to me like a much healthier guide for a writing life than a fixation on desire.

Kempton, Beth. The Way of the Fearless Writer: Mindful Wisdom for a Flourishing Writing Life (pp. 205-206). (Function). Kindle Edition.

So both Hinduism and Buddhism have a very strong emphasis on being open to, but detached from outcomes.

It’s only in the desire of the outcome that we cause suffering for ourselves. And this is something I have to continually remind myself of while walking the writer’s path.

But Beth also reminds us that this does not mean we stop dreaming. In fact, dreaming allows us to co-create with the Divine Beloved—or whatever name we may choose to give it: the Universe, the Force, Consciousness, a Higher Power, or whatever words you may choose to point towards that which is beyond our own ego or “self.”

I’m using these words to try to point towards that kind of paradoxical dance to manifest a dream into physical form, while still remaining detached from outcomes.

And again, while I love practicing this, I also find it to be one of the most challenging practices I’ve ever done in my life. Maybe because I’m still attached to an outcome? I’d love to get a book published.

So yes, I’m still practicing. And some days, I fail spectacularly. I get attached. I grip too tightly. I suffer. But even then, I try to remember these principles of remaining detached from outcomes.

And when I soften and return to the practice I usually end up smiling. Because even in the struggle, there’s a kind of quiet joy in walking the path. Even when it’s hard. And maybe, sometimes, especially then.

Because I know the challenges have the potential to serve my soul’s growth or my evolution of consciousness.

The Eckhart Tolle class I’ve been participating in, Creating a New Earth Together, has recently ended and I’ve just heard Ecky say:

Once suffering has become unnecessary, it doesn’t mean that challenges have become unnecessary.

But it means that the transformation of challenges into suffering has become unnecessary.

Then challenges have the function of making you even more conscious. Even more present.

♥️🙏🕊️

p.s. My posts may be more sporadic over the next month or so as we enjoy the summer here in the Northern Hemisphere. I will be attending a large family gathering of my husband’s clan, and then Jamie and I may be traveling up to Nova Scotia to drive and hike the Cabot Trail.

Also, to readers in America, Happy July 4th weekend.

May we remember that true independence is a sacred responsibility: to live with courage, to act with loving kindness and compassion, to speak with truth, and to honor the deep interdependence between all sentient beings and our beautiful Mother Earth.

As fireworks light the sky, may we light a flame within—a peaceful one that dares to imagine a country rooted not only in liberty,
but in loving kindness, compassion, justice, and care for all beings.
This is the revolution of the Divine Feminine: fierce, bold, kind, compassionate and rising.

1. Past writing about the Inner Critic:

Chapter 13. INNER CRITIC, New Hampshire, March 2013

Criticism