Commencement Address

Play is the way. Failure is going to happen. Success is waiting.

“Effortless”… is a myth. -Roger Federer

Dear Friends,

I LOVE commencement addresses. Advice. Wisdom. The thoughts someone of interest thinks might help others succeed and be happy. It is a most exciting and generous moment. There are great stories in commencements. A moment to look forward and back. To say both thank you and let’s go!

My address takes me back to 2014.

The Whole Novel retreat was about to start. I was about to lecture. To motivate others. But first, my phone rang. I took it, because I was waiting for news. Acquisition news. And that day, what I got wasn’t the fun news. Even though they loved the book, the editors didn’t want to publish the book. Even worse, my agent asked me to put the manuscript in a drawer. We had given this story our best. It was time to move on.

I’m going to guess that we all know what NO feels like. And as positive a spin as we can give it, we all know that NO is hard to hear. No hurts. No makes us question ourselves. When we are in the midst of failure, we do not always see the upside. It is hard to move forward when you don’t feel seen. Or heard. Or appreciated. It’s easy to feel completely out of control.

It’s the same thing I told my patients when I was a physical therapist:

Sometimes, we have to accept limitations. Sometimes, we have to hit the floor before we understand what it takes to walk. Sometimes we have to accept the unexpected.

(Note: Oh, it is SO EASY to give other people advice! It is harder to put your own advice to the test. But I had to do it.)

The first thing was obvious. I put that novel away. Then I asked myself some really tough questions: When was the last time you felt excited about your work? When was the last time you felt like you had a great idea? When was the last time you felt like you were writing for yourself? When you weren’t worried about what others would think? When was the last time you felt like you were being true to your heart?

And the biggest question of all: Why did I expect myself to sell a novel every other year? Why did I feel like such a failure? When did I become so engaged with my ego?

The answer came from my first editor Deborah Brodie. She said, “Eat dessert first.” And when I didn’t understand what she was talking about, she added, “Sarah! Write what makes you happy.”

That I could do. So, I gave my lecture. I took a walk. I made myself a challenge. I was going to immerse myself in the creative life. For the next six months, I was going to PLAY. Like David Bowie.

Just like David Bowie, who wrote not just songs but stories, painted, and made music, I was going to do it all! I was going to work on all the things that made me happy, books I had convinced myself I couldn’t/shouldn’t write: picture books, humor, essays, an adult novel, poetry, and most important, that peach sorbet: a chapter book about a very bad fairy godmother. I was going to write fast. I was not going to edit myself.

I had one rule and one rule only: I was going to write without expectations. Without worrying about the market. I was going to have a good time. I was not going to worry about winning. Or losing. Or selling. All that was behind me.

I was going to play.

Friends, it was a turning point. A moment of self-awareness. HERE ARE SOME OF THE THINGS I discovered.

Inspiration doesn’t find you when you are checking Facebook. Or feeling crappy about yourself. Or looking at pictures on Twitter that do not include you. It doesn’t find you when you are rewriting Chapter One for the fiftieth time, because you’ve told yourself you can’t move forward until it’s right. It doesn’t find you if you are thinking about the award you didn’t win. Or the raise you didn’t get. Or the party you weren’t invited to.

It finds you when you are practicing. Like Van Gogh, who loved to draw and paint long before he considered becoming a painter, who experimented with color and texture. He admired other artists and continued to practice, borrowing ideas and then making them his own.

It finds you when you listen. When you put away your phone.

It finds you when you are practicing with discipline. When you are driven by curiosity, receptivity (or empathy), passion and immediacy, when you are vested in the how. Not the what.

Over those six months, I found lots of inspiration in walks in front of Lake Michigan. And poetry. And art. I found an idea while cooking and singing to Carole King Tapestry. And reading. And writing words on paper even if they were not good words or fancy words or words that anyone else will see. Or even just a list. In talking to others with an open mind.

I found that my sense of accomplishment could rely on what I could control. The writing.

This is the truth: When expectations rule our lives, we set ourselves up for disappointment. We open the door to fear. We listen to fear. We let fear drive our creativity. And that, my friends, is not the game I want to play.

Have any of you tried to do something totally new? Like play an instrument? Or take up a new practice? To explore . . . for fun?

In Free Play, Steven Nachmanovitch talks about just this. He analyzes what it is like to play the violin. When playing: both hands are busy. No note comes out the same way—there’s no rule for what a B HAS to sound like. Playing it is empirical. It is not a matter of theory or learning the right way to play, but of doing by doing and discovery by experiment.

He writes: “The harder we press on a violin string, the less we can feel it. The louder we play, the less we hear. . . . If I ‘try’ to play, I fail; if I race, I trip. The only road to strength is vulnerability.”

That’s how I’m moving forward. (And for what it’s worth, rejection is not the worst thing in the world after all. That 2014 rejection gave me the pass to do more. And be vulnerable. Other rejections have shown me that I can do even more . . . when I care less about the outcome and more about the fun and adventure of getting there.

Looking ahead? Summer is coming. The air is warm. You may be wrapping up your school year. Maybe this is YOUR time. Maybe it’s your time to play with your kids. Either way, go get it. Taking chances is scary. Taking chances can also be exhilarating. But one thing doesn’t change: creating a story takes guts. And grit. And determination—more than talent.

That it is ultimately the only way I know how to do this work. To keep going. To create something from nothing. To make characters real. To write to delight myself. To tell a story that matters.

It is a really proud pursuit, made harder by our distracting, difficult world. But you, my friends, are up to that. Right? As you look toward summer, ask: what do you want to do? What have you been waiting to do?

Wait no longer.

You wanna play, too????

John Hendrix, the creator of Drawing Magic, commented about the inability of adults to play: “a weird thing happens when artists grow older: “We stop having fun. As a kid you draw without any thought to enjoying it. Enjoying it is assumed! Then we get to art school and learn there is a right way and wrong way to make images. We must all learn how to craft light, space, composition, form, line and shape. But, then after that, we have to be trained to learn to play again.”

Today, your challenge is to add FUN to your tool box. Do your prompt on big paper. Or with paints. Or crayons. Draw a picture of your most notorious, confident self.

Then write:

What is the worst thing you’ve ever done, and never been caught? Write your confession!

Have a great writing week!

xo Sarah