So What?
If I were setting this story up as a joke, it would start like this: Four writers and a life coach walk into a bar …
Us four writers had been sitting around a charcuterie board for approximately 45 minutes when Emily, the aforementioned life coach, made the following observation: You all are an angsty bunch, aren't you?
We all laughed. Angsty? Us? I suddenly viewed our conversation through a whole new lens, hearing what she heard: repeated tales of rejection, failure, imposter syndrome, self-doubt. Multiple renditions of "Why did we become writers?" and multiple uses of the phrase "existential crisis."
She wasn't wrong. We are an angsty bunch.
Even as a hormonal teenager, I wasn't All Up In My Feelings all the time—especially when it came to writing. While I certainly went through my own Punk Rock Princess phase in high school—complete with Avril Lavigne inspired eyeliner—I never would have called myself Emo. Sure, I loved writing and scribbling romantic confessions in my diary (who didn't?!), but I was also captain of the cheerleading squad, with a bubbly personality to prove it.
Which begs the question: when, exactly, did I start having so many feelings about writing?
When five of us arrived at the beach house to celebrate Katie's 40th birthday, anyone would immediately notice one of these women was not like the other. And I'm not just talking about Emily's 6-foot frame towering over us, or her gorgeous bronze skin, or her flawless makeup routine. I'm talking about the ease in which she walked and talked, the kind of built-in confidence I had previously only associated with entitled white men. It's difficult to describe the vibe Emily puts off without witnessing it firsthand. You can feel it immediately in her presence: a sense of deep comfort and security in herself, in her body, in her talent and abilities.
To clarify, she is not arrogant in the slightest. There's not a whiff of pride or pretension. Rather, she embraces a bold type of assurance, of certainty, of—what else could you even call it?—belief. Belief in herself, yes, but not in the woo-woo way of self-help gurus on TikTok. More like belief in herself … exactly as God made her.
The whole trip I found myself gravitating toward Emily like a magnet. As if the more time I'd spend with her, the more her confidence would rub off on me. With Emily at the table, nothing felt impossible. Case in point: she is seemingly successful at everything. She's got a lucrative career she loves. Her marriage is healthy, fun, and adventurous. She's raising children who, according to stories shared, are solid kids making wise choices in life.
Contrary to how one might guess I'd feel in the presence of a woman like this, I genuinely did not feel envious of her once. My only thought was—to quote the famous scene in When Harry Met Sally—"I'll have what she's having."
But what was Emily having?
An outsider might assume she's on a hefty dose of Prozac, but Emily's high-on-life posture seems to stem from exactly one thing: her mindset. Over and over again, she returned to the idea that changing your mind, or changing your way of thinking, can change just about everything.
I quickly noticed that whenever Emily talked about setting goals, reaching peak performance, or shooting her shot, she didn't bother rattling off 100 worst-case what if? scenarios.
If anything, she swapped What if? for So what?
You chase a dream and it falls apart. So what?
You try something new and fail. So what?
You ask for a raise and get told no. So what?
You submit your work and get rejected. So what?
In Emily's world, this is all just part of life, part of the process. Trying and falling and getting back up thousands of times is the whole point. You wake up every morning and put one foot in front of the other and keep going.
Every single one of us has creative gifts sewn into our spirits that can undoubtedly bless and serve other people. In Emily's world, it's okay to own this, not in a gross or arrogant way, but in a confident-yet-humble sort of way, a way that suggests our work matters in the world—and what might it do for us if we, ourselves, actually believed that truth?
After all, how can we expect other people to believe in the value of our work if we don't believe in it ourselves?
One night at dinner, Emily launched into a short story about "essence words" – an exercise she practices with clients. Basically, you interview ten people about yourself, and those answers provide enough data to conjure up five words to describe your essence. Emily went on to explain that whenever she's feeling nervous about something—a big pitch, a speaking gig, a work proposal—she gets quiet in prayer and reminds herself of her essence.
It's difficult to explain precisely what came over me at that moment, but within seconds I was sobbing in the middle of the restaurant.
In hindsight, I think I realized how often I speak negatively over myself when I am in a similar position. When I am feeling nervous about something, instead of reminding myself of my essence, I remind myself of the opposite: everything that's wrong with me, a laundry list of weaknesses, all the ways I've failed up until this point and all the ways I will continue to fail in the future. Most days, by default, my mind reads like a personal burn book.
How do I change this way of thinking? How do I walk through the world with more ease, like Emily? How do I stop being so dang angsty? Is it really just as simple as adopting a new mindset?
While Emily taught me it's okay to be driven and ambitious, she also taught me (to borrow a phrase from author Andy Crouch) that it's good to keep goals and dreams "in their proper place." It's okay to turn the pressure cooker down.
When I got home from the beach trip, I whipped out a journal and tried to channel Emily Energy as best I could into some creative scenarios.
I launch a Create Anyway cohort and nobody signs up. So what?
I send out a Substack post and 18 people unsubscribe. So what?
I apply for that dream part-time job and don't get it. So what?
I write a children's book and nobody wants to publish it. So what?
Instantly, the stakes felt lower. Not less important or less worth pursuing, but instead of mapping out a mile of negative fallout for each scenario, I tried re-routing my brain.
Old way of thinking: 18 people unsubscribed from my newsletter = I am a terrible writer who is embarrassing herself on a regular basis and should probably quit writing forever.
New way of thinking: 18 people unsubscribed from my newsletter = So what? Those 18 people weren't the right readers for me! Who cares? 99.8% of people did NOT unsubscribe, how awesome is that?! Sending emails is such a brave thing to do! Now my email list contains less dead weight, and more of the people who actually enjoy my writing. Hooray!
Now it's your turn …
The So What? exercise:
Write out a list of your creative dreams / secret goals / big scary ambitious things you'd like to pursue. Contemplate a scenario in which those dreams and goals don't come to fruition. Follow them up with a casual So what?—then write out a new way of thinking.
Notice how you feel afterwards. Feeling brave? Come share your thought process in our Facebook group.
