I've just started a writing practice - one short personal essay per week, sent to all my friends and family (and available to the general viewing public at www.dannyjli.com). I'm writing to understand the world and my place in it, and I’m writing to make sense of the mess of information contained within the hundred-plus books I read last year. It’s my way of organizing and exposing my mind. Admittedly, there is a romantic draw as well, a vision of myself sat under a tree, scribbling beautiful prose into a journal. Regardless of my motivations, it's new, it's exciting, and it's terrifying.
Starting over as a beginner has me feeling like a big awkward baby. I'm fumbling, stumbling, bumbling clumsily. It's terribly humbling. I'm doing my best here! But my best is painfully mediocre. I wonder if my audience gets second-hand embarrassment. I wonder if you cringe at my efforts.
But my concept of embarrassment was recently challenged by Haley Nahman's 'cringe matrix', which defines cringe along two axes - awareness and sincerity. It distinguishes between good and bad cringe: 'bad' cringe is delusional or insincere, while 'good' cringe is borne of honest effort and self-awareness, and should be celebrated despite its awkwardness. Embracing this type of cringe gives me permission to suck at writing, as long as I speak from the heart and work to expand my awareness. With that in mind, I've started writing.
Now the whole world is open to me. There is a sense of mystery, exhilaration, and wonder that accompanies the novelty. I've embarked on a grand adventure, with ideas to explore, writers to engage, and challenges and triumphs to experience. What trials will I face? What skills will I acquire? And who will I become in the process? I'm experimenting with my writing process, studying craft and style and form, and even practicing cursive.1 There is a childlike liberation in being unlearned. No pressure to perform. Absolute autonomy. Pure joy.
I'm also, however, apprehensive. If you know me at all, you know my pattern of starting new projects, diving in obsessively, hitting a wall, burning out, and then abandoning said projects. The novelty wears off, the passion fades, and I lose interest. Seth Godin calls this moment “The Dip”, and it’s when serial quitters tend to jump ship. But given the right pursuit, he promises, there are exponential returns on the other side - if you just persist.
In other words, passion and talent are not enough. The only thing that can take you to the promised land is raw, unadulterated effort.2 That means endless hours of practice, mastering every detail of the craft. It requires grit, determination, patience, and an unassailable work ethic. And even then, nothing is guaranteed. When I consider the immense distance between me and my writing idols, I'm nearly overwhelmed by the gargantuan task of building the knowledge, skill, and expertise I'll need to bridge that gap.
But then I’m reminded of the old adage:
How do you eat an elephant?
One bite at a time.
I’ll keep going. See you next week.
👻 what I’ve been up to
I just launched this Substack newsletter! This is the first official issue, and it feels really good writing 3+ hours a day. I’ve also been voraciously consuming every article, essay, and blog post on the platform, which feels like a healthy alternative to my internet addiction. An essay that inspired me greatly: rayne fisher-quann’s “choosing to walk”.
I’m back in NYC and though the cold and dry are wreaking havoc on my skin, I’m glad to be here. I attended a pop-up chess club in SoHo, which was cool although I’m rusty and lost to a player way below my skill level. The samosas were good. The beer was mid.
I learned to cook the perfect steak this week: thick ribeye, seared for 3-4 minutes on each side, holding the fatty parts on the pan for longer. Then into the oven at 450 for 3 minutes. It turned out slightly medium-well and super soft and very delicious.
Evidently, my romantic vision of the writer-under-the-tree journals in cursive. I wanted to include an image of Celine Ngyuen’s beautiful cursive journal, but it’s been paywalled so I no longer have access.
There’s a reason why John Wooden, America’s winningest college basketball coach, considers Industry one of the cornerstones of his philosophy for success - it’s simply indispensable. Interestingly, his other cornerstone is Enthusiasm. Takeaway: passion and effort are both required.
Love this! I’m right here with you as I also just recently got onto substack to practice my writing and can resonate with that feeling of overwhelm