When We Argue With Reality
Thoughts on Patience and the Creative Journey
“Impatience is arguing with reality.”
- Rick Rubin
Nearly 15 years ago Maile and I stared at each other across a kitchen island and admitted the reality of the situation: my business had gotten caught up in the wake of the property bubble of 2009, we were $50,000 in debt, and we needed to walk away from everything, move in with my parents, and start again.
It was not an easy thing to return to the area where I grew up, now in my early 30s, feeling so far behind all of my friends.
I’ve written about that time in our lives before, so I won’t go into all the details now. But after living with my parents for about six months and finding our feet, divine grace delivered us into a little double-wide trailer in the country, one that backed up to the woods on one side and a horse pasture on the other. A place we could barely afford. And we sort of started life over again, in many ways.
It was a small home in a beautiful setting and would become our kids favorite place they lived as children, an ongoing reminder that just because we go through difficult seasons, it doesn’t mean we’ve let down our children or that they are suffering.
That spring, I borrowed a friend’s rototiller, plowed up a garden much bigger than I had any business creating, and we planted some vegetables. It was a big space for us novices, but we filled it with sweet peas and zucchini and spicy peppers and potatoes. We would make curry with the habaneros and chocolate bread with the zucchini. Because we didn’t want to spray chemicals on the plants, by mid-summer we were paying our kids a nickel for every potato bug they pulled off the potato plants. Which turned out to be unsustainable, by the way, we didn’t have that much money, so we dropped the price to a penny each. That’s how many bugs there were.
By the end of July, the potato plants were huge and green and luscious, and we could no longer hold back our eagerness: we started pulling the plants and turning over the soil, eager to start eating our harvest.
Except we hadn’t waited long enough, and all we had to show for our effort were the tiniest of new potatoes, the size of marbles.
Recently I’ve been listening to Rick Rubin’s audio book, The Creative Act, and there are so many good things in there, but one particular concept has jumped out at me. It happened when Rubin said, “Impatience is arguing with reality.”
I sat with that for a minute. What exactly did he mean, arguing with reality?
Maybe he’s talking about how I can be stuck in traffic and stressed about the fact that now I’m going to be late. I want to go faster but I can’t. I want to arrive earlier, but I can’t. I want to go back in time and take a different route, but I can’t.
I’m arguing with the reality that I’m going to be late, instead of simply taking a deep breath and accepting it.
Maybe he’s talking about how I wish a publisher would pick up the novel my agent is shopping.
I’m arguing with the reality that now isn’t the right time, instead of simply taking a deep breath and continuing to write.
Maybe he’s talking about how for years I wished my books were bestsellers, was impatient for the notoriety. Wanted it so desperately I could taste it.
I was arguing with the reality that maybe my writing still needed time to grow before it would be ready for a larger audience, and I should take a deep breath and keep improving.
Why do I keep arguing with reality?
Writers have a particular affinity for arguing with reality. In my opinion.
Let me start again and speak for myself, and if it resonates, you can come along with me.
I have a particular affinity for arguing with reality, especially in my writing. I want to be better than I am, impatient for progress. I want to be more popular than I am, impatient for success. I want to be finished with this project and moving on to the next one, impatient for completion.
But reality paints a different picture. The reality is that I have five published novels, none having sold particularly well. The reality is that my agent is shopping my sixth novel while I work hard on my seventh. The reality is that I am a solid writer with aspirations of being much, much better.
But here I am.
Can I accept this place I am currently in, enjoy it, be present in it?
Can I find a way to patience?
Because if I can’t be present here, will there ever be a place where I can be? Even if I progress, gain success, and complete what I want to write . . . will I not then be impatient for the next step?
When we stop arguing with reality, we can become present, aware of the beauty to be found even in this moment. Patience allows us to accept reality, not that we have to stay in this place forever. But perhaps this particular spot in the journey has something to teach us.
My word for the year is patience. To clarify, my word is not “waiting.” That’s different. Patience, to me, is an active engagement with what I have in my hands right now. What’s in front of me to do, right now. It’s not a passive thing, but an active acceptance and surrender to reality, engaging in my place in it.
What are you impatient for? How can you stop arguing with reality?
If you’re looking for an opportunity to learn a bit more about writing
and have online conversations with others on a similar journey, don’t forget to
check out my new space for writers!
If you’re interested in hearing a wonderful conversation, check out this Jay Shetty podcast with Rick Rubin. Honestly, these two guys have a lot to say about creativity, have the most incredible voices, and seem to be lovely people. I think you’ll enjoy it.
Somehow, I read/listened to that book three times last year, and still the truth of that one quote tries to elude me. Thanks for capturing it again. Every time I share some of the same laments with the smartest people I know, they tell me that instead of pining for a bigger audience, I need to get more specific about who it is that I serve and how I serve them. I'm grateful to have wise people like you constantly reminding me of such things!
Your words--and that quote!--are so insightful and relevant for me, too. Thank you! My word for 2024 is Cherish, and that also invites me to cherish the day for what it is, to stop basing its worth on productivity or achievement. Thank you, as always.