The Albatross of Success: Performance, Exhaustion and Gratitude

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

I wrote this post because I felt I owed the truth to myself and my community — and maybe some of you will recognize yourself in my experiences.

I also wrote this post because I am grateful for the platforms I have and want to sustainably nourish them rather than quit.

Despite feeling gratitude for the fact that I am able to write, I am suffering burn-out. I am exhausted from being “on.” I struggle with reality versus the Internet. And it all stems from my relationship with success, social media, and the pressure to “keep up.” Some of this is my fault. So I’m here to be accountable, and to question why, when we achieve the things we want to achieve, we feel so…lost.

‘Success’ is supposed to look and feel happy, right?

Over the past year, I’ve acknowledged and written about living a slightly more ‘visible’ life and the pitfalls of success and social media — mostly in captions on Facebook or Instagram. I’ve come to realize, with gem-like clarity, that a) I can no longer go on thinking about it without taking action, b) others are going through this, too and c) it means I have an opportunity to rewrite my life. In short, am a volcano waiting to explode and quit if I don’t get a handle on it.

Maybe you write books or articles or create products or edit a magazine or lead a community. Whatever success you have had (not talking strictly about money or fame), I’m talking to the parts of that success that feel complex and too dirty to say aloud. The parts where you have to show up, all the time, literally and figuratively. Because you asked for it.

This isn’t going to be a poetic, profound, or beautiful piece of writing. It’s just going to be me, Lisa Marie Basile, a poet, and author, and the editor-in-chief of Luna Luna, talking to you.

See what happened there? I have gotten so used to saying that I am a poet, an author, an editor — that sometimes, just sometimes, I forget I’m also Lisa. I’m just a human.

But I’m also a dancer. I’m also a Trekkie. I am also someone who will try (and probably enjoy) literally any other food. I am also someone who works out. I am also someone who loves to study languages. I am also a goofball — a huge goofball. I like to wear PJs most of the time. I don’t always dress glamorously, although Instagram may tell you otherwise. I am in a long-term relationship that is very sweet and good. I struggle with anxiety that gets worse every year. I struggle with imposter syndrome. I live with a degenerative disease called Ankylosing Spondylitis (and much of my true joy comes from being a moderator and advocate for health organizations). I have friends from all walks of life, many who aren’t writers. I like everything magical. I like books, even airport thrillers. I am a former foster youth. I am passionate about people being compassionate and generous toward marginalized communities. I have experienced the effects of poverty, addiction, the criminal justice system, and grief.

How do I encapsulate myself?

How can we each bring our fullness to the stage — when we want to?

We focus so closely on our brand & being “on” that we make ourselves smaller.

To the world, I am not many of the things I describe above. To the world, I’m a full-time writer. I’ve written several books of poetry and have two books of nonfiction, both of which you can buy across the globe. So, I’m also an avatar — a digital representation of me. And that fucks with me. A lot.

Much of my time is spent online (which is great because the Internet allows me to earn money and pay my rent and bills). I run Luna Luna (which I lovingly started in 2013) and promote my books and lead discussions in digital communities. I also spend way too much fucking time curating Instagram accounts and being careful with my branding and strategy. I love being a visible person and a writer, but the constant pressure (some imagined, some very real) to be available, to provide insight, to be moral, or to be wise can be daunting. What is in my books is what I have to offer, but I don’t know everything.

Many of us offer services, ideas, works, and creations, but at what point do you become oversaturated with what you do, versus who you are?

When people write to me about needing emotional help or wanting to publish a book because I’ve inspired them, it deeply touches me and it feels like success. Other writers tell me these are the messages that literally keep them going — and it’s true! The issue is, I can’t help everyone. I don’t have the time or energy. I have had to find ways to respond respectfully (but disengage) because I value this aspect of my life.

So what happens when you cannot physically live up to your own ideas of success?

What happens when you and your avatar fail to present the perfect image?

What happens when you can’t reflect your own curation?

We force ourselves to live as multiple avatars — and that can make us feel disconnected

The thing is, our passion and creative projects often grow bigger than us. Many of us feel immense pressure to build them and scale them quickly or to grow their presence via social media — and at a wild rate. This can be exciting, validating, and fun — but we do have to question why we believe we need to make more, do more, be more, grow more, compete for more. Because we live in a digital age, many of us are parsing ourselves out (like Horcruxes!), cutting slivers off for Twitter and Instagram and Facebook and LinkedIn and email and website management and promotional stuff.

What happens to the real person on the other end of the computer? What happens to us when we are so busy being a different version of ourselves everywhere? Do we lose in-real-life connections or a sense of intimacy? Has it become so second nature that we don’t even think about it?

Well, I do think about it and I think it might be making me feel a little lost.

Were we all supposed to be this many things, to this many people, all the time?

Are we supposed to be on the other end of a phone all day?

What happens when we slow down? Does our brand die? Do we risk our success — and is it worth it In the end?

We feel what we make or do or create cannot be really real without all of the ‘stuff’ that comes with something being a ‘success.’ Like social proof. Or connecting with the right people. Or being engaged X amount of times per day or week.

One popular writer I spoke to the other day said to me, “I have to post the right pictures with the right people, to show my popularity or success. And then everything else just sort of sits on my phone, unseen. I feel like I’m not being real.”

And so we get caught up more in the production than the creation. In the facade. And it happens to so many of us. We forget the little things, the mundane stuff.

When I write a book, the book’s life inevitably changes. Its soul changes. My publishers own a piece of the book, and so the book becomes more about its digital presence and its sales than it does the blood and meat of the text — or at least that what it can feel like. As a writer, you know this going into the contract. But that doesn’t mean you don’t experience the weirdness of your creation becoming a commodity.

Like many writers, influencers, leaders, or creators, I spend so much time promoting, connecting the dots, and doing the admin work that an advance or royalties couldn’t begin to cover (and yes, us writers are undervalued and underpaid — if we are paid at all, which is not the fault of most publishers or magazines, but inherent issues of capitalist society).

I spend so much time being on, being sensitive to people’s needs to the point of self-silencing, or repeating, “sorry it took me a while to respond” that I forget to be off. What it feels like to do nothing. To simply breath. To not have 38 emails that must be answered at all times.

I forgot that I am, on most occasions, not always being paid for the extra work that I do as a “literary citizen” and that I have relationships, debts, and chronic illness to manage. I forget that I am allowed to step away and take a break. I think more of us need to find a way to step away when we need to without the endless grief and shame and guilt that has been pounded into us by capitalism. I know this because I’ve talked to other editors who feel they will let everyone down if they take time to care for themselves. Where are we getting these ideas? What is the root?

It has worn me down. I used to write for Luna Luna all the time, for example. Now, it’s a few times a month. And I have decided to be okay with that.

We have to draw critical boundaries — even with the things we love. The performative self is an uncanny valley.

I am — we all are — valuable simply by being alive. The amount of emails, tweets, and posts you send in one day does not determine your intrinsic value.

I have realized that I am allowed to mourn for a loss of simplicity, even though it means getting to do what I love — write.

I have realized that gratitude can exist alongside tiredness.

I have realized that being in love with the creative process of making a book or running a site or spearheading a public project does NOT negate or erase or preclude or make exempt your exhaustion or loneliness or lostness — both in general and to do with the project.

One example: I have talked to so many others writers who have a book and spend all their time pushing it; they then realize that despite the glory of sharing one’s work, there is a darker side: the performance. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the performative space of branding and sales can make you feel empty, soulless and tired. It is the uncanny valley.

But when we have contracts and promises, we have a duty to share our creations and engage with others, which means we each, as individuals, must gauge where the line of authenticity and gratitude and joy becomes performance and resentment and chore. We have to know when our success is holding us back.

Someone recently said to me, “Success made me timid. Once I realized people liked me and trusted me and expected things from me, I started going inward and getting quieter, choosing my words, cutting out parts of myself that I’d share publicly because I didn’t want to run the risk of people not liking me.”

That made me feel sad. Like, stone-in-the-fucking-chest sad. I felt sad because I recognized myself in it. Being a writer or creator means taking on a certain responsibility — to yourself, your community, your platform. It requires care, nourishment, and respect. That cannot be neglected. But sometimes, when you do have the pressure of engagement, you don’t know what will work for or speak to or help everyone. So you freeze. You question yourself. You wonder why you’re there at all.

We have to reevaluate what’s working and what isn’t about our success, our availability, and our day-to-day lives as creators AND humans.

When we have the chance to share our voices, to speak out, to do something beyond ourselves, to make community spaces, to publish a fucking book that people read — we are doing something magical, magnificent, and life-altering. I should know this. I am the first person in my family to go to college — straight out of foster care. I took out thousands of dollars in loans and got a Master’s degree because I thought it’d give me a leg up (it gave me some big opportunities — along with massive debt). I fought CPTSD and extreme trauma to get where I am, so how dare I question it?

Because we each get to reevaluate what is working and what isn’t. When we don’t assess what makes us feel good and true and right, we can never grow or be okay in our own skin.

I have talked to so, so, so many people whose success became a sort of albatross — precisely because it is not always in alignment with what feels right. You can have and lack something at the same time.

I feel like on my way “up,” I forgot to shed some necessary skin. But then I realized that my sense of success is more internal. It’s more about how I feel about myself than, say, follower count.

In the end, I have decided to make a list of things that I personally can do to alleviate some of those pressures and fears:

1. Find gratitude and start from there. It is a privilege to be in the position of questioning what success looks like.

2. Stop letting social media dictate my “brand.” Instead, share more of myself, without fear of it being “off-brand.” If I lose followers, oh well.

3. Nurture hobbies outside of my career path.

4. Stop trying to make everyone like you. Stop worrying you’ll offend someone. Just try your best at being kind — and if it doesn’t cut it, fuck it.

5. Realize that “success” is determined by how you feel about yourself or what you can do for others, not by what you have.

6. There is such thing as too much of a good thing. Realize that rest, silence, and time away is necessary.

This is my confession. I hope it resonates.

Poetry by Sarah Stockton

BY SARAH STOCKTON

A note from the author: The artist Melissa McCanna made an ekphrastic painting (see below) after the below poem "Salt and Other Spells.” It was exhibited at a gallery in Washington.

Melissa McCanna

Salt and Other Spells

We were water once

cyclical, transforming

salt and sediment into scales

anadromous/

moving from sea into sweet water

catadromous/

fresh to salt

to spawn/ traveling

in deep sea channels

transitioning/

from silvery blue

to darker, going home

as we, floundering at water’s edge

turn in four directions/

three visions/ seven cycles

scrying into water

Spells of Desperation

Ablating

the effluvia clogging my heart, cauterizing

rusty swords blackberry thorns

Ripping

apart whole decades, reams of

photographs prayer books

Shrinking

into a shape un-recognizable

binding cloths barbed wire cloaks

Rolling

jade stones over my face

chemical peels tuning forks

Throwing

myself on the mercy of the court

strip teases plea bargains

Writing

love letters to my maker

confessions devotions

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Sarah Stockton, MA. After several years working in urban universities as staff and adjunct, Sarah now lives in the rural Pacific Northwest where she practices the spiritual arts, serves as a freelance writer and editor, and writes poems.

A Playlist for Gratitude & Giving Thanks

BY JOANNA VALENTE

In the spirit of the vast holiday season, I made a playlist centered around giving thanks and focusing on gratitude—which are also things we should always be mindful of all throughout the year. Listen below:

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Joanna C. Valente is a human who lives in Brooklyn, New York. They are the author of Sirs & Madams, The Gods Are Dead, Marys of the Sea, Sexting Ghosts, Xenos, No(body), #Survivor, (forthcoming, The Operating System), and is the editor of A Shadow Map: Writing by Survivors of Sexual Assault. They received their MFA in writing at Sarah Lawrence College. Joanna is the founder of Yes Poetry and the senior managing editor for Luna Luna Magazine. Some of their writing has appeared in The Rumpus, Them, Brooklyn Magazine, BUST, and elsewhere. Joanna also leads workshops at Brooklyn Poets. joannavalente.com / Twitter: @joannasaid / IG: joannacvalente / FB: joannacvalente

Bibliomancy Horoscopes: Divination With Etel Adnan's Poetry

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

Books speak to us, create worlds for us, and conjure both the questions and answers that reside within us. When we turn to books and written texts for some greater message, a message from beyond the page, we become literary witches — or bibliomancers. Bibliomancy (which goes by many other names) is the use of books in acts of divination. The goal here is to find greater wisdom, to lean into that Force or Spirit beyond and yet within the page.

Like the ancient practice of sortes (also a form of cleromancy, the use of lots for divination), the practice of divination from drawing a card or other object, bibliomancy has long had a place across cultures and in many folk traditions. Bibliomancers traditionally used the bible for divination, although grimoires and other sacred texts were also used.

According to the University of Michigan’s Romance Languages and Literatures, poetry — how delicious! — was consulted as well. The Dīvān of Ḥāfeẓ, a collection of ghazals written by the great Persian poet Hafiz, was used to seek “Tongue of the Unseen,” or messages via the poet after his death. Today, it’s still common for people to use sacred texts, like the I-Ching or the Bible to divine wisdom.

When we use poetry, of course, there is a technical term for that: Rhapsodomancy. However, bibliomancy seems to cover it for most people.

There’s even a fun intersection of the modern and the ancient over at the Bibliomancy Oracle, a simple webpage that offers up lines of poetry after concentrating and opening a “book” by clicking a button on the site. My poetry has even been included! The site says, “This Oracle selects passages from its database using a random generator. The idea being that meaningful texts are offered via synchronicity. The relevant message finds you. You only need to be open to receiving it.”

I’ve been consulting books for wisdom long before I knew what I was doing. I’d thumb through Bluets by Maggie Nelson or Rumi’s work — seeking wisdom, motivation, a message — and poetry never failed me. I’m sure you’ve done this, too, perhaps subconsciously. Not reading, per se, but seeking. Stumbling upon a stanza. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I began intentionally meditating on a question before selecting a passage and journaling about the line or stanza I’d be directed to upon asking it.

Like tarot or astrology, bibliomancy asks us to lean into the mystery and examine what we’ve been told. What is revealed? What does this revelation ask of us? What sings out when we see the words before us?

In this practice, the reader opens a book, whatever book calls out to them. As a poet, I prefer poetry. The reader then may call out to a guide or spirit to direct them to passage. Then, with eyes closed, the reader selects a page and then selects a line ( at least this is how I do it; although I am secular, so I work with no entity or deity). From there, the given line can be taken as wisdom, an omen, or a sign. Intuit this. Sometimes, people place the book on its spine and let it fall open (this was traditionally done with the bible, according to some research).

Although there are many approaches to bibliomancy, it is best that you create your own approach. Poems offer the most beautiful and mysterious answers to those questions we hold quiet and deep within us, I believe. In their ability to span the liminal parts of the self — the unsaid, the almost-said, the said-between-the-lines — poems offer great wisdom. Perhaps the spirit of the poet is there to direct you as well.

Poems are little written oceans, in which we dive deep, hungry to reach the bottom. Perhaps there is no bottom and that is the answer. Perhaps it’s the journey that matters.

When you let the book fall open, investigate what a line could mean in the context of your life. What images does it bring to mind? How does it make you feel? What does it force you to think about that perhaps you had not before? 

Here, I’ll be doing that for you — for each of the sun signs.

The method: I’ll be opening a poetry book every two weeks and asking for wisdom for each every sign. I will put myself into a receptive, trance-like state (I believe being loose, open, and connected yields the most accurate answers), close my eyes, call out the sign I’m asking about, thumb through the pages of a book, and let my fingers guide me to a line.

It is up to you to reflect the line assigned to your sun sign. Journal about it, meditate on it and listen to the way it reverberates through your mind. Let it stay with you. Write it down and carry it with you.

And at the very least, you’ll discover a new poet.

Our poet is Etel Adnan, and we draw on her book, NIGHT.

Aries

My breathing is a tide. Love doesn’t die.

Taurus

Memory is intelligent. It’s a knowledge seated neighter in the senses, nor the spirit, but in collective memory. It is communal….it helps us rampage through the old self, hang on the certitude that it has to be.

Gemini

What we mean by “God” is that He is night. Reality is night too. From the same night.

Cancer

Words trace their way to the ocean. From the ridge facing this house, signals take off, scaring us, but a large stride, a deep breath, restores tranquility.

Leo

Love creates sand-storms and loosens reality’s building stones. Its feverish energy takes us into the heart of mountains.

Virgo

One day, the sun will not rise at its hour, therefore that won’t be a day. And without a day, there won’t be a night either.

Libra

Are the rockets shooting for the moon killing invisible animals on their way?

Scorpio

Everything I do is memory. Even everything I am.

Sagittarius

Sometimes the sea catches fire.

Capricorn

We create reality by just being. This is also true for the owl who right now is dozing on a branch.

Aquarius

Our mind has a border line with the universe, there, where we promenade, and where tragedy resides.

Pisces

Memory is within us and reaches out, sometimes missing the connection with reality, it's neighbor, its substance.

For more on poetry, divination and magical writing, preorder my forthcoming book, THE MAGICAL WRITING GRIMOIRE.

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Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine--a digital diary of literature and magical living. She is the author of "Light Magic for Dark Times," a modern collection of inspired rituals and daily practices, as well as the forthcoming book, "The Magical Writing Grimoire: Use the Word as Your Wand for Magic, Manifestation & Ritual." She's written for Refinery 29, The New York Times, Self, Chakrubs, Marie Claire, Narratively, Catapult, Sabat Magazine, Healthline, Bust, Hello Giggles, Grimoire Magazine, and more. Lisa Marie has taught writing and ritual workshops at HausWitch in Salem, MA, Manhattanville College, and Pace University. She earned a Masters's degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University.