Recently, I had toothache – the kind of acute pain that consumes attention. My cheek was hot and sensitive to touch. I was eating gingerly and cleaning my teeth with extreme care. My life contracted around the pain. Even now, the area remains tender – the gentlest probing inflames it again.
Whilst in the acute phase of this physical pain, I read a post by my dear friend Kay Young. It’s a story of emotional pain and the hollow nature of some measures of success. Kay describes an idea of ‘financial success’ that has become, in the short term, unattainable. She shares her shame at ‘failing’ to meet this standard. Her gentle probing of her sore spot touched a nerve – for me and others.
Kay’s story is universal: it’s only human to have aspirations and to measure ourselves against an idea of success. However, when we notice a gap between an idea and reality, it’s wise to look closely and recalibrate. Kay does this, inquiring into what success really means.
This is a live question for me, as I wrote in response to her post, adding:
What is ‘success’ for a piece of writing? Whether a post or book? Things we can measure (likes, sales), things that happen ‘in the field’ that we know nothing about, an inner sense of having drafted something that might be of value to others or …?
My inquiry is both general and particular. It arises because, while I write for myself, I share (or publish) my writing in the hope that it might benefit others. With this in mind, the measures of success that I find meaningful are the numbers of:
- thoughtful reflections in response to my posts; and
- well-used, tatty copies of my books that are dog-eared, flagged and annotated.
It’s the impact of my writing that matters – and, for the books, I have little or no data about this.
In the absence of information, the fragile parts of me seek reassurance from more visible measures – ‘likes’ and book sales. And sales of my third book are low. It’s a sore spot. It hurts. A lot.
Like Kay, my idea of ‘success’ is shaped by previous experience, namely sales of my first book, Pause for Breath. Whilst its ‘success’ was modest in the context of the wider publishing world, it was enough for me – my book was out there, equipping people to think differently about their conversations.
My second book didn’t do so well. But I wasn’t too concerned – we were in the midst of the pandemic and it was based on previously ‘published’ blog posts. That it didn’t sell was disappointing, but not painful.
In contrast, Approaching Difference Differently really mattered to me, even as I began to write it. After Pause for Breath, my dialogue programmes continued to evolve and began to accentuate the role of personal and collective energy in our conversations. Dialogue is a way of being, an embodied practice, and it takes time and application to inhabit it. In Approaching Difference Differently, I sought to capture the essence of this kind of change in practice, especially in conversations in which unsettling differences are present. Pleased with the book, I was optimistic that it would be as successful as Pause for Breath.
And so, the reality is hard to face. I’m only just beginning to probe it – gingerly, cautiously. I feel that I’ve ‘failed’ the book. I published it at a silly time of year, because I couldn’t bear the thought of carrying it, unfinished, into 2026. In my hurry, I didn’t allow for (inevitable) glitches in the distribution system, which made it hard to ‘add to basket’.
In addition, the current marketplace is more crowded. And Pause for Breath was published in partnership with Murielle Maupoint – her unstoppable energy played a huge part in raising its profile.
Alone, I have a significant limitation: a visceral resistance to ‘marketing’ and ‘selling’. This, I can do something about. In recognising it, I ask:
How might I foster greater awareness of my books in way that feels congruent and leads to more well-used copies of them in the world?
This inquiry is an important step towards exploring my resistance … to be continued!
Contemplations
- What imagined measure of success do you feel you’re not meeting in your life and/or work? What does this ‘measure’ represent for you? To what extent is it meaningful?
- How might you recalibrate success to reflect what really matters, even if you can’t ‘measure’ this in the same way? What changes when you clarify this?
