Resistance and Persistence

I don’t know about you, but any time I try to make a change in my life, I meet near instantaneous resistance. It happens when I make a snap-decision, and this makes sense because I didn’t make any contingency plans or true commitment.

But it also happens when I’m measured and thoughtful. It happened when I started this website and blog. I weighed the pros and cons of writing in one place, combining reflections and book reviews, of streamlining my online presence, and paring down my activity in other spaces (mainly Instagram). I was deliberate about the choice, and as soon as it came time to make the announcement, to make the shift?

Resistance.

What forms did the resistance take? Many. First it came in the form of my Instagram algorithm. I write in a caption that I’m going to be stepping back and doing less, not caring about the metrics so much, and what suddenly floods my feed? Post upon post about growing a bookish account. As one of my friends on the platform said, “read the room, Instagram.”

Having a social media sabbath/break every Friday to Saturday is something else I’ve implemented in the last year or so, and it has been so good for my soul. Do you know what happened when I accidentally left push notifications on during one of those weekends? After a day of not logging into the app, I got a notification telling me “@insertfriendshandlehere and x others have posted y number of photos.” I know social media apps aren’t sentient, but what a play on my fear of missing out. I imagine Instagram attempting to lure me in when I’m intentionally disengaged.

When this idea of resistance came to mind, I suddenly remembered I’d read about it before. Steven Pressfield introduces the concept in a book I recall very little of and could probably use to re-read—The War of Art. He says creative work is always opposed by Resistance.

Those two examples of resistance above were so obvious and in my face I almost laughed. Distractions? Can’t catch me.

But another form is much more subtle and rather than being external, it’s internal. It comes in the form of self-doubt, fear, and procrastination. The other resistance is me. I am my own opposition. I can do all my own second-guessing, thank you very much. It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.

Before I even hit publish on my announcement post, before anyone but a handful of friends knew about this website, I was already writing myself off. I was so thoughtful and deliberate about starting this endeavor. I didn’t decide on a whim. And yet, all the rumination in the world couldn’t keep that voice from entering the group chat (in this case the group chat is in my brain and resembles the cast of Disney-Pixar’s Inside Out, maybe?), the voice that says:

“So vain. Who would want to read what you have to say? Hasn’t every idea you’ve ever had been written or said by someone else already? And they said it better than you could anyway. You’ve never had an original thought in your life. And book reviews? You don’t think anyone would want to read your personal writing, so who would want to read your thoughts on some book you’ve recently finished? Writing about writing? How boring can you be?”

It’s not as obvious as a thirsty Instagram notification, but resistance’s voice is loud and clear and it’s kind of a bully. Even now, it’s telling me, “why should anyone read this; they should just go read Steven Pressfield instead.”

So what to do when my brain is screaming at me to quit before I’ve even started, when I’m feeling like an imposter? It sounds simple and cheesy and easier said than done, but I guess I’m choosing to resist resistance today. To do the work anyway.

There have been so many other times in my life when I would have been paralyzed by fear, when I would have let my brain tell me that my dreams were a lost cause, or when I would have let the voice of resistance be the loudest in the room—virtually silencing my actual voice.

Not so today. Today I’ll hit the publish button. Today I persist.