The Process is the Prize

I was useless at school athletics, however I did have a nak for high jump. My secret—my height. I was tall for my age and had about two inches on my competitors. Biology and physics meant I could jump higher than most and I received prizes for it. As affirming and ego-boosting the prizes were, it didn't reflect hard work, persistence or development. It reflected an unfair advantage. If the high jump competition categories were based on height, not age, I would be telling a different story. My high jump prizes were not a good life lesson. They gave me a false sense of achievement. I was awarded for minimal effort. 

I had a different experience a few years later when I joined a youth theatre group. I acted for fun and it turned out that I was a bit of a natural. It led to applause and standing ovations, awards, complimentary reviews in local newspapers, and numerous people telling me I could be the next big star to tread the boards in London’s West End. But I didn’t fluke the accolades (and if I’m honest—I didn’t fully believe them). This required work. I memorised scripts, participated in hours of blocking rehearsals, tech rehearsals, dress rehearsals and mental rehearsals, where I would run through the show in my head before I went to bed at night. 

Acting demanded so much more of me. And as nice as it was to receive the accolades, I enjoyed the process all the more. I really mean that. I loved rehearsals—it’s where we bonded as a cast, it’s where I found a sense of belonging, it’s where we laughed hysterically at ourselves and it’s where we came to understand our craft. I loved creating, I loved making and I loved being a part of a cast and crew that worked hard to put a show together over four to six months. That’s where the prize was for me—in the entire process.

I started to take my writing seriously sixteen years ago, when it became my side hustle. I’ve written in virtually every medium—scriptwriting for television, ghostwriting for books and blogs, copy for websites, copy for print media, press statements and media releases, speeches and I’ve authored and co-authored. 

Six years ago I paid for a one-on-one critique with a literary agent for a novel I’d been working on. When we met, she gave me two choices. I could either receive verbal feedback on the 10,000 word submission I’d given her or I could ask questions. I chose the option to ask questions and at the end of our session I asked one final thing, “Do you think I can really make it in this industry?” She replied, “If you have the fire in your belly—you can do it.” I remember replying coyly, “I think I have that fire.” 

Here’s the thing—the fire needs stoking. It needs oxygen and it needs wood. The fire in my belly requires grit, determination, discipline, a teachable spirit and tons and tons of hard work. Writing isn’t always fun, it’s not always easy. It can be monotonous, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad or worth giving up—that’s doing due process. We are all born with talent, but it’s on us to steward that talent. We aren’t born experts, it’s on us to learn so that we can be. That’s where the gold is. That’s where the gems are. They are there to be uncovered and to me, the prize is in the uncovering.

I’m not sure that anyone ever really “makes it”. What I mean by that is—sure people achieve things, absolutely, but I think that those with the fire in their bellies don’t have the ability to rest on their “successes”, they’re driven to grow and outdo themselves, to do it better and to do more. And though I think these people value the prize, I believe that, all the more, they treasure what it takes to get there.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve received some encouraging news professionally. Dream-come-true territory. The news came in the form of an email. It was a very ordinary delivery of extraordinary news. I had a mini-celebration that night, but the following day it was back to work because the outworking of the dream still required my labour. 

In his book ‘An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth: What Going to Space Taught Me About Ingenuity, Determination, and Being Prepared for Anything’ Chris Hadfield, who was the first Canadian astronaut to make it into space, said this:

“Still, I also know that most people, including me, tend to applaud the wrong things: the showy, dramatic record-setting sprint rather than the years of dogged preparation or the unwavering grace displayed during a string of losses. Applause, then, never bore much relation to the reality of my life as an astronaut, which was not all about, or even mostly about, flying in space.”

Though my experiences are smaller in scale in comparison to Chris Hadfield, the accolades, the applause and standing ovations, the  “dream-come-true” moments have all been fleeting. Sure it’s nice for an achievement to be applauded, but the thing I’m learning for myself is that the applause can’t be the prize. I’m entirely grateful that I get to do what I love for a living. And that, for me, is the prize. It’s there in the everyday. It’s there in the ordinary and in the mundane. Maybe that’s where the applause belongs, because maybe the prize is in the process. And this is where I think the fire in your belly kicks in. That fire compels you to pursue “better”, it fuels you to never give up and it graces you amidst the failures. 

Might I suggest that we applaud those that are trying. Applaud those who are pursuing. Applaud those who, despite setbacks, continue with muddied knees, with tear-stained cheeks, bloodied hands and exhausted minds. I want to be the kind of man that applauds those that are committed to the process—the process of outworking the fire in their belly. 

And perhaps we will all find—the process is the prize. 

Cheering you on…SB