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Forging a career in publishing, as I’ve often written and spoken about, often encompasses an endless series of ups and downs. So often when we go into this field it feels as if once we can break through some closed door or hit some specific goal, it’ll be smooth sailing for our careers.
But the reality is that that’s not how most writing careers go, and lately it feels as if I’m hearing more and more stories from authors struggling with challenges and setbacks.
- One very successful multipublished author recently wrote in her newsletter that she’s thinking about taking a break from her career, feeling a little disheartened by the ever-increasing work it seems to take to get visibility for her books in our crowded marketplace.
- At a conference recently another author I have worked with on several titles, who has been in the business for many years and experienced extravagant six-figure success early in her career, told me she was feeling discouraged by the industry, and wasn’t sure she wanted to continue.
- I got an email this week from an author whose agent was vociferously enthusiastic about her manuscript, very hands-on in editing, and then suddenly decided—just as they were about to take this writer’s story out on submission—that she didn’t have the wherewithal to do so.
- An editor acquaintance confessed that she’s struggling with outreach to authors, unsure how to rise above the crowded field of editorial services available to writers and whether she can sustain her business.
- I know several very popular and well-known authors and teachers who are finding that their usually easily sold-out events and retreats are seeing sluggish enrollment lately—likely a product of our unstable political and economic situation—and wondering whether to cancel their events.
Even author Frederik Backman (A Man Called Ove) recently posted this on his Instagram account, clarifying reports that he intended to retire from writing: “I wasn’t going to retire, but I considered maybe I should get another job. Like, a real job. Because maybe I would be a more functional human being if I wasn’t…this.”
What he really meant by “retire,” he tried to clarify, was “’I don’t know how I ended up here, or if this is taking too much out of me, and I don’t know who I am half the time, and maybe I’d be a better dad and husband and friend if I changed careers?’ I’ve been having a little crisis of faith, I run into those sometimes.”
You can read the original NPR article and Backman’s speech here, and it’s very worth reading for any author—any creative. Backman—a number-one New York Times bestselling author—talks about panic and self-doubt, procrastination, impostor syndrome and feeling as if his success is undeserved or “a really elaborate practical joke.”
His naked, honest interview and post I think speaks to something fairly rampant at the moment, not just because of what can feel like the current chaos of our industry—an unimaginably crowded marketplace, the ever-increasing challenges of marketing and publicizing our work, the current uncertainty and potential threat of how AI LLMs may impact authors and the book business—but also as a result of the chaos that feels so prevalent in the world right now.
The Truths about a Writing Career
This is something I write and speak and think about a lot. So much of the skill and art and requirement of creating a successful writing career has to do with how well you learn to weather its many vagaries, challenges, and seemingly constant and random challenges and setbacks.
And there are times, many of them, where an author might understandably wonder whether it’s worth it.
So often we go into this career with big dreams of success, popularity, and profit. But the reality is that for most there will never be a big payday, and even when we do earn money from our writing it’s likely to be in modest and irregular amounts, much more often than not insufficient to actually support ourselves on. Most of us will never become bestsellers, never make big bucks, never see our books ubiquitous in bookstores and libraries and airports and Costco.
And even knowing that, those of us who are drawn to writing are generally writers down to our souls, and could no more not write than not eat.
So we plug away at careers that often require so much of us: in money, energy, heart, time, effort. We carve out careers even amid the intensely crowded playing field, knowing that after all the effort and work of putting out one book, we have to start all over again to put out the next and the next and the next. On such bricks our careers are built.
And there are no guarantees, no matter how successful you may be. One author with a recent release that is already performing extremely well noted that they are not yet under contract for a subsequent title, and working hard to ensure strong sales so their publisher offers them the chance to write more books for them.
These are the realities of carving out a career in an industry as fickle and random and complex and ever-changing as publishing. A lot of the writing and speaking I do revolves around sharing these truths with authors. If we don’t know it coming into this business, as most don’t, it’s crucial that we figure it out fairly early in, because knowing and accepting those realities is the foundation of creating a sustainable and more satisfying writing career—the entire focus of my most recent book for authors.
But this recent spate of disheartenment it feels like I’m seeing seems different—about more than just our writing and the state of the publishing world.
I don’t think it’s just about the current sociopolitical situation, although that may be a big part of it for many, regardless of where you fall on the political spectrum—or whether you even pay attention to politics or think you are touched by it at all.
It feels like unrest and upheaval and polarization are sweeping through the world and we are hovering in an uncertain balance between what was and what may be. As if we’re all in a global holding pattern, an uncomfortable limbo on shifting ground with no idea what the future holds.
It’s as if authors and others are not just wondering if there’s a point to pursuing their work, trying to build a creative career—but if there’s a point to anything, really.
Feeding Your Flame in Difficult Times
There’s an anecdote I often think of when I am readying for a speaking engagement. I once heard an experienced presenter say that when he prepared to step out on that stage, he didn’t tell himself he was trying to present a life-changing talk for everyone. He just hoped he might reach someone—the right person who needed his message at that particular time.
I remind myself of that anytime I feel my own overwhelm in standing up before a crowd to share my thoughts and creative efforts, or I’m working on a book, or teaching a class, or even publishing an article or blog. It helps me remember why I do this, what matters to me, what gives me that sense of purpose and mission that drives me—but it also reminds me that I don’t have to change the world.
That’s a good thing, because I’m unlikely to. And much in this industry—in this world—is out of my control, just as it is for almost all of us.
That’s been the attitude I am consciously cultivating now, to keep my footing and my mental and emotional stability amid the current chaotic-seeming circumstances we’re living in. If I focus too much on everything happening around me, and how little power I have to change any of it, I’m going to succumb to overwhelm. It would be easy to lose my motivation. Even to fall into despair.
So instead, like E. L Doctorow’s quote about how to write a novel, I’m just looking to what I can see in the headlights ten feet in front of me. Every manuscript, every course, every article, every speech I’m working on is the only thing that matters at that moment. Every author—every person I interact with—is the community that shapes my existence.
As authors you are envisioning worlds, sharing messages and creative visions that may be exactly what someone needs right now.
I can’t end the wars raging around the world, but I can give my full and undivided focus to an author’s story and their intentions and dreams and I can make a difference for them in helping bring their creative vision into the world. I can’t fix political polarization, but I can help an author figure out what’s not working in their story as well as it could and how to fix that. I can’t bring peace to a divided world, but I can offer techniques for attaining a measure of it within ourselves in our pursuit of a creative career.
This attitude gives me more than just a sense of efficacy and agency. It lets me feel I’m helping to build something good in our present times that can feel as if so much good is being torn down. It lets me feel deeply and powerfully connected to other people in the oddly profound and intimate relationship of editor and author as we work together toward a common goal, one that’s meaningful to any creator: that of bringing their artistic vision to life.
As authors you have that power to an even greater degree. You are envisioning worlds, sharing messages and creative visions that may be exactly what someone needs right now.
As much as I loved Backman’s raw and honest post and speech, I loved reading the comments from his readers:
- “You say you’re not great in interviews, but every time you open your mouth, or Instagram caption, it feels like someone quietly put the world back on its axis. You don’t need a ‘real job.’ You already have one! You make meaning out of mess. You remind people they’re not alone in the noise. That’s about as real as it gets, don’t you think?”
- “It’s hard being human, but you being human with us helps US with being human…”
- “[Yours] are the type of books that make me hug them and cry and those are the ones I keep on my shelf forever, the ones that touch something deep inside my soul.”
- “Every time I read one of your books or short stories, something inside me that I didn’t know was broken heals a little more. I see the world differently too now because of you. Thank you for that!”
If you received even one of these comments from a reader, had this kind of effect on even a single soul who read your work and was moved or changed or foundationally healed by it, would your work then feel meaningful to you? Would it remind you why you chose to pursue this craft in the first place? Would it bring something profoundly good and peaceful and rewarding to your life, regardless of whatever other external barometers of writing “success” you may or may not attain in your career, or what may be raging around you?
I sometimes get emails and texts and comments from authors that something I put into the world—one of my books, an article, a speech or class or even just my comments on their writing—made a fundamental difference or impact on them and their work. Every single one of those comments means more to me than any paycheck I’ve ever cashed. Every one of them reminds me why I do this, and of the inherent rewards of the work itself.
I wrote a personal reply to one of the authors I mentioned earlier who was struggling with whether to continue with their career—not to exhort her to continue, but to commend her on listening to herself and what will help her fill the well at the moment:
“I just wanted to tell you that it will be the reading world’s loss if you take a break, but that if that’s what your psyche is calling for right now, I applaud you for listening to what’s best for you and not letting yourself be chained to the demands of the industry. Our creativity is the joyful spark that got us into this field—yours will never go out. But if it’s banked for now, that seems just fine to me; ebbs and flows are natural, especially with creative careers. When and if you’re ready to return to it, I hope it’s with a sense of delight and renewed passion.”
Be kind to yourselves, creatives. Remember that like all things, this time too shall pass—and meanwhile, do whatever feels right for you in keeping your own flame lit.
Authors, I’d love to hear your take on some of these thoughts that have been swirling around my head lately. Are you noticing or feeling this same pervasive sense of ennui I seem to be seeing? How do you handle it and keep a sense of joy and purpose and connection and peace within yourself?
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28 Comments. Leave new
Hi Tiffany,
Thank you for this post! I loved your book Intuitive Editing so much that I included in a blog post on Medium (if you’re interested in reading it, it is the bonus one listed in this link: https://baos.pub/three-books-that-crushed-my-writers-block-1f1f2ce30f04). I’m looking forward to your new book! Thank you so much for putting out such. Great contents!
Ceci, your kind words–here and in your Medium post–mean a lot to me. Intuitive Editing felt–and feels–like my life’s work, and to know it’s helpful for authors is so rewarding. Hope you enjoy the new one too!
This is perfect.
Jane Friedman did a piece on midlist authors yesterday and that resonated as well.
Creatives don’t retire. But breaks are sometimes necessary and/or given to us. I’m not sure what I want to do these days, but at the same time, I’m editing book nine. That’s the core of being a writer. External chatter and inner voices may steer us away from the page, but we still write. Because like you said: we can’t not write.
You are very much in my thoughts, my friend. I agree–breaks are often essential, especially for creatives, it can feel like, who must fill the well to draw from it for their work. I know you’ll always find a way to share your creative efforts–whether that’s through your wonderful books, or your mentoring and support of other authors, or how you nurture your family, or any of the other pursuits you have that all incorporate this foundational part of you.
Off to look up the article on Jane’s site!
Tiffany, your capacity for crafting the elegant allegory is a writing lesson in itself (I still remember the post about kayaking to see the sea turtles on vacation, the first of yours I read). You have such a gift for connecting the writing life to “life life” that opening your posts is like opening a gift…so much so that I often share them over morning coffee with my husband. I’m out on sub now (second round) with my first novel; as you can imagine, fingers crossed as the stomach churns. Thank you for the regular Thursday morning reassurance to all – including us newbies – that we are understood, that others walk with us, and that the ultimate gift is to touch others with our writing.
Aw, Pat…I remember writing that one (and the lovely kayak trips and vacation that sparked it), and it’s so gratifying to hear you still think of it! Your kind words about the blog mean a lot to me–it’s my own creative labor of love, actually–and one of the most rewarding ways I connect to the writing community, here in the comments.
Oh, fingers are strongly crossed for you. Being out on sub is both sublime and terrifying. I hope you find the perfect publication home for your story! Thanks for being here.
I often hear the hopelessness. Much of it is justified, for these are difficult times in so many ways. The anguish that bothers me doesn’t lament the pressures upon the art, but is angry about the lack of “return” on their investment. I get it, to a degree. We’d all like to prosper from our efforts, but I’m a writer first and an entrepreneur second.
Nothing short of my best effort (and love) is poured into each book I release. I’ve spent years laboring over them (I began the worldbuilding 25-years ago). I have stories to tell and, damnit, I’m going to tell them.
The effort I put in is for an audience of millions, but I’d put in that same effort for no one. My pride, my integrity demands nothing less. If my audience is five people, then I’ve given something to those five that they didn’t have before. That, to me, is priceless.
When I hike, I’m not on a fake Disney ride, I’m appreciating nature for what it is. My return is physical, mental, and that extra something that’s difficult to describe. Memories? Simple appreciation? A deeper connection? To me, that’s enough.
After I published this essay I started to wonder if I was just refracting the world through my own personal lens at the moment, but it’s not just me, right? It’s weird out there these days…feels like collective ennui.
I frequently tell writers not to think of our business exactly like other businesses and expect to recoup “sunk costs.” As you point out, investing in it doesn’t necessarily yield concrete results, like a pub contract or financial payoff. A lot of times it’s just through growth of your skills or abilities, through improving your stories, through deepening a practice that brings meaning and satisfaction to your life.
I was having a similar conversation to this with friends last night–fellow creatives and publishing professionals, about the approach of focusing on the craft and creativity versus focusing on our work as a product to churn out. I think a writing career can have room for both–our work is the product this industry runs on, and I do think we should operate our careers professionally (if we are pursuing them professionally), approaching it like a business in many ways. But I was relating last night how I buy myself the privilege of doing some of the work that’s especially meaningful to me but doesn’t necessarily “pay off” in the concrete sense (like this blog) by seeking more of the paid work that does. That balance works well for me: I want to maintain a certain lifestyle and security, but I also want to have the freedom to exercise my creative muscles in ways that may not contribute directly to that. But the latter is what helps deepen and give more satisfaction to my life. Like you, Christina, I have asked myself “what is my enough” and answered it, and it’s the foundation of a pretty rewarding and happy life and career I’ve carved out. Thanks for sharing your perspective! (And enjoy those lovely hikes….)
Great message today, Tiffany! So many things come to mind, but let me start with a couple of insights I’ve had recently:
With a million books published each year it is important for your own sanity to keep your expectations as low as possible while keeping your hopes as high as possible. The measure of success is not how many books you sell or what literary agents offer you a contract, but rather the catharsis of saying what you mean.
The world, especially the publishing world, is speeding up. People don’t really have time to read, as I’ve learned in talking with people who I hope will read my book. So we have to adapt. Audio novelettes and novellas that can be heard while driving are the new way to reach your readers. It’s expensive if you do hybrid publishing, but you can create the audio file yourself and maybe add a bit of your passion to the reading.
Finding an agent reminds me of Malcom Gladwell’s The Tipping Point. If you are already famous, you can expect a response. If not, don’t hold your breath. A truly interesting book sells by word of mouth. Self published authors like Colleen Hoover and E.L. James as well as authors like J.K. Rolling, who struggled for 10 years to get Harry Potter published, are leading the way in our industry.
Finally, and I am sorry if this rubs some folks the wrong way, it is the story that grips the reader. Craft and technique are very helpful, but that’s not the foundation of what makes a great book in my opinion. It is the novel story (no pun intended).
As you can see from this, I am an unknown and probably always will be.
It’s true–publishing as an industry is evolving so much–as is how people consume stories. I think you’re smart to keep aware of these changes and to be open to exploring other ways of telling yours. And I agree that so much of the rewards of this field are intrinsic–they kind of have to be, since it’s such a mercurial business. I’m heartened by the fact that writers have more ways to reach readers, more ways to interact with them, to build a following and a career–and many of them offer authors more agency and autonomy (two of my favorite qualities in a career…or anything, actually…).
I do think the story matters–but no matter how great it is, it’s the storytelling that sets a story apart. There really are no new ideas–it’s how authors choose to tell their story, and their originality and voice and its impact, that makes a familiar idea fresh and affecting. And that’s craft and technique based, in my opinion–not that every author has to get an MFA, but it’s crucial we all develop a facility with the tools of our craft so we can most effectively bring our stories to life. The fastest Lamborghini on earth is useless without a solid road.
Thanks for the always interesting comment, Jeff!
I’m an author but also have been a writing instructor and developmental editor/coach for many years. I always encourage writers to think about a motto, to take the time to get to know why they write, and then use that motto. My own motto that guides my teaching and coaching is: “Write with joy and finish with finesse.” You point out much the same–find those sparks of joy and appreciate that joy. I hope writers linger with the joy now and then because it can be so fleeting and replaced by the worries. Joy feeds creativity. One thing good writing groups do for members is that they share joyful moments, usually weekly or monthly in emails or through Facebook groups. I encourage writers to find their people so you can remind yourself of the good stuff you did this past week and every week. Hope I’ve helped somebody out there. Thanks for this excellent post, Tiffany.
I like the motto idea, Christine! I have many–I call them mantras–and I often have them on Post-it notes on my desk: “Find the fun” and “Be the diagnostician, not the surgeon” and “Good enough is good enough.” For my editing work, my “tagline” of sorts has always been to help authors find the best version of their vision. All related to those “sparks of joy” you mention–I think you’re right that it’s a wellspring for creativity.
Community is SO important! It’s one of the things I treasure most about this blog, as a matter of fact–the chance to connect with authors here in these thoughtful comments. Thanks for being part of that–and for your kind words about the post!
If only I could see what’s ten feet in front of me! Instead, that view is obscured by the glare of everything on either side and behind me, and by the elements so far in the distance ahead that they diffuse into a million little possibilities. The feeling that all of those must be explored and resolved before proceeding with extreme caution results in fun but unproductive rabbit chasing.
We were just discussing this in the conversation I had last night with a group of fellow creative professionals. One of the group suggested that we dedicate ourselves to the things we most want to do first, before we allow ourselves–or force ourselves–to take care of all those little rabbit-holey things, or other responsibilities. Even if it’s for just thirty minutes. I loved that idea–maybe it would help, Claudia?
As usual, Tiffany, you get the blue ribbon for timeliness and addressing what’s on our minds. I think it truly is a very difficult time for most artists. As a culture, we’re struggling with our ethos; we’ve worn it down, or fragmented it trying to accommodate everyone and reach so very far and so very high. (That’s a noble and worthwhile effort, and we should continue despite its perils.) I find it shows up in Painting and Sculpture. We lost the quest for beauty in the visual arts in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and turned to impressionism, expressionism, and abstraction in our quest to express something of value. Drama and film became realism, then naturalism, surrealism, absurdism, and now a lot of fantasy that’s based on what remains of our heroic ethos.
Those losses have been abetted by capitalism’s rise as an ethos. Capitalism’s not a bad ethos, but like everything else, it can be and has been abused. In addition, sadly, (I think) capitalism, the proliferation of writers, and the drive to be rewarded for our efforts has deeply affected publishing.
I think that in writing, meaning is the goal: to capture the essence and the experience of adventure, romance, action, mystery, personal experience, etc, and deliver that experience effectively to the reader through the publisher. That’s always been a bottleneck, and I think as the volume has increased, it’s become more congested than ever.
I’m so sorry. I don’t have a solution. Or even much encouragement. I think those of us who write, write because we have to, or as I’m fond of saying because we can’t think of anything better to do. Those of us who haven’t been able to reach the public must take what satisfaction and reward we can from our sense of having done something worthwhile and from our writing groups and beta readers.
That’s a lousy message to deliver to wonderful people trying to do valuable things, but it’s the best I’ve been able to come up with—so far.
It’s true Bob–art and commerce is such a strange balance, and I think it can’t help but impact at least some of the art. I imagine that was as true in other times as our own, though–art has probably always been influenced by its patrons and societal trends. And yes, volume–particularly in our medium–has increased enormously. (I can’t think that’s going to get any better, with the ease of AI-assisted publishing.)
I wish I had a solution too. I don’t know if there is one–maybe each of us has to find the balance that works for us. There’s immense value in art, I agree–I think more than society usually credits. But I suspect that’s more to do with our humanity and society itself and less to do with what financial value may be put on it.
I don’t know. Like you, I keep plugging because it gives me joy. Maybe that’s its own reward. Thanks for this thoughtful comment.
This resonates big time. On the one hand, I put my heart and soul into every book, and when I receive reader comments like you mentioned above, it means everything. But when book sales are slow, I groan because my previous career was in sales. I’ve been trained to believe that higher and higher sales equal success. When they stall, I feel like a failure, even though I know that selling anything in this crowded market is a win.
I am also hearing from many author friends who feel exactly as you describe in this post. Everything feels overwhelming right now.
Normally I’d say I’m glad it hit a chord, but considering the subject, I wish it didn’t. Although weirdly, the fact that so many of us are sharing these common feelings right now offers me some comfort and hope.
I do think we’re trained to equate success with financial success–and frankly I think authors deserve to make good money from their work. Art is so much more central to our lives than most people think (try a day without music or movie/TV or textiles or photos and illustrations and imagery…), yet except in a small number of cases, it’s rarely rewarded commensurately. That’s an injustice–but I think it can’t let us feel our art doesn’t have value. Part of building a successful and sustainable career is knowing that, I think–always being our own champion, even when we may know our work isn’t perfect and still needs work.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts, Kim. I find connecting with like minds is so helpful.
This post is so important, Tiffany. Thanks. I have taken breaks from writing when it feels like I’m not making progress , when I come to dread opening my laptop, or when life gets in the way.
These days, too, with the world in chaos, I find myself doubting the value of my words. So many bigger things are at stake.
And learning about publishing — its complexities, challenges, and difficulties — makes me wonder what I will do with my manuscript and essays when I finish. I hope I can at least be proud of doing a reasonably decent job. Past that I don’t know.
I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling discouraged, Leslie. It’s understandable, in the current environment, though–both of publishing and on a larger level.
One of the ways we can keep a sense of the intrinsic value of our writing and creative efforts is by connecting with community, it always seems to me. Recently a friend invited me into a “mastermind” group of like-minded industry pros, but it’s not a “how do we sell!?” mindset. We discuss what struggles we’re having, questions we have, and share ideas and insights. We’ve met only twice–via Zoom–but already that feeling of connection, solidarity, and camaraderie in our shared challenges has made such a positive difference in my attitude. And the community here does the same–reading all the comments and sharing thoughts with other writers and industry people is a highlight for me each week. It’s one of the main reasons writing this blog is so satisfying to me–despite that it’s one of those creative outlets that doesn’t “pay off” in any material sense, one of the ones I feel I “earn the privilege” of allowing myself with my other paid work.
If you don’t already have a strong, supportive creative network around you, I do recommend it. It’s more nourishing than you might imagine. Glad you’re part of this one!
Thank you, Tiffany. This is great advice, and it’s completely relevant to my situation.
I’m so glad it’s resonant for you, Leslie (but also sorry it is, considering the topic). Thanks for the kind word!
Timely and resonant post, as usual. 🙂
What I will say is this: Right now, I’m re-envisioning everything, and it doesn’t look like anything I’ve done before. That’s not a bad thing. But I just might be feeling a spark.
Also, my current mantra: baby steps.
You have been very much on my mind, my friend, as you know. <3
I love the "baby steps" mantra. And I'm pretty jacked to hear you're feeling inspired again! I can't wait to hear what you're working on….
Hi Tiffany,
I have published two books, neither of which did very well. Shortly after I published my first one, an 80 year old woman posted a review on Amazon saying that her husband had just passed away and she was had been looking for something to make her laugh and my book did the trick! That review alone makes me believe that there is always a point. And I will keep plugging away with my writing on the chance that I might, once again, have the privilege of making someone’s day just a little bit better.
Thank you for all you do. I read every newsletter, and I really enjoyed your talk at the TSNOTYAW deep dive this year!
Jamie, this warmed my heart. I’m with you–something like that would feel so validating and rewarding. I’ve told a similar story in the blog before–that I met a reader who told me my Breakup Doctor books got her through chemo. I can’t think of any financial reward that might mean more than our work having those kinds of impacts. I think it actually gets to the core of what makes art so profoundly essential and important: It’s the most direct and deep and authentic way I know of for humans to connect and understand one another and our world; it brings us together in such foundational ways.
There’s a Southern saying I often cite about leaving a place you visit a little better than you found it. This, to me, is the larger embodiment of that: Maybe if our work brings comfort of enlightenment or joy to someone, we’ve left the world a little better than we found it. Money and fame are fleeting; something like that has reverberations for humanity across lifetimes. Thanks for sharing this loveliness.
Lovely post, and as ever, on point. It reminds me of advice my friend gave me a couple of months back when I was feeling quite overwhelmed.
‘Make your world smaller’.
That’s what she said to me.
I thought it was a bit crazy at the time, but if you apply it and just think about the little bubble you inhabit. life can feel much easier!
We live in very uncertain times, and sometimes it’s nice to just have certainty – even if it is as small as what time the washing machine will finish it’s cycle!
That’s good advice, Syl. It mirrors the idea I’ve been keeping in mind to keep overwhelm at bay: to focus on how much good I see around me. It’s very much like shrinking my world, though I try to balance that with staying aware of what’s happening in the outside world, and doing what I can to help things improve: that may be calling my congresspeople some days; others maybe it’s just offering a kindness or moment of grace to someone in my immediate orbit. There’s some guilt about whether it’s enough when the world seems to be on fire in so many ways, but I also think about that (cliched but true) advice to put your own mask on first or you can’t help others.
I like your thoughts about controlling what you can, or counting on what certainties there are. That helps too when things feel chaotic. Thanks for sharing this!