This weekend I quit my own freelance writing gig. Like everyone else who gets frustrated with their job, I didn’t mean it – and honestly, I don’t really think I can quit from myself. Tired of the daily grind and feeling like I was undervalued, I did what any good employee would do: I went to Twitter and typed Today, I kind of give up.
Aside from photos of a deconstructed brunch at hipster joints and blurry pics of the previous night’s wine tasting that may or may not have gotten out of hand, there’s not much social media action on a Saturday morning. I figured my little tweet would go out on a puff of wind and drift away.
Then someone sent this:
We haven’t met but I love your work. Can I help?
After toiling in what often seems to be relative obscurity, I felt an immediate lift upon learning that someone a) knows I do this writing thing, b) has allegedly read some of my work, and c) seems to like what they’ve read. But what really meant the world was the Can I help? part. Those three little words punch well above their weight.
We bolster ourselves and each other because we need the mutual support to keep going. Numerous times I’ve reminded friends that they’re brilliant, talented, good enough, <insert daily affirmation here>.
Yes, you can help. Thank you. On Sunday I broke through writer’s block and wrote 2,700 words in 11 hours. I met deadline and made a client happy.
It’s amazing how easy it is to get help once I’ve made myself vulnerable enough to admit that I need it. It’s something we should do more often – on both sides.
Thanks, Leslie. You rock. And I didn’t quit – yet. But I’ll tell you when I’m ready to again.