Remember who you wanted to be

Tom: So my plan was to write feverishly for the next two weeks. One week is already gone, and I feel I've done nothing.

Satan: Oh?

Tom: Yeah. It feels like I'm working on a thesis again, only this time it's worse because I don't have to finish anything: I don't have deadlines, I don't have to answer to a supervisor or a jury, etc.

Satan: Yeah but from another perspective, you absolutely must write. The stakes here are infinitely greater than for a mere master's thesis. Your self-worth is at stake. After all, what really differentiates you from the vast majority of people you encounter, individuals who seem to be leading lives of quiet desperation? Isn't failure a far better option than passivity? Don't you remember what Bukowski said about his father? That his father had told him that a man buys a house, then passes it on to his son, and then the son does the same, then his son does the same and so on, and that is how wealth (and prestige, self-worth, etc.) is eventually acquired.

Tom: Bukowski said something to the effect of, "Fuck that, I want a hundred houses RIGHT NOW."

Satan: Yes, something like that. You're not writing for riches or literary glory, not primarily at least. You're writing so you can live with yourself. Eating, shitting, sleeping, fucking, etc. are, unfortunately, not enough for you.

(Pause)

Tom: Yesterday I saw a bumper sticker that read, "Remember who you wanted to be."

Satan: Hmm, that must have brought it home a bit.

Tom: It did. I feel that one of the great themes of my life (it sounds so epic when I put it like that) has been to become a man of which my childhood self would have been proud.

Satan: And how's that workin' out for ya, champ?

Tom: Well, I'm writing now, aren't I?