I've been thinking a lot about the Tolle and Watts point you made. Both were influential for me at a certain point in my development. I don't know if they would be as influential and powerful for me today, based on what I know and understand years later. That's not to diminish the value of their works, but to say I think there can be value in opening a door at the right time, regardless of the originality or rigor of their work. I continue to return to that idea of opening a door as being valuable and worth sharing, but I appreciate holding their work up to the standard of the truly great teachers in history.
Just yesterday, in Quaker meeting, I was scribbling some notes on personal branding for an upcoming post. Glad to be in conversation about this, and thanks for referencing my year-end piece.
Two hopefully brief comments.
* I think Gen Xers have a natural predisposition to equate niches with selling out. The band was better when it was in the garage. Getting the big record label boxed some artists in -- they had to keep producing what their fans expected. Which is why Cobain sang, "I feel stupid and contagious -- here we are now, entertain us." Millenials and Gen Zers have no such aversion. Taylor Swift is the Ur goddess BECAUSE she is as contagious as possible.
* I especially like your Hippocrates quote. The scholar in me can't resist chiming in that "art," to Hippocrates, meant "medicine." And the Hippocratic tradition was one of the first to attempt physical explanations of disease through close observation. Epilepsy is not demon possession -- it's a brain disease, etc. Art and science are close kin in this sense: because they seek truth, they must change when new truth contradicts the old understanding. And so "the art is long" refers to the long tradition of seeking a broader, more comprehensive, more accurate corpus of medical knowledge. The Hippocratic physicians were not branding themselves as scientists -- they were staking a claim on truth.
OK -- so one more point. I look at the career of my favorite author, Willa Cather, and I do not see a personal brand. She became famous for her Nebraska novels (all written from New York). But many of my favorite works are not set in Nebraska. The Professor's House is set in the Midwest, but the heart of it takes place in New Mexico. Death Comes for the Archbishop takes place in France and in the American Southwest. Shadows on the Rock is set in Quebec. The last two have Catholic themes, but Cather's professor is an atheist. It might be said that Cather found a voice, or a style, that unifies her work. But any resemblance between her style and an enduring "brand" is coincidental. That is not what she set out to do (even though she did care about her book sales). She never used the market to determine what her next project would be. Which one might say is why her oeuvre endures, because by remaining true to her own curiosity and by seeking to tell the truth, it became adaptable to future ages.
I'm also glad to be in conversation about this. I had taken the end of year off of Substack (and that brought so many realizations that I have to figure out what the right balance will be for me), when I read your post. It set off both a relief and a desire to write. A relief because I came back to a flurry of "my plans for 2024" posts and I felt behind, but your willingness to say "I'm going to simply bring more of me" helped a lot. And a desire to write because I needed to see more of a different perspective.
*I am a Millenial (on the early side of that generation) who has been accused of having an older soul, so I think I agree with Gen Xers more. I miss the old rebellion, the old tradition of flipping the bird to those who only chase fame and money. I think some of my frustration with it all comes from having chased scale and realized how empty it is. It comes from insisting there has to be more to life than fame and contagion and riches. I have some thoughts swirling around about this that I may write down, but as far as I can tell, the modern world offers no alternative possibilities, and so we all get sucked into the same trap. We've lost the ability to imagine (or maybe just the willingness).
*On Hippocrates, I appreciate the clarification, and I think it only reinforces my point. My own art may not be a corpus of medical knowledge, but it's becoming a corpus of spiritual, philosophical, even emotional knowledge. Of finding the truth about the world, buried behind the veneer of society (smothered by it may be more accurate).
I don't know Cather. I will have to run to my local bookstore after we meet today and find her work. Thank you for the introduction. And as always, thank you for reading and engaging.
As a solid Gen Xer, who grew up without the Internet broadcasting my every thought and move, I see a developmental arc here. Every creative person I know or have studied goes through a constant process of experimentation and equilibrium. The question of niche comes down to a question of ends - what am I writing for? It's perfectly okay to write just because you want to explore things that interest you - and nothing more, until that may change. (Or not.)
In this vein I think Jeff Tweedy's How to Write One Song provides an alternative to Swift's constant re-niching in order to be famous. The end goal is the creative process out of which art emerges, which I think would fit Josh's description of Cather as well. That's a more organic than manufactured process, more unpredictable than social media gurus promise - but it gives you something to live for and with after your 15 min of Internet fame.
I struggle with your question about doing work purely for its own sake. I enjoy all my aspects of my writing, reading, and thinking life, but it's all in the service of knowing myself better so i can be a better writer, a better reader, and a better thinker.
I'm reading and absorbing Bleak House. I'm marking sentences and passages I find particularly effective or speak to themes I'm interested in or show certain tricks of artistry that I'd like to use some day. That increases my enjoyment as well as my concentration, but I recognize a utilitarian aspect inherent in my reading. As well, there are a few themes that have emerged that might furnish ideas for future posts.
Is that work for its own sake? As opposed just surrendering myself to the novel. I don't know.
David, my first reaction is to say that is absolutely work for it's own sake. I don't think we come to know ourselves through chasing enjoyment. Even the Epicureans (though they've been branded as loving only pleasure) recommended work as a means of seeking truth. Work as a means of knowing themselves better so they can be more human. The path of Karmic yoga is a path of work that allows us to do better work that eventually allows us to to know truth. Granted it's said to be a slow path, but it's still a model.
I think what you described is exactly that. Now are we both perfectly immune to desiring success as a result of that work? I know I'm not, and I won't endeavor to project. But that it the struggle I think.
Did this piece make you think I was going to close it down? I have no such intention, but I do intend to make more space for me to live my full life. So you may notice some changes coming.
"One of the greatest gifts of this newsletter has been learning to trust myself again (a decidedly subversive ritual in the modern world), and that’s a theme I intend to explore more, rather than less, as we go on." I applaud this and you!
Thank you Alissa. That was one of those last minute lines that just felt right, for right now. This Substack has presented its own challenges right now, but its also presented joys like getting to know you.
I too have struggled a lot with the niche question. But after choosing one of late, I think it's largely a misconception that life after committing to a niche is narrow. To niche is to commit to a present moment, course, and obsession that actually turns out to be strangely spacious in its singularity.
But still, within that vastness, we're always eventually required to niche again—saying yes to the birth canal—being willing to risk it all by squeezing through a narrow channel we might just die within, all for the opportunity to find an open temporary playing field we'll eventually have to abandon to repeat the process again.
The problem seems to come with the assumption that a niche must be sustained for a defined duration of time. Could a niche not just be the complete and full expression of human participation in any given moment?
I really like that you splash around in these existential waters. You're like the guy who keeps doing cannonballs off the diving board at the public pool, reminding those of us who are posturing around the edges that getting wet is what this is all about.
There may be more of us who are with you for the journey, niche or no niche, than you think. I'm one of them—interested in watching you explore the ineffable, mysterious, evolving niche that is you.
I'd love to hear more about this line: "To niche is to commit to a present moment, course, and obsession that actually turns out to be strangely spacious in its singularity."
I know you've seemed much happier as you've found success in this niche, but I'm not sure what context I don't have that you are sharing. Because I do believe you have wisdom in this, wisdom which I don't have, and I suspect our assumptions may be different.
For all of my business life (in startups, which are always an existential struggle), the goal was to pick a niche we could dominate as quickly and effectively as possible, and then look for green field before our competitors overtook us. It was a fast paced way of doing business, and it never left time to repair and recover. That's what comes to mind when you talk about niche and then niche again. I suspect that's not how you run your time, but it is what I hear.
I think if I could define my niche (in most of your words) as the complete and full expression of human wonder and awe, then I'd be more comfortable with it. But again, this is the promise of religion, and to some extent was the original premise of philosophy, and the history of both of those weigh on me regularly. Maybe it's enough to say I'm overthinking it, and I should go back to writing for the sake of the work.
Man Latham, it definitely feels like everything around the term "work" has a weight to it that you're rightfully resisting. Follow the fun my friend. I mean even existential struggle is a kind of theater, but if it isn't fun, it's going to be hard to sell tickets. You're a talented, thoughtful, articulate man. If you're having fun there are bound to be others who are going to want to come along. But we're also due for a chat, so we can kick this around in a conversation perhaps. Or, take a job as a manager for Burger King for a year and write about that? I have no doubt, you'll find the way.
YES! You are so right, I write because I couldn't go back to the person (or lack) I was before I started writing. Would it be nice to make a living from it? Maybe. I often think so, but then I also wonder what the tradeoffs might be. And I wonder what other ways of creating this life exist that I'm not seeing.
Thank you as always for helping me see and returning to this space.
Continue to curate. Carve a niche from the cosmos one strike at a time. Nothing is random it is procedural. As a former boss of mine used to say: You can only connect the dots looking back.
Haha....a former boss of mine. It's funny, I almost quoted him when I said I believed in it all, but only to say I'm not sure that his quote went as far as he should have.
I appreciate you reading and being here. I appreciate you being a friend. And I'm grateful that we've gotten to know each other these couple of years.
Here’s what I read my friend. You love being in the rupture. The rupture reveals the layers much like an earthquake or tectonic uplift reveals mysteries of the past. I’ve always marveled at the Red Rocks west of Denver and can’t imagine the force of nature required to create them. Plates upon plates shoving mysteriously and powerfully against one another. So if you love the mystery of the rupture, can you just stay there and write about it? I think you are. Fuck the business...let the outcome be what it is. One thing we continually say in addiction recovery is “I’m no longer in the outcome business.” I’m now in the exploration business, and that’s mysterious and creative and fulfilling. 🤷🏻♂️
I think you might be write Dee. I would say I love the learning, the layers being revealed, and I am affirming for myself that it's okay to be here and not have an answer yet (and maybe ever).
I do think I'll stay here for a while. I really appreciate that saying. I'm in the exploration business, the business of cultivating honest mysteries and sharing them come what may. And there are far better outcomes than financial which may come as a result of this process.
Bravo, Latham. First, I love the photo of the world being closed; it's perfect. So much of this resonates with me, so much. The intrinsic value of making art cannot be overstated. Your humility here reminds me of this gem from the Buddha: "Act always as if the future of the universe depended on what you did, while laughing at yourself for thinking that whatever you do makes any difference."
As someone with a lifelong habit of worrying that I'm doing my life "wrong," it's a struggle to give myself permission to follow my heart every day that I sit at the writing desk. It's one of the things I appreciate most about being here on Substack -- encountering brilliant writers whose work I admire, in this big sandbox where we can all experiment.
Thank you so much Julie. For reading, for commenting, for being honest about our struggles of doing life "wrong." I too have fallen into that habit (and thats partly when I needed to write this post as a reminder for myself).
I really like that quote from the Buddha. I'm much more comfortable with the first half, but working on the second half every day.
You've expressed the same misgivings and feelings I've been having for a long time about writing on this platform. I have fallen into the trap of being conditioned into thinking that my lack of a niche is stupidity, a recipe for failure. And there are many times when I have felt like a failure after a year of dedicated weekly writing. My issue is yours: I don't want to "work" on a niche to become a "success" if that means not being true to myself.
I hope to find others who are interested as I am in so many things of the world, who are as curious as me about the diversity of it all. I think I may be destined to not having subscribers, but hope lingers each week and try to improve my writing each post. I look at my letters and feel that they are written fairly well. Maybe I deserve a few more subscribers. But who is to judge? And why do I care to compare so much? I think deep down I thought it would be nice to earn a few hundred dollars this way. It was probably unhelpful to think about that.
In my younger years I was a journalist; then a manager; now a volunteer serving with two non-profit organizations on their boards. I'm not sure where I will be tomorrow, but I do feel that I'm on the same path as you and a number of other writers I have come to admire.
Thank you for being here Renato. I think this (and probably every platform) has a way of conditioning us to feel like failures if we refuse to optimize ourselves for it. I suspect there are more of us here with those diverse interests and passions than you would guess, even as we all feel like failures together. I wish that we could all figure out how to stop comparing ourselves: to others or to our own aspirations. But as a friend once told me "the comparing mind is the hardest to unsettle." I certainly haven't unsettled it yet.
Your path sounds incredible. As someone on similar paths, society may not value that range, but I have to believe our humanity benefits for it anyways. I always remember that Churchill was thought completely off any path until England needed him. If he can survive being ostracized, maybe I can survive losing a good amount of subscribers by following my curiosity.
Lastly, I recently read a post about a new author who had done some really terrible things to other authors in her peer group to try and make herself more successful. It helped to remember that even though I'm struggling with the feelings of failure, the other end of that spectrum isn't that much easier. It's all simply dukkha.
Fabulous perspective, Latham. I, too, am working on that unsettling process. Some days the clarity and serenity are there; other days the comparisons just don't stop. I agree that platforms push certain behaviours. Sometimes I forget that.
Thanks for taking the time to write a response. My comments served a cathartic purpose I didn't even realize I needed. Strange how that happens. Good writing does that! Congrats on your posts and your journey.
I've been thinking about this, too. That if I just pick a niche, I could be well on my way to monetization and therefore I can focus on just writing? But then I won't be writing what I want because nobody is that singly-dimensioned.
Thanks for sharing your thought process on this. It's nice to know that others are also a bit defiant against this niche conundrum.
Enjoyed this piece Latham. Your Marcel point about problems and mysteries is a nice distinction and it sums up something I've thought for a while: that the desire to find a niche is a 'mystery to be managed and lived with forever' rather than 'a problem to be solved.' When I reflect on my own struggle with niching down, it feels less like something I can dispense with altogether and more like one side of a polarity, the other side being generality—so specificity vs generality—and that I will probs need to welcome the never-ending call to both sides of that polarity my whole life. Some weeks the urge to choose a niche overwhelms me—and that's an important signal I should listen to. Other weeks the urge to generalise (by expanding my skills and knowledge and escaping nichedom) is just as alluring—and that's an important signal too.
Great point Harrison about specificity vs. generality. By nature I fall on the generality side of that polarity, but I've had times where I've leaned heavily into the specificity side and really enjoyed it. Doing structures testing on airplanes comes to mind.
I think your biggest point, about listening to those signals, is spot on. I'm trying to do more of that myself.
Thanks Tim. Thanks for reading (and the nicheless niche sounds awful close to the pathless path, which is awfully close to a buddhist [I believe] idea). So maybe it's worth borrowing.
Great piece. Love the idea of a newsletter being a playground. You stated (much more eloquently) many of the feelings ive had since starting my writing journey. thank you!
Thank you John. I'm grateful that you enjoyed it.
I've been thinking a lot about the Tolle and Watts point you made. Both were influential for me at a certain point in my development. I don't know if they would be as influential and powerful for me today, based on what I know and understand years later. That's not to diminish the value of their works, but to say I think there can be value in opening a door at the right time, regardless of the originality or rigor of their work. I continue to return to that idea of opening a door as being valuable and worth sharing, but I appreciate holding their work up to the standard of the truly great teachers in history.
Just yesterday, in Quaker meeting, I was scribbling some notes on personal branding for an upcoming post. Glad to be in conversation about this, and thanks for referencing my year-end piece.
Two hopefully brief comments.
* I think Gen Xers have a natural predisposition to equate niches with selling out. The band was better when it was in the garage. Getting the big record label boxed some artists in -- they had to keep producing what their fans expected. Which is why Cobain sang, "I feel stupid and contagious -- here we are now, entertain us." Millenials and Gen Zers have no such aversion. Taylor Swift is the Ur goddess BECAUSE she is as contagious as possible.
* I especially like your Hippocrates quote. The scholar in me can't resist chiming in that "art," to Hippocrates, meant "medicine." And the Hippocratic tradition was one of the first to attempt physical explanations of disease through close observation. Epilepsy is not demon possession -- it's a brain disease, etc. Art and science are close kin in this sense: because they seek truth, they must change when new truth contradicts the old understanding. And so "the art is long" refers to the long tradition of seeking a broader, more comprehensive, more accurate corpus of medical knowledge. The Hippocratic physicians were not branding themselves as scientists -- they were staking a claim on truth.
OK -- so one more point. I look at the career of my favorite author, Willa Cather, and I do not see a personal brand. She became famous for her Nebraska novels (all written from New York). But many of my favorite works are not set in Nebraska. The Professor's House is set in the Midwest, but the heart of it takes place in New Mexico. Death Comes for the Archbishop takes place in France and in the American Southwest. Shadows on the Rock is set in Quebec. The last two have Catholic themes, but Cather's professor is an atheist. It might be said that Cather found a voice, or a style, that unifies her work. But any resemblance between her style and an enduring "brand" is coincidental. That is not what she set out to do (even though she did care about her book sales). She never used the market to determine what her next project would be. Which one might say is why her oeuvre endures, because by remaining true to her own curiosity and by seeking to tell the truth, it became adaptable to future ages.
You are the other philosopher in this piece. I have to revisit Cather now.
100%. Josh is maybe the first philosopher.
I'm also glad to be in conversation about this. I had taken the end of year off of Substack (and that brought so many realizations that I have to figure out what the right balance will be for me), when I read your post. It set off both a relief and a desire to write. A relief because I came back to a flurry of "my plans for 2024" posts and I felt behind, but your willingness to say "I'm going to simply bring more of me" helped a lot. And a desire to write because I needed to see more of a different perspective.
*I am a Millenial (on the early side of that generation) who has been accused of having an older soul, so I think I agree with Gen Xers more. I miss the old rebellion, the old tradition of flipping the bird to those who only chase fame and money. I think some of my frustration with it all comes from having chased scale and realized how empty it is. It comes from insisting there has to be more to life than fame and contagion and riches. I have some thoughts swirling around about this that I may write down, but as far as I can tell, the modern world offers no alternative possibilities, and so we all get sucked into the same trap. We've lost the ability to imagine (or maybe just the willingness).
*On Hippocrates, I appreciate the clarification, and I think it only reinforces my point. My own art may not be a corpus of medical knowledge, but it's becoming a corpus of spiritual, philosophical, even emotional knowledge. Of finding the truth about the world, buried behind the veneer of society (smothered by it may be more accurate).
I don't know Cather. I will have to run to my local bookstore after we meet today and find her work. Thank you for the introduction. And as always, thank you for reading and engaging.
As a solid Gen Xer, who grew up without the Internet broadcasting my every thought and move, I see a developmental arc here. Every creative person I know or have studied goes through a constant process of experimentation and equilibrium. The question of niche comes down to a question of ends - what am I writing for? It's perfectly okay to write just because you want to explore things that interest you - and nothing more, until that may change. (Or not.)
In this vein I think Jeff Tweedy's How to Write One Song provides an alternative to Swift's constant re-niching in order to be famous. The end goal is the creative process out of which art emerges, which I think would fit Josh's description of Cather as well. That's a more organic than manufactured process, more unpredictable than social media gurus promise - but it gives you something to live for and with after your 15 min of Internet fame.
Thank you for the phrase "solid Gen Xer". Back in the day I didn't think we were solid, but I sure as hell do now. Seems like our job now. Stay solid!
I'm increasingly convinced the world really needs us as a bridge between pre- and post-internet
I struggle with your question about doing work purely for its own sake. I enjoy all my aspects of my writing, reading, and thinking life, but it's all in the service of knowing myself better so i can be a better writer, a better reader, and a better thinker.
I'm reading and absorbing Bleak House. I'm marking sentences and passages I find particularly effective or speak to themes I'm interested in or show certain tricks of artistry that I'd like to use some day. That increases my enjoyment as well as my concentration, but I recognize a utilitarian aspect inherent in my reading. As well, there are a few themes that have emerged that might furnish ideas for future posts.
Is that work for its own sake? As opposed just surrendering myself to the novel. I don't know.
David, my first reaction is to say that is absolutely work for it's own sake. I don't think we come to know ourselves through chasing enjoyment. Even the Epicureans (though they've been branded as loving only pleasure) recommended work as a means of seeking truth. Work as a means of knowing themselves better so they can be more human. The path of Karmic yoga is a path of work that allows us to do better work that eventually allows us to to know truth. Granted it's said to be a slow path, but it's still a model.
I think what you described is exactly that. Now are we both perfectly immune to desiring success as a result of that work? I know I'm not, and I won't endeavor to project. But that it the struggle I think.
That which I most feared did not come to pass.at one moment I worried "is he going to close it down? Say it ain't so"
From she who refuses to niche, I applaud the decision.
Did this piece make you think I was going to close it down? I have no such intention, but I do intend to make more space for me to live my full life. So you may notice some changes coming.
I was reading intermittently, so I was left hanging and kept extrapolating the blanks as my mind is want to do!
This discussion keeps jumping onto my radar too, so I was interested in your thought thread
The discussion of continuing or closing down? Why? Sounds like we may need to catch up when you return.
"One of the greatest gifts of this newsletter has been learning to trust myself again (a decidedly subversive ritual in the modern world), and that’s a theme I intend to explore more, rather than less, as we go on." I applaud this and you!
Thank you Alissa. That was one of those last minute lines that just felt right, for right now. This Substack has presented its own challenges right now, but its also presented joys like getting to know you.
I too have struggled a lot with the niche question. But after choosing one of late, I think it's largely a misconception that life after committing to a niche is narrow. To niche is to commit to a present moment, course, and obsession that actually turns out to be strangely spacious in its singularity.
But still, within that vastness, we're always eventually required to niche again—saying yes to the birth canal—being willing to risk it all by squeezing through a narrow channel we might just die within, all for the opportunity to find an open temporary playing field we'll eventually have to abandon to repeat the process again.
The problem seems to come with the assumption that a niche must be sustained for a defined duration of time. Could a niche not just be the complete and full expression of human participation in any given moment?
I really like that you splash around in these existential waters. You're like the guy who keeps doing cannonballs off the diving board at the public pool, reminding those of us who are posturing around the edges that getting wet is what this is all about.
There may be more of us who are with you for the journey, niche or no niche, than you think. I'm one of them—interested in watching you explore the ineffable, mysterious, evolving niche that is you.
I'd love to hear more about this line: "To niche is to commit to a present moment, course, and obsession that actually turns out to be strangely spacious in its singularity."
I know you've seemed much happier as you've found success in this niche, but I'm not sure what context I don't have that you are sharing. Because I do believe you have wisdom in this, wisdom which I don't have, and I suspect our assumptions may be different.
For all of my business life (in startups, which are always an existential struggle), the goal was to pick a niche we could dominate as quickly and effectively as possible, and then look for green field before our competitors overtook us. It was a fast paced way of doing business, and it never left time to repair and recover. That's what comes to mind when you talk about niche and then niche again. I suspect that's not how you run your time, but it is what I hear.
I think if I could define my niche (in most of your words) as the complete and full expression of human wonder and awe, then I'd be more comfortable with it. But again, this is the promise of religion, and to some extent was the original premise of philosophy, and the history of both of those weigh on me regularly. Maybe it's enough to say I'm overthinking it, and I should go back to writing for the sake of the work.
Man Latham, it definitely feels like everything around the term "work" has a weight to it that you're rightfully resisting. Follow the fun my friend. I mean even existential struggle is a kind of theater, but if it isn't fun, it's going to be hard to sell tickets. You're a talented, thoughtful, articulate man. If you're having fun there are bound to be others who are going to want to come along. But we're also due for a chat, so we can kick this around in a conversation perhaps. Or, take a job as a manager for Burger King for a year and write about that? I have no doubt, you'll find the way.
The meal you prepare is writing because you have no other choice, that you would choke if you couldn’t.
Making a living from it narrows the recipes you follow.
YES! You are so right, I write because I couldn't go back to the person (or lack) I was before I started writing. Would it be nice to make a living from it? Maybe. I often think so, but then I also wonder what the tradeoffs might be. And I wonder what other ways of creating this life exist that I'm not seeing.
Thank you as always for helping me see and returning to this space.
Why you are compelling to read. You teach.
I've been blushing since I read this. 😊
Continue to curate. Carve a niche from the cosmos one strike at a time. Nothing is random it is procedural. As a former boss of mine used to say: You can only connect the dots looking back.
Keep standing at the door. Keep knocking.
Love ya man. Always love reading you.
Haha....a former boss of mine. It's funny, I almost quoted him when I said I believed in it all, but only to say I'm not sure that his quote went as far as he should have.
I appreciate you reading and being here. I appreciate you being a friend. And I'm grateful that we've gotten to know each other these couple of years.
Here’s what I read my friend. You love being in the rupture. The rupture reveals the layers much like an earthquake or tectonic uplift reveals mysteries of the past. I’ve always marveled at the Red Rocks west of Denver and can’t imagine the force of nature required to create them. Plates upon plates shoving mysteriously and powerfully against one another. So if you love the mystery of the rupture, can you just stay there and write about it? I think you are. Fuck the business...let the outcome be what it is. One thing we continually say in addiction recovery is “I’m no longer in the outcome business.” I’m now in the exploration business, and that’s mysterious and creative and fulfilling. 🤷🏻♂️
Thanks for sharing Latham.
I think you might be write Dee. I would say I love the learning, the layers being revealed, and I am affirming for myself that it's okay to be here and not have an answer yet (and maybe ever).
I do think I'll stay here for a while. I really appreciate that saying. I'm in the exploration business, the business of cultivating honest mysteries and sharing them come what may. And there are far better outcomes than financial which may come as a result of this process.
Love that brother. 🙏
I'm am loving the "rupture". Yes! Next right thing, y'all, and one thing at a time.
Bravo, Latham. First, I love the photo of the world being closed; it's perfect. So much of this resonates with me, so much. The intrinsic value of making art cannot be overstated. Your humility here reminds me of this gem from the Buddha: "Act always as if the future of the universe depended on what you did, while laughing at yourself for thinking that whatever you do makes any difference."
As someone with a lifelong habit of worrying that I'm doing my life "wrong," it's a struggle to give myself permission to follow my heart every day that I sit at the writing desk. It's one of the things I appreciate most about being here on Substack -- encountering brilliant writers whose work I admire, in this big sandbox where we can all experiment.
Thank you so much Julie. For reading, for commenting, for being honest about our struggles of doing life "wrong." I too have fallen into that habit (and thats partly when I needed to write this post as a reminder for myself).
I really like that quote from the Buddha. I'm much more comfortable with the first half, but working on the second half every day.
You've expressed the same misgivings and feelings I've been having for a long time about writing on this platform. I have fallen into the trap of being conditioned into thinking that my lack of a niche is stupidity, a recipe for failure. And there are many times when I have felt like a failure after a year of dedicated weekly writing. My issue is yours: I don't want to "work" on a niche to become a "success" if that means not being true to myself.
I hope to find others who are interested as I am in so many things of the world, who are as curious as me about the diversity of it all. I think I may be destined to not having subscribers, but hope lingers each week and try to improve my writing each post. I look at my letters and feel that they are written fairly well. Maybe I deserve a few more subscribers. But who is to judge? And why do I care to compare so much? I think deep down I thought it would be nice to earn a few hundred dollars this way. It was probably unhelpful to think about that.
In my younger years I was a journalist; then a manager; now a volunteer serving with two non-profit organizations on their boards. I'm not sure where I will be tomorrow, but I do feel that I'm on the same path as you and a number of other writers I have come to admire.
Thanks for your post. It touched a nerve.
Thank you for being here Renato. I think this (and probably every platform) has a way of conditioning us to feel like failures if we refuse to optimize ourselves for it. I suspect there are more of us here with those diverse interests and passions than you would guess, even as we all feel like failures together. I wish that we could all figure out how to stop comparing ourselves: to others or to our own aspirations. But as a friend once told me "the comparing mind is the hardest to unsettle." I certainly haven't unsettled it yet.
Your path sounds incredible. As someone on similar paths, society may not value that range, but I have to believe our humanity benefits for it anyways. I always remember that Churchill was thought completely off any path until England needed him. If he can survive being ostracized, maybe I can survive losing a good amount of subscribers by following my curiosity.
Lastly, I recently read a post about a new author who had done some really terrible things to other authors in her peer group to try and make herself more successful. It helped to remember that even though I'm struggling with the feelings of failure, the other end of that spectrum isn't that much easier. It's all simply dukkha.
I'm grateful you're here with me.
Fabulous perspective, Latham. I, too, am working on that unsettling process. Some days the clarity and serenity are there; other days the comparisons just don't stop. I agree that platforms push certain behaviours. Sometimes I forget that.
Thanks for taking the time to write a response. My comments served a cathartic purpose I didn't even realize I needed. Strange how that happens. Good writing does that! Congrats on your posts and your journey.
I've been thinking about this, too. That if I just pick a niche, I could be well on my way to monetization and therefore I can focus on just writing? But then I won't be writing what I want because nobody is that singly-dimensioned.
Thanks for sharing your thought process on this. It's nice to know that others are also a bit defiant against this niche conundrum.
Thank you Becky. It's a thought I've struggled with a lot (as you may be able to tell). Here's to being one of the defiant ones.
Enjoyed this piece Latham. Your Marcel point about problems and mysteries is a nice distinction and it sums up something I've thought for a while: that the desire to find a niche is a 'mystery to be managed and lived with forever' rather than 'a problem to be solved.' When I reflect on my own struggle with niching down, it feels less like something I can dispense with altogether and more like one side of a polarity, the other side being generality—so specificity vs generality—and that I will probs need to welcome the never-ending call to both sides of that polarity my whole life. Some weeks the urge to choose a niche overwhelms me—and that's an important signal I should listen to. Other weeks the urge to generalise (by expanding my skills and knowledge and escaping nichedom) is just as alluring—and that's an important signal too.
Great point Harrison about specificity vs. generality. By nature I fall on the generality side of that polarity, but I've had times where I've leaned heavily into the specificity side and really enjoyed it. Doing structures testing on airplanes comes to mind.
I think your biggest point, about listening to those signals, is spot on. I'm trying to do more of that myself.
The Nicheless Niche. Love it.
Thanks Tim. Thanks for reading (and the nicheless niche sounds awful close to the pathless path, which is awfully close to a buddhist [I believe] idea). So maybe it's worth borrowing.
Exactly where and why I said it. Something there for sure!
Great essay Latham. I feel really similarly about this.
Your niche is you - one of a kind (:
Thanks Tommy. I'm grateful this resonated. We're both one of a kind (and we're overdue for a catch up).
Great piece. Love the idea of a newsletter being a playground. You stated (much more eloquently) many of the feelings ive had since starting my writing journey. thank you!
Thanks Arman. I wanted to have a nice tidy plan for 2024, and instead this came out. But I think it works for us.
Maybe the best plan of all is having no neatly defined plan.