I’m giving up on (some of) my dreams
I’ve been trying to write a post for months now. a proper post, with proper paragraphs and grammar and punctuation and ideas. chief, that is not happening
so let’s try bullet points instead!!!!
I’ve also installed a Chrome extension that produces Animal Crossing sounds when I type. so at least now typing is a bit more… fun???? beep beep boop
I’ve been thinking a lot about giving up on my dreams
when I was 13, I dreamed of being a singer and songwriter. I started writing songs and never stopped, and then I started taking guitar lessons at 30. the dream itself sort of vanished in the background. of course I did not yearn for that dream anymore as an adult, but I hadn’t taken the time to properly give it some sort of closure and put it to rest. in the meantime, I kept writing songs from time to time.
at some point of 2025, I decided to find that closure and properly archive my dream. I said to myself, I am never going to be a singer songwriter. I am never going to have my songs on Spotify. I will limit myself to playing guitar on Sundays, in the comfort of my own bedroom, and that is okay. we can’t all be Taylor Swift. some of us are small fish.
now, because I abandoned the dream, all of a sudden I had zero pressure to do anything with it. this meant that guitar classes, while enjoyable and interesting, were not useful anymore, so I stopped. this meant that I didn’t have to study other people’s compositions, or even practice songwriting regularly. I was free. I realise that dreams can be useful, in that they give us purpose and fill us with drive and enthusiasm and curiosity, but in this case, the dream was not doing any of that. it was not serving me anymore. all the more reasons to give up on it
the other side effect to this is that, even though I didn’t dream of songwriting success anymore, I still kept writing snippets and scraps. a song that I cowrote with a friend more than a year ago recently came out on Spotify, and people liked it. oh, the things it does to my ego. you can listen to it here if you’d like
yesterday, I met with a friend with the goal of writing a song together. she had a whole chorus written down, so we tried coming up with ideas for a verse. nothing came out. nothing we could save, at least. we racked our brain for hours only to come out of it empty handed, so we had a walk in her neighbourhood, got some snacks, went to a bookshop and came back. with the intention of changing things up and getting our creative juices flowing again, I suggested writing a bad song on purpose. we wrote a verse and chorus for a song about a dream I’ve had. in the dream, I adopted two cats (one young and docile, one older and feral). the song is stupid as heck but it was fun to write. I’ll remember that afternoon forever.
all of this to say, the dream is gone but the craft is still there. it doesn’t have the same space, or weight, but it still visits me from time to time. engaging with it makes me feel happy and centred
now back to writing fiction because this is, after all, the topic of my newsletter
AAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
yeah that’s pretty much how I feel about it
like pulling a tooth without anaesthesia
like I’m taking chunks of my soul and ripping them with a knife, giving them a good toss to make them less recognisable, and pushing them into the form we all know as a ‘novel’
I know it sounds dramatic af, but when you’re writing about personal things (i.e. adoption, religious trauma) it’s hella hard to sit down at the keyboard with a smile on your face. I don’t have that drive anymore. writing doesn’t give me energy or enthusiasm. these are big ideas novels, but also big feelings novels. every time I sit down to write something, it feels like one of those excruciating therapy sessions where you end up crying, and by the end you also feel physically tired.
I’ve always wanted to write a book. not even publish, just write. a complete novel that I can hold in my hands and display on my shelves. that’s the dream.
but because writing is so harrowing, and because abandoning my dream of being a musician was so easy and brought me some joy, I am now wondering: should I give up on this dream as well?
what if I never finished a novel? what if I never wrote anything again?
and this is the other factor that complicates the matter even more: I have spent 10 years presenting myself as a wannabe writer. I’ve talked about my projects, published a few short stories, and hell, this whole newsletter is built solely on that: it is built on the promise that soon enough I will deliver a book that you will be able to hold in your hands, that you might like or hate, something real and concrete that you should be able to read. I’ve built up a character and a promise without delivering something first. which is part of the reason why I haven’t written a lot for this newsletter in recent times, because it would feel like phoning it in. I’d rather make myself seen when I truly have something to share, like a short story or a translation or a project that is actually happening, and not just in theory.
if I were to give up my dream of writing, I do believe my relationship to writing as an act would change. similarly to what happened with songwriting, I believe that I would still be writing in some capacity, but without the added pressure of ever delivering anything. if I do deliver, that’s cool. if I don’t, that’s great! life goes on.
but it’s arguably hard to say goodbye to a good chunk of your identity. I named this newsletter Ace of Words, for a reason, dammit!!
at the end of the day, I am severely burnt out and need to recharge. maybe I’m interested in drastic change because I’m yearning for drastic improvement. maybe there’s no quick fix solution to whatever I am experiencing in my life. maybe I just don’t have what it takes to be a writer. maybe if I really wanted it, I would’ve done it already. or maybe I’m just lazy. maybe writing one book wouldn’t even bring me joy. maybe maybe maybe
am I giving up on writing books? I don’t know yet, but a part of me doesn’t think it so crazy. I believe I might. guess we’ll know the answer in a few weeks or months. so I truly, genuinely don’t know what’s going to happen to this newsletter, or to my relationship with writing fiction. I am counting on your patience as I figure shit out. many thanks.
I have literally no idea how to end this post so please enjoy some pictures from my recent trip to Italy.
Burnout is brutal, friend. Hope this summer holds more refreshing moments for you.
Your dreams belonged to previous versions of you, and they were true for those versions, but you’re not obligated to carry the luggage of your past on every new adventure. That said, I like to think we don’t ever leave our past selves (or their dreams) behind altogether. They spiral up tight inside us like the rings inside an old tree. You can return to them and learn from them when you feel ready, but they don’t need to weigh down your steps if you feel it’s right to move away from them x