Kate McKean, VP and literary agent at Morhaim Literary Agency wrote:
If you’re reading this, you can very likely write. You’re probably fluent in English, or very close to, and you are able to convey ideas using words. But that doesn’t mean you can write a book.
It’s harsh.
It’s also true.
I’ve read thousands of unpublished books and unproduced screenplays. First during my time at a literary management company, Intellectual Property Group, then later at a production company and an indie film lab.
Out of a thousand books or scripts, I bestowed about 40 of them with a Post-It note, “READ THIS,” scrawled in black Sharpie and planted it on my boss’s desk. Of those 40, seven emerged from their chrysalis and became a book or film. One of them might have even made a profit.
It feels shitty when someone tells You (the universal You, everyone, all of us) that you probably won’t make it.
Here’s the punchline: the math says they’re right. You’ll probably fail.
It doesn’t even matter what “it” is, because the odds are long for most definitions of success.
Take the venture capital world. Morgan Housel wrote[note]Tails You Win | http://www.collaborativefund.com/blog/tails-you-win/[/note]:
“Venture capital is a tail-driven business. You’ve likely heard that. Make 100 investments, and almost all of your return will come from five of them; most of your return from one or two.”
All your return will come from 5% of your investments. Most from 1-2%.
That means the remaining 95% of companies, staffed by flesh and blood people grinding away, coming into the office day in and day out, with families to support and kids to feed and lives to live, will fail. A lucky few will trend sideways for a few years before getting snatched up or killed off by one of the Big 5: Facebook, Amazon, Apple, Netflix, Google.
Let’s look at the restaurant business. Dr Haragopal “HG” Parsa found that 59% of restaurants fail in the first 3 years[note]Why Restaurants Fail Part 1 | https://daniels.du.edu/assets/research-hg-parsa-part-1-2015.pdf[/note]. While not the abysmal “90% in the first year” stat touted by American Express, it’s still not a pleasant statistic to think about.
I haven’t done the math, but I think if we go down the list of “cool jobs we wanted when we were kids,” the numbers would trend similarly: Broadway performer, NBA player, running back for the Dallas Cowboys, fighter for the UFC, astronaut, Hollywood star, the next Mark Zuckerberg, a Rockette, etc. It’s all hard. The math plays out. Most people won’t make it.
The irony, of course, is that if we’re talking about odds, there’s one sure-fire, 100% accurate way to never reach your goal. And that’s to never try.
“It is hard to fail, but it is worse never to have tried to succeed.”
― Theodore Roosevelt
Perseverance vs. Delusion
I strongly believe that if you have a Dream, regardless of the odds, you have to try. What I’ve been wrestling with is the line between perseverance and delusion. You’re certain to face adversity to in your pursuit of the Dream (if there was no adversity, everyone would do it, and it’d no longer be the Dream). And in the face of adversity, you can persevere or giveup.
The point I think Ms. McKean, Mr. Housel, and Dr. Parsa make is that for certain people in certain situations, all the perseverance in the world won’t help. It might be because of bad timing or lack of resources or just plain lack of talent. In those cases, we need a way to determine:
“Am I persevering in the face of adversity? Or am I delusional?”
It’s a razor’s edge. It’s something you have to answer for yourself. Here are some questions I pose to myself. I call it my “sanity checklist:”
Am I behaving like a professional?
This is an easy way to gauge whether you’re showing perseverance or you’re delusional. First, find out what the professionals in your field do:
- How many classes does the B- or C-level actor take a week?
- How many hours does the screenwriter put in at their keyboard?
- How many training sessions does a professional fighter spend in the gym?
Then, measure that against the work you’re putting in.
What’s the delta?
Maybe you’re in striking distance. You’ve got other responsibilities (your family, debt to pay off, a business to run) but you’re looking for ways to make it work. If you have a plan to close that delta, inch by inch, then it’s perseverance.
One of my favorite stories about closing this delta is Matthew Barby’s. Mr. Barby wanted to become a better marketer but struggled to find the time. Finally, he landed on a solution:[note]https://growthhackers.com/amas/live-jun-23-ama-with-matthew-barby-global-head-of-growth-seo-at-hubspot[/note]
“I decided to basically free up some evenings by pulling an all-nighter every Tuesday and working all through the night. I kept that up for 1.5 years and realized it really wasn’t healthy.”
Whenever I get frustrated with the lack of results (at work, in training, on a side project), my first sanity check is “am I behaving like a professional?” If the answer is no (e.g. I’m frustrated with my progress at BJJ training but I’m only attending 2 classes per week) and I have no plans to close the delta, then I’m delusional.
The hubris itself is audacious — the idea that I can come in, put in half the work, and reach the level of the masters? Straight delusion.
Have long have I been at this?
There’s a running joke in my family: all my siblings and I did pretty well at school. But my two brothers did so without cracking a book, while my sister and I worked liked fiends to keep up.
Everything I’ve tried (the piano, Civil Air Patrol, Chinese, Spanish, drawing, film, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, the flute, writing, etc.) has felt like an impossibly steep learning curve at the onset. But I’ve stuck with just enough (and quit many, many more) that I know there’s an inflection point where I become good enough to enjoy it. That inflection point consistently happens around the two-year mark.
This idea of a two-year inflection point can be disheartening — two years is a long time to commit, just to find out if you’re any good at something
But for me, it’s a relief. I know that’s part of my process, which means I can approach new ventures and skillsets with a beginner’s mindset for a long time. For two whole years, I’m allowed to reserve judgment of myself, be open to criticism, and bask in the comfort of doing something uncomfortable. I’ve learned to trust this process.
Perseverance is embracing this process for two years. Delusion is allowing frustration to creep in before the time is up.
Am I seeing seagulls?
Of course, during the two years, I have to see some signs of progress.
At I Will Teach, Ramit talked about this concept of “seagulls”: sailors could be out at sea for weeks, even months at a time, without a glimpse of land. They were always looking out for seagulls because seagulls meant the sailors were moving towards land.
Trusting the process is great, but you have to see incremental progress along the way.
Incremental progress is the actor having that one great scene during class, or that one killer audition (not landing a big role).
The weightlifter has to reach a new PR (not win a regional championship).
Personally, a seagull is a nice email from someone who says they love my newsletter or nailing one move during sparring that I’ve been drilling for weeks. It’s just enough to keep me from quitting.
If it’s been a significant time (months) and I’m not seeing any seagulls, then I have to strongly consider the fact I may be completely delusional.
What’s your pedigree?
To persevere, by definition, you’ll endure hardship, times of drought, when everything’s going wrong and you haven’t seen a seagull in weeks. These are precarious moments. It can feel like you’re just wasting your time, like all your contemporaries are passing you, like if you were going to be successful, you’d have reached your goals by now.
When I reach these moments, my favorite perseverance vs. delusion sanity check is reflecting on my pedigree: evidence I’ve done this kind of work in the past.
Does my past work give me the confidence to move forward in the present? Have I spent enough time learning from people who’ve been through this situation before? During our time working together, have we pushed through similar moments of hardship? Do I have a track record of success?
What’s interesting about this particular perseverance vs. delusion sanity check is it’s binary. Either you’ve spent the time working and learning from people with more experience than you… or you haven’t. In the current state of culture, it’s really sexy to skip this step, to bypass apprenticing for the masters and instead write “Founder/CEO” on your LinkedIn profile. And if you’ve got the chops, there’s nothing wrong with that.
Personally, I take comfort in knowing I’ve put in time learning at the feet of people much smarter than me. Employee #76 is not as sexy as “CEO”, and there’s nothing sexy about the title “Assistant of”, but there’s power in knowing you’ve ground it out and earned your stripes. It’s like you’re a boxer who knows no matter how bad he gets beat up, he’s got the legs for 12 rounds because he’s trained for it.
“Fights are not won on drama. Fights are won on the mundane things that you practice every day.”
– John Danaher
On the other hand, delusion is thinking you can step in the ring and compete with the best in the world without putting in the work.
Have I killed my ego?
There was a time I had a difficult time getting feedback. I’d send in a piece of writing for review and when it came back to me, I couldn’t even look at it. The sight of all the red markup and crossed out words would make me physically ill.
I’d literally have to walk away from the computer for a few minutes, or sometimes hours, before I could go back to the page and gingerly salvage the wreckage.
Eventually, I endured enough brutally honest feedback sessions that I became numb. All my wounds have been cauterized. I’ve killed my ego. And now that I’m able to look past my ego, I feel I can create better and better work.
“My opponent is my teacher, my ego is my enemy.”
– Renzo Gracie
When I can separate myself from my work, I realize that judgment on the work is not the same as judgment on me. Once I crossed that chasm, I was able to get seek out advice from people with different perspectives, who can look at the work with fresh eyes. These are the people who can tell me if I’m moving in the right direction and to keep applying pressure… or if I’m holding onto an idea that’s no longer based on reality. They’re people who can suggest perhaps I’m delusional.
Prove ’em wrong
I want to wrap with a dose of reality: The math says that most big dreams are delusional.
That all the perseverance in the world won’t save you. At worst, your idea will never fly, and at best, you’ll fly too close to the sun and tumble, wax dripping down your back.
I hope you prove ’em all wrong.
Even if you don’t, the memories of trying will break your fall.
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Photo Credit: Almost Famous
