Finding the Blessing

After itching for greater commercial success for years, someone finally asked me a profound question that helped put my career goals in perspective.

I have a love-hate relationships with bookstores. I love the thrill of discovery, my eyes gazing at the expanse of sumptuous new releases, taking note of trends in cover designs and popular topics. I prowl the shelves of backlist titles like a kid on a treasure hunt, searching for that special book that calls out to me through its captivating title and cover, it’s engaging first page. I carry it home, eager for the delights within its pages.

With bricks-and-mortar bookstores now so few and far between, I have found used bookstores to be downright addictive; their inventory is full of surprises. Occasionally I have found wonderful books in the most unlikely places. In a car wash lobby, I was gobsmacked to see a display of real literature, including “Excellent Women,” a novel by the deliciously clever British author Barbara Pym. I became a Pym fan for life. Lost in my bookstore reveries, I can only think, so many books, so little time.

Writers and insecurity often go hand in hand 

But my excitement upon entering a new-to-me bookstore can also sour, especially when I face insipid little volumes sitting pretty on the “New Releases” table. One especially awful candidate in this category had been “written” by a celebrity about her Schnauzer, Barney. Feeling especially masochistic, I peered inside only to mock its vapidity, in the way that drivers slow down to stare at highway collisions. A celeb’s name and glamour shot will probably ensure the publisher sells through the print run. Everyone will pocket their shekels and call it a day. I know it’s just business, but it’s hard not to resent the injustice of worthless books getting published while certain, far better crafted books (not mentioning any titles) by lesser-known writers (not mentioning any by name) go begging for good publishing deals.

When the career blues have come calling, sometimes I’ve waited for them to pass, like indigestion. Other times, I’ve sought help.

The odds against “indie” writers like me breaking through sometimes plunge me into self-pitying disappointment and insecurity. But at least I’m in the company of literary lions. The most celebrated writers of all time have fought insecurity and felt stung by professional jealousy, which probably explains why the decanter of Jack Daniels was always within reach of the writing desk. After the triumphs of Of Mice and Men and The Grapes of Wrath, while writing East of Eden John Steinbeck wrote in his diary, “I suffer as always from the fear of putting down the first line. It is amazing the terrors, the magics, the prayers, the straightening shyness that assails one.” Steinbeck was no stranger to the grog either.

I’ve never been successful or insecure enough to have been driven to drink—a good thing, since I had to drive carpool. When the career blues have come calling, sometimes I’ve waited for them to pass, like indigestion. Other times, I’ve sought help. For example, some years back, I felt my career goals were receding further out of reach. Media outlets were increasingly moving online and traditional print newspapers were folding by the hundreds, so the rejection letters I received from newspaper syndicates were no surprise. I would also have been happy for a regular columnist slot at a weekly Jewish magazine where my byline was familiar, but they had a deep bench of regulars, all seemingly as entrenched as university professors with tenure. Pay scales for writers online was even worse than in print journalism, and many writers were transitioning into healthy paying gigs with corporations or institutions. It’s hard to write when you’re hungry.

As the media world kept evolving so rapidly, so did the “rules” about how to grow your brand as a writer. I hired a consultant who suggested mostly technical advice: blog three times a week; offer giveaways on my home page to capture email addresses; engage on social media; become a topic expert for reporters and promote myself through member-only PR sites.

When self-promotion becomes a drag 

Since becoming a mom, I had focused more of my writing on how societal trends either hurt or helped kids. I had written about the coarsening effect of casual swearing; a campaign by a parents’ organization to protest increasingly racy TV programming during what had formerly been referred to as “family hour;” and a piece on the importance of family rituals for Family Circle. An essay in Woman’s Day bemoaned the proliferation of televisions in public spaces, a distraction that drove a wider wedge between friends, couples, and families. So, as a self-proclaimed parenting expert, I rushed to offer bite-sized commentary on parenting and culture to reporters looking for content. Yet I didn’t want to become known as just a tsk-tsker, a naysayer fighting the unstoppable force of social change. In any case, the ROI wasn’t worth my time.

I wanted advice again, but this time, I chose a life expert, someone who had been busy chasing wisdom, not bylines.

I believed in my message so it felt right to try to get it out there, but I began to feel like a mouse getting dizzy running endlessly on the wheel. My energy for self-promotion was flagging. The imperative to self-promote was also at odds with Judaism’s warning not to chase after honor or glory. Additionally, I still drove all the kids’ carpools, took them to their appointments, shopped and cooked, and spent most Fridays preparing for Shabbat. Those were my priorities and they weren’t changing. This led me to ask myself, did I really want to chase “success” the way these experts suggested? No, not really, not on their terms, but ambition still burned strongly within me.

Years later, my reputation had grown and I had a few published books under my belt, but I still felt fidgety and grumpy about my career. I wanted advice again, but this time, I chose a life expert, someone who had been busy chasing wisdom, not bylines. This is how I came to make an appointment with Rachel, a Jewish woman around my age who had also become Orthodox in early adulthood. Living in Israel, she had become a teacher of Jewish spirituality, and a friend of mine raved about her classes and her sagacity. I was intrigued enough to attend a class she taught while on a swing through L.A. Her topic was the Jewish perspective on male-female polarities and the creative forces and energy associated with women.

In this wildly politically incorrect class, Rachel explained that men often contribute the raw material of life—the potential­­-while women are the ones who actualize that material, turning it into something real and concrete. This is a truth most obvious in procreation, but on a less transcendent level, today’s women not only contribute to their families financially (raw material) but also turn it into practical and concrete things. Women still usually choose what groceries are purchased and are responsible for how they become meals; women still make most home-based purchasing decisions, from home furnishings and décor to children’s clothing and after-school classes and activities. Through their material and spiritual priorities, women set the tone of a home and family life. This has an enormous impact on each family member, and that impact is carried down through to future generations.

She greeted me with a smile that felt like a hug, but I was still embarrassed by my “first-world” kvetch about yearning for commercial success.

I was drawn to Rachel’s understated tone and deep wisdom. While some of her ideas and practices were a bit too mystical for my taste, her fundamental idea about the polarities and women’s creative potential rang true for me. I wondered what she would make of my dilemma when we met the following day.

She greeted me with a smile that felt like a hug and we sat down in the living room of a private home where she had consulting appointments. I knew that Rachel was undoubtedly listening to other women seeking advice and comfort for urgent issues or perhaps even crises: marital, parenting, spiritual, financial, or health-related. I felt a rush of embarrassment at my “first world” kvetch: “You see, Rachel, I’m working really hard to become a more successful writer, and I can’t seem to tame the beast of my ambition, which is currently suffocating my deeper wisdom. Can you help?”

But there I was, and I began to talk. As I talked, tears unexpectedly began to flow. Rachel leaned slightly toward me as I spoke, her eyes suffused with kindness and empathy.

“I really love the writing I do for Jewish media outlets,” I told her. “People in the community often stop me on the street or in shul or in the market to comment about something I wrote, and when they smile as they tell me how much they enjoyed an article, I feel great. But when I see books with no substance become big sellers, or books written for the purpose of knocking Jewish tradition or unfairly maligning Israel, I become so upset. I know that my books aren’t of earth-shaking importance, but they are well-crafted and lift people’s spirits. After so many years of trying, I still have to scrape for every review and endorsement.”

I hated sounding like such a whiner, but it was also so cathartic to talk about it.

Does money always equal success? 

I told her of my disillusionment with several aspects of the industry, such as trying to meet impossible and constantly changing marketing “rules” and working with difficult editors. I found this particularly ironic with female editors at one of the biggest women’s magazines. They had an increasingly feminist bent while demonstrating some of the worst stereotypes about females: constantly changing their minds about what they wanted after the assignment had been defined and asking for numerous revisions without offering any justification or extra pay. The high-maintenance reputation of the women editors at these mags was legendary, and after that assignment I stopped pitching them. A buck per word sounded like great pay until you were asked for seven revisions.

Still, I hammered away at secular media outlets because I knew that I had a talent for conveying traditional Jewish ideas and values to a broad audience. I believed I was meant to do this work, to be an ambassador of sorts on behalf of traditional Jewish values to the wider world. This writing was hugely fulfilling, but the increasing leftward agenda of nearly all the U.S. newspapers and consumer magazines was making it harder for me to sell my essays with these ideas, even when the Jewish messages were subtle.

“I suppose that ultimately, I just can’t seem to get past the idea that Western culture has ingrained in me that money equals success. I don’t want money for the sake of money and I don’t want fame for the sake of fame. But I do want a bigger audience for my work. And, if one leads to another, that’s okay, right?” I smiled through another tear. I felt so vulnerable at this moment.

I had become driven by the mundane: how many social media shares was I getting? How much does this outlet pay? Where did I want to land my next byline?

Rachel’s frequent, subtle nods and empathetic gaze told me that I had come to the right address. I noticed that even without makeup, Rachel was beautiful in the way that I found so many deeply religious Jewish women to be beautiful, with an inner glow born of a strong sense of self and purpose that rendered cosmetics irrelevant. When I finally stopped speaking, Rachel lifted a cup of water to her lips and said the appropriate blessing. She closed her eyes and enunciated each Hebrew word with a deliberation and care I had never witnessed before. She was the real deal.

Her blessing humbled me. If only I had half as much focused intent each time I said a blessing before or after eating or drinking! But that’s why I was the supplicant and she was the teacher. After

she set her glass down, she asked a profound question: “Tell me, Judy, where is the blessing coming from now in your work?”

I was stunned. I had never considered my work or success in that context. Instead I had become driven by the mundane: how many social media shares was I getting? How much does this outlet pay? Where did I want to land my next byline?

The answer came immediately, “The blessing is coming from my work in Jewish media.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt like a weight had been lifted. Blessings! My blessings were tremendous, and they included not only my ability to write, but also to get published, even if haphazardly, with poor financial rewards. If I was really out to make a difference with my articles and books, I had to acknowledge those blessings and stop whingeing, as the British say.

I left my meeting with Rachel feeling more successful already. We both knew I wouldn’t stop swinging the bat and hoping to score more bylines, but with one little question, she helped me redefine “success.”