Quantity v Quality

Across my platforms, I often struggle with releasing content consistently. I worry that if I am not consistent – if I am not constantly in your face – then I will be forgotten. Worse still, I will be replaced by someone who is consistent. And it is that fear of being replaced – of being irrelevant – that keeps me posting. Even when the work does not meet my standards. But I'm self-aware enough to know that something far deeper than my fear motivates me. Or rather something other than this particular fear is to blame.

I am motivated to release content consistently because it feels good. It feels good to labour over a podcast episode, an essay, or a column and see the finished piece come into being. I rarely experience satisfaction, and yet the moment I cross my last 't' and position the last period, I feel complete. 

I feel ... whole. 

For a brief moment, I am proud of myself and what I have been able to accomplish. As quickly as that feeling comes, does it vanish; and like an addict, I do anything to get that feeling back. Going as far as to sacrifice my physical health, my relationships and my sanity to a black hole of my own making. 

I'm pretty sure this addiction contributed to my decision to pursue a Masters degree. Well, this, and my insatiable appetite for knowledge (which is, itself, fueled by the feeling of satisfaction that comes when I feel my brain learning and synthesizing new pieces of information). For the uninitiated, this satisfaction is a little like an orgasm. Not in its intensity, but in how instinctual it is. How right it feels. Yet, for all the satisfaction I feel, I rarely feel sated. Hence, I keep producing. At an almost manic pace. Worse still, I allow others to piggyback off my mania - using me for their ends because I care more about being productive than what I produce. 

Yet, in my unemployment, with no one to direct my efforts but myself, I have had no choice but to focus on the quality of my work. To slow down and focus on what I produce. What's interesting is that you'd think the more work I put into something the greater the feeling of satisfaction at the end. Except, this hasn't been happening. Instead, the more work I put into something, the more afraid I feel that it won't be well-received. The more anxious I get that my ideas will be dismissed because they are, fundamentally, mine. These fears revealed that what I craved was not satisfaction, but recognition. I wanted to produce a lot so that people would notice me. So that people would have a reason to notice me. To include me. To want me. 

I know. I'm aware that this is fucked up. Still, what has made my unemployment so hard is that I have little to point to. Actually, this isn't fair to me. I have plenty I could point to; I just chose not to because I'm afraid of being humiliated. Therefore I beat everyone to the punch, and shame myself, my progress and my plans. 

I know that I need to stop. And it's something I'm working on. 

But I wonder if my desire to do this writing challenge was motivated by all of this; my search for satisfaction and recognition, and my desire to be wanted. Or if I accepted the challenge because I needed to get over my reluctance to create something without the guarantee of recognition or praise. 

Perhaps it is both...