Write in 2016
By: Julie Zhuo
Tags: Design, Resolutions, Writing

Three years ago, sitting on the beach over empty champagne glasses and the smoldering remains of late-night firecrackers, I made a New Year’s resolution to start this blog and publish once a week. Write, I told myself, attempting to channel Nike: Just. Do. It.

Write about the lessons now so familiar they can be recited in your sleep. Write about the insights not yet sighted, their silhouettes blurry like the edges of a distant shore. Write about the job, the joy and chaos of designing and building. Write at least once a week. Write to learn how to write, and write to understand, the process itself like a looking glass through which you may yet discover a strange new world. Write so something meaningful can be said to others. Write to be accountable, write with honesty. Above all, write to preserve the scrap of an age, a voice; write so you won’t forget.

That first year, through many late nights and plenty of teeth gnashing, I published 52 articles. The next year, I published once every two weeks. Last year, it became once every three weeks. I’m delighted to discover that this three-week cadence seems sustainable, so in 2016, that will once again be my resolution.

It’s probably not an exaggeration to say that these writing goals have changed my life.

When I started in 2012, I did it purely for myself — to untangle the knots in my head, to find and make peace with my voice, to lay my inner wall of confidence brick by brick. And through the habit of writing, my thinking sharpened. I became a more curious and humble reader. I spent more time on reflecting and giving thanks. So I continued. I could not have predicted how over the years, my words would fly across wires and oceans to light up the screens of many faraway strangers.

In the past year, my articles received 1.5 million views. I published 16 new pieces in 2015, and they averaged 58K views each.

Logically, I recognize that this means I am known in certain circles. But it never fails to surprise me when people I don’t know stop to say that they know me from my work. It never fails to warm my day when somebody tells me a particular piece of advice or passage resonated deeply with them.

Sometimes we’ll get to talking. And when there is a particular kind of pause in the conversation — a sigh, a wistful look — I can guess what is coming next. The person says, “You know, I’d love to start writing as well, but…”

Here’s the thing. I know all about the but’s. Through the years they’ve swarmed me like mosquitos, determined to suck my willpower dry. But I don’t know what to write about. But I don’t have the time. But who’d be interested in what I have to say? But I’m a perfectionist. But I’m not original. But I’m not a good writer.

There is a poster above my desk, a Dostoyevsky quote, which serves as a reminder that lack of topic should never be a problem.

“But how could you live and have no story to tell?”

No matter who you are, I know this to be a fact: that you have interests. That there is something you go to bed thinking about. That there is some experience you’ve had that not everybody has had. That there are lessons you’ve learned in your road less taken. That there is some version of the world you’d like tomorrow to be.

If you wanted to write, these topics, like San Francisco in 1849, are rich for the mining.

As for whether or not you have the time to write, well, we humans tend to have time for the things we prioritize, and not have time for the things we don’t. Last I checked, the average person in the U.S. has five hours of leisure time every day. It’s possible you wouldn’t really want to spend that time hunched over a notebook or keyboard. But then saying, “I don’t have the time” is kind of a cop-out. Really, what you are saying is While the idea of writing is interesting, I don’t choose to prioritize it over other things in my life. Which is perfectly fine. After all, we should all be doing the things we intentionally choose to do.

So then, assuming that you do indeed have things to write about and that you do want to prioritize writing, in my experience, the biggest barrier that prevents people from actually doing it is the expectation that what they write should meet a certain criteria of success.

In all the times before that I have failed to get something on paper, it was because I had thoughts like the following: geez, what if I hit publish and nobody reads this? That’d be embarrassing and pointless. Or I only want to publish something if it’s really good and makes me seem smart, witty, and knowledgeable. Or What if I say this and somebody disagrees and tells me I’m wrong? Or Hmm, I should only write when inspiration hits me, and right now I don’t feel inspired.

In every creative endeavor — not just writing — this train of thought paralyzes. I have experienced it enough times to know that holding yourself to some lofty standard when you are just starting out is like blowing a deathkiss to your chances of success.

Instead, if you’d like to write, I offer the following tips: