034 | Writer's Block

Obsession is a many splendoured thing

I self-identify as a Writer.

That’s the only label that I can pick for myself that feels right.

I’ve had multiple labels attached to me.

All about them labels

Some of them based on relationships that I’ve had with fellow human beings. Son. Partner. Parent. Student. Mentor. Friend. Enemy. Boyfriend. Lover.

Some of it based on professional identities I’ve donned at different points in my life. Programmer analyst. Software engineer. Operations lead. Artist manager. Music journalist. Sales manager. Resource.

The thing with labels, especially those that emerged based on the things that I do with me time have eventually felt limiting. Almost like I’ve been boxed in.

Once upon a time in 2017 when I lived in Hyderabad, I used to work in a sales operations role.

I can see how that sounds abstract. Please allow me to make it concrete.

I was responsible for ensuring that my team setup and ran online advertising campaigns for our customers. The sales team asked the customers for money. Once customers agreed, my team took over the work and found the best way to allocate money across different online advertising products to deliver the results that customers expected.

There were a few numbers that mattered. To the firm I worked for - we had to hit revenue targets. We had to keep an eye on the total number of dollars spent on advertising by our customers. Underneath that, there was another number that mattered - one referred to as CPRD (cost per revenue dollar - how many cents are being spent to make each dollar).

For our customers, it was RoI (return on investment) or RoAS (return on advertising spend).

I had been in my role for 3.5 years. I had been promoted within the first two years of joining the firm. I felt like the cat’s whiskers. It felt good to be ahead of the curve for once, after having spend over 30 years feeling like I was playing catch-up with my illustrious, smart, talented and accomplished peers.

(I didn’t yet know that comparison is the thief of joy. Thankfully, I know now. It is highly likely that me telling you this won’t make a difference unless you’ve got lived experience to help you understand how racing is fun only when you’ve learnt to be still.)

I was constantly told how everyone advances and moves on to find new opportunities, and that’s the way to build a good career. Which way was I to run?

From sales operations, I wanted to move to the marketing team.

I was in awe of the folks that worked to tell great stories that touched hundreds of millions of lives, and convinced consumers and businesses alike that the technology products my firm made were life-changing.

For what it is worth, they are and I continue to be blown away till this date. Gotta give props and love, even to those we call ex. Game recognises game, after all.

I applied for jobs in Singapore. In the US. Heck, I even applied for jobs in Gurgaon because I wanted to be in the team so bad. I offered to do a double role - one where I was open to doing my job and stretching to do a second role to prove how I was worthy.

Like I said, I was a ho for the marketing team.

My interviews went well. I had good conversations with folks in those various teams. However, I always fell short. Every time, just before the conversation closed, the common refrain I heard was - “Yo you are awesome, we only wish you had a little more marketing experience.”

I couldn’t tell if they merely were being polite, or being genuine about what they said.

Reminds me of a conversation among the Diamond Dogs in Ted Lasso:

“How can you tell if a woman likes you or if she’s being nice to you?”

“You can’t.”

I gave up on applying for those roles after almost a year’s worth of trying. In that year, I kept telling myself stories.

Stories that I wasn’t good enough for that team. Which then turned into stories that I wasn’t good enough in general.

This is raw and real shit that I hope none of you have had to go through as part of your self-talk. And if you have, hugs to you. You are not alone.

I kept beating myself up for falling short. For decisions I took previously that prevented me from having more marketing experience.

Thankfully, better sense prevailed eventually.

However, I needed a place where I could channel the energy that emanated from a part of me that was innately obsessive.

Obsession is a many splendoured thing

Actually, it is not.

However, this is my way of making peace with who I am, and trying to turn those parts of my personality that are considered manufacturing defects into something that can be of service to me, and perhaps to those around me.

I have been obsessed, to the point of near-religious fervour on multiple occasions in my life. As a teenager, it was about reading and re-reading books.

There was a point in time when I read Exodus by Leon Uris at least twenty times because of it being such a beautiful story. My love for an underdog story through that book filled my head with a narrative that obfuscated the harsh realities of life experienced by people caught in the Israel - Palestine conflict.

That bubble eventually burst when I made a trip to the West Bank in Christmas 2010 and I found out that reality was different from the fairytale that Leon Uris had written.

I was obsessed with work at my last job for eight years, devoting most of my life force towards excelling and chasing ratings and milestones.

I’ve loved in a manner that I now recognise, in hindsight, might’ve felt intense, excessive and possibly stifling for someone not used to me.

I’ve been obsessed with Hamilton, the musical. Enough to know all the words, and then to pick up a pen and write my way out and drop my own album because all that energy needed some place to go, if not for which I’d have been clawing the insides of my mind with increasingly sharp nails.

1430 days and counting

Now I’ve landed on my latest obsession, and this might last a while. It has actually lasted 47 months so far.

I know it has been 1431 days since 1st January 2022 because I have written every day since then. This is not a flex.

I did feel like flexing when I wrote 750 words every day for a month in 2022. Then, at the 100 day milestone. Perhaps when I got to 500. I no longer remember. Or care.

Now, I get zero dopamine hits from speaking about this to anyone. I do get my jollies from writing 750 words each day.

My buddy Aristotle was on the money.

We are what we do repeatedly. Excellence is not an isolated act. It is a habit.

I do not claim to be an excellent writer. That shit is subjective. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

However, I claim to be excellent at just sitting my ass down to crank out words consistently in increasingly coherent sentences, for my own sake.

Sometimes, I end up getting blocked. My brain sometimes doesn’t brain well enough to match the increasing expectations I have of it.

The only way I know how to solve writer’s block is, no prizes for guessing, to write about it.

And I did.

Writer’s Block

My latest single, Writer’s Block, is now out on all streaming platforms. Please listen when you can. While it is about being blocked while writing, it is also intended to help you feel less alone when you’re stuck with something that matters to you.

I see you. I love you. I am cheering you on. Keep going!

Props and credits to the following beautiful people who helped bring this track to life:

Cover art - Sangeetha Alwar (Instagram)
Music - Vlad Tavaniuk
Recording, mixing and mastering - McJordan Amartey (Instagram)

Song Lyrics

If you’re listening to the track on Spotify, lyrics take a while to sync. Here they are.

Dropped a whole album
Then I got to this track
Got struck by writer’s block (writer’s block)
Sneak attack
Rack my brain for ideas
I’m never laid back
Pour concrete in
This hole abstract

On days I feel stuck
I take stock
Down on my luck
My flow has stopped
This feeling sucks
Still I show up
I put in the work
And my thoughts unblock

Been hitting a wall
My fingers glued
Progress stalled
Delight subdued
I begin to recall
How my words accrued
I started small
When I debuted

I will never ever fall
I refuse
To feel appalled
Cause I have viewed
That by default
The verse I brewed
Had me enthralled
My mood renewed

Gravity pulls me down
makes me stop, give up
I’ll wait, be surprised
Goodbye self-doubt
Start leaning in
And all throughout
These bars they rain
The rid the drought

These words pour out
Show me the way
Dispel my doubt
Drive them away
I won’t perform
I’m in a state of play
These seeds they sprout
Four lines each day

They blossom, they bloom
Form the garden of my soul
Give me shade, give me air
Give me self control
Give me space to stroll
In these moments that I stole
I’m no longer jailed
Through my bars I made parole

I’m the master of my fate
Of my soul I’m the captain
In the walls of my mind
Lies the room where it happens
Get to slow down time
So my thoughts are captured
Every word
Every line
Every chapter
Rapture

The dry droll drama
drudgery and dread
Driven away down the drain
Replaced by dreams instead
Drawing strength from love
I won’t be daunted
On the darkest of my days
Love is all I ever wanted

I unlock the key
To set myself free
These words keep pouring
Straight out of me
I no longer hesitate
Though I don’t have a clue
I don’t know what I’m writing
Till I get to see it through

If I don’t get to write
I’m guaranteed to sink
I’m the Thought Brownie
It’s in my name, so I think
I’m present
Not tense
Locked in
Won’t blink
Won’t flinch
In sync
Distilled
Distinct

I refuse to stop
My excuses depleting
I’m outside my muse’s door
And I listen to her breathing
I explore the unknown
With the light that she shone
And through that I find the words
To make you feel less alone

I’m not a one and done
Won’t succumb to the slump
Sophomoric no more
My discontent undone
With a pen, with a paper
Found my place in the sun
Though this song maybe over
My work has just begun

Thank you for reading. I am grateful. You complete me.