Do I Want to Be More, or Better?
2024.05.19.
Is this even a valid question in this form? I shared my last piece on Facebook and LinkedIn. Surprisingly, it resonated with many people. I was satisfied, happy. Comments and feedback started rolling in. Then I began looking at the numbers—how many likes, comments, how many people clicked through to the blog, what the stats were showing. Wow, this is taking off! What should my next post be? How can I top this? What are others writing about, what does ChatGPT say?
Okay, let’s stop right there.
I felt a strange sensation as I realized what I was doing. I was writing about how quality, not quantity, is important in building my business, and then I found myself focusing on the numbers in the very post where I was discussing this. Worse, I started thinking about what I could write to increase those numbers. But I should just be doing what I’ve been doing all along: writing what’s inside me and seeing who it resonates with. But then again, perhaps if my writing impacts many people, that indicates a certain quality. Of course, in some ways, that’s true.
Is it?
During his lifetime, Van Gogh created over 2,000 works, yet only a handful were sold. Does that detract from their quality? In some ways, yes, because the environment in which he created didn’t recognize his work. I’ve always been intrigued by what makes art truly art, how we define it: Is it the artist’s identity that makes something a work of art? Is it the intention behind the creation that gives it this quality? Can a piece stand on its own as art? Or is it the impact on the viewer that determines its quality?
It’s easy to ask these questions about my own writing. Does a piece become good if it impacts many and receives lots of responses (and if so, do the numbers and stats matter)? Or is a piece already good if it impacts just one person? Does writing impact many because the author has credibility with the masses? I don’t want to get lost in these questions because the very fact that I’m asking them suggests some kind of inner lack.
I want to be more.
Perhaps this is something that has accompanied me throughout my life. And this desire to be more has manifested in different ways. I’ve wanted more friends, more money, a bigger car, to speak more languages, to earn more degrees, to run, walk, row more kilometers... When I felt I couldn’t be more in any of these ways, I ate. I wanted to devour the whole world to become more. And I did become more—heavier. Maybe this way, the world would see that I am more.
But this “more” wasn’t better.
So I exercised, lost weight, became less in kilos, but more in performance. I became better. What an illusion. Because while I became better in performance, I became less at home. Like the wind swaying the branch—up, down...
But where am I going with all this? That desire can distort what’s inside me to such an extent. It can pull my focus away from who I am in an instant. Who am I in my writing? Maybe I’m what comes out spontaneously. Without planning, intention, or the desire to impact. Accepting that maybe no one will read what I write. Only me. And if I read it, I like it; it feels good to revisit that moment when the thought was born. Why? Because perhaps it’s nice to see that I’m a bit further away from that thought now. Since then, I’ve become a little more, a little better.
And if you’ve made it this far, then at least one person other than me has read this. Thank you!
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The article was translated from Hungarian to English by ChatGPT. Thank you, ChatGPT, for being here.
