Liz Cultivates | L.M. Fern

I attended a talk at work about saying “yes.” On the surface, this particular talk was about traveling more and going on adventures . . . but the speaker asked us to think about the things that are holding us back. What’s keeping us from doing what we wish we could do? What if we weren’t afraid? What if the barriers weren’t there?

“What’s worth your ‘yes’?” she asked.

It got me thinking: What do I want? What’s getting in my way? What’s worth my “yes”?

And the answer, I realized, is complicated. Because that’s not the right question. The right question would be: What’s not worth my “yes”?

Throughout my professional life, I’ve always said “yes” — out of habit, out of fear, out of the regular trauma-directed reasons of being afraid to say “no.” But I also said “yes” more than I probably should have because I internalized at an early age that I needed to do and be more so I could put it on my resume. The longer my CV, the more things I could point to that I had successfully undertaken, the more likely I would be to get a job. And a job, I had also internalized, was my ticket out of the cycle. It was something I was entitled to because I had worked hard to get an education. But, because that education was in creative writing and not math or science or engineering, nothing was sacred and nothing was guaranteed. I had to do everything and be everywhere and please everyone because that experience was going to get me employed later on.

What’s not worth my “yes”?

That sure is a quick way to burn right the hell out, but younger me was not worried about that.

I did editing for a small publisher. I worked at the university writing center. I got an internship and a summer job. I started a small magazine, and then another, and then another. I worked on this blog. I wrote stories and books and tried my hand at streaming. I never turned down an invite to go somewhere with friends. I got a job. I got a different job. Then I got a second job, because I had to stay on top of my content writing skills. I started a podcast. I started another podcast. I traveled for work. I traveled for leisure.

When I finally did realize I needed to start saying no to things, because my mental and physical health depended on it, I felt immense guilt. I have to say yes, my body screamed. What if I miss something? What if someone needs me and I let them down?

The secret, Dear Reader, is this: You are worth nothing to anyone if you are so burnt out all you want to do is sleep. (And, while we’re at it: You’re not going to let people down if you can’t go to their social gathering. Contrary to my your belief, the people who love you want you to be safe and whole, and won’t mind if you prioritize your mental health instead of coming to their barbecue or whatever.)

It goes around and comes around

Something else I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is that life is cumulative.

(Trust me: This will relate.)

I’ve been writing and working professionally for close to 11 years, now — and I’ve had opportunities to do all kinds of things — publishing, writing, traveling . . . It seems like some of the things I have done in my past have been in service to things I’m doing now.

For instance, my experience in publishing has turned into something I’m using for personal projects now. I’ve worked for publishers. I’ve been a part of many different publications and started a couple journals in my time. I’ve loved the work around publications and these areas of work. The artifacts of this are in this blog, even!

And now, I’m part of a really lovely community of like-minded individuals who pretend to be retired on the internet. The Cool Gamer Retirement Home started as a couple of people who wanted to reach out for human connection during the first year of the Covid-19 pandemic — and it’s grown into a found family of people who are trying to do good and leave a positive mark on the world.

We do several regular charity campaigns, and we recently decided to start publishing a ‘zine’ as a companion piece to our quarterly charity events. This is what got me started thinking about the cumulative nature of life. It almost feels like all the experiences I’ve had up to this point have been in service to the work I’m doing with the CGRH.

Not to mention the actual self-publishing I’ve been doing around here. I made the conscious decision to self-publish my novels under the Cultivates Press name when I released BLOODMADE, and there are plenty of reasons for that. Not least of those reasons being that I do have experience with all steps of the process. I am planning to do more self-publishing for my current works-in-progress. Without the experience I had with publishing in the past — without feeling the obligation to say ‘yes’ to every opportunity that came up — maybe I wouldn’t feel so confident in my publishing/editing/promotion skills. Maybe I would be leaning more into the traditional side of things.

But I’m not, because I don’t want to and I don’t have to.

Life is cumulative, and maybe a bit cyclical

You know what else is cumulative? Burnout.

Now, though, I think I have the luxury of choosing what I focus my energy toward. (And sometimes, that’s video games.)

In the past, I said ‘yes’ to everything, hoping that would lead to employment. But now that I have the job — one that I can see myself doing for a long time — I owe it to myself to do what fulfills me. And what fulfills me is spending time with people I love doing things that bring me joy, like writing and games and participating in friends’ streams. (And gardening. There’s a lot of that. Sometimes the only thing that feels like it brings me any normalcy is throwing myself into a bucket of dirt.) I can stop saying ‘yes’ so much. I can start saying ‘no’ sometimes, even.

You know what else is cumulative? Burnout.

So now, I say ‘yes’ to fewer things relating to my “career” — and more to things relating to what is going to fill (or refill) my cup. I still agree to too many things. I still back myself into corners where I want to do everything so much that I end up needing to do nothing for weeks at a time. I’m working on it.