The Daily Stoic - Why Creativity Demands Discipline | “Good Bones” Poet Maggie Smith (PT. 2)

Episode Date: April 5, 2025

Does telling your story mean revealing everything? Bestselling author and viral poet Maggie Smith returns for part two of her conversation with Ryan, discussing how writers decide what to share and what to keep sacred. They debunk the myth that memoirs must be exposés, talk about the role of empathy in both storytelling and activism, and explore the challenges of staying true to one's work while navigating success.In 2016, Maggie Smith’s poem Good Bones became a viral sensation. It was named the “Official Poem of 2016” by the Public Radio International. Maggie Smith is the New York Times bestselling author of You Could Make This Place Beautiful; My Thoughts Have Wings, a picture book illustrated by SCBWI Portfolio grand prize winner Leanne Hatch; the national bestsellers Goldenrod and Keep Moving: Notes on Loss, Creativity, and Change; as well as Good Bones, named one of the Best Five Poetry Books of 2017 by the Washington Post and winner of the 2018 Independent Publisher Book Awards Gold Medal in Poetry. 📚 Maggie’s latest book, Dear Writer: Pep Talks & Practical Advice for the Creative Life just released on April 1! You can grab signed copies of Dear Writer at The Painted Porch in addition to her books You Could Make This Place Beautiful and Keep Moving. Follow Maggie Smith on Instagram @ MaggieSmithPoet🎙️ Follow The Daily Stoic Podcast on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dailystoicpodcast🎥 Watch top moments from The Daily Stoic Podcast on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@dailystoicpodcast✉️ Want Stoic wisdom delivered to your inbox daily? Sign up for the FREE Daily Stoic email at https://dailystoic.com/dailyemail🏛 Get Stoic inspired books, medallions, and prints to remember these lessons at the Daily Stoic Store: https://store.dailystoic.com/📱 Follow us:  Instagram, Twitter, YouTube, TikTok, and FacebookSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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and celebrating the incredible products Ontario sells with pride. Discover what's made right here. Visit supportontariomade.ca. Welcome to the weekend edition of The Daily Stoic. Each weekday we bring you a meditation inspired by the ancient Stoics, something to help you live up to those four Stoic virtues of courage, justice, temperance, and wisdom. And then here on the weekend, we take a deeper dive into those same topics. We interview stoic philosophers.

We explore at length how these stoic ideas can be applied to our actual lives and the challenging issues of our time. Here on the weekend, when you have a little bit more space, when things have slowed down, be sure to take some time to think, to go for a walk, to sit with your journal, and most importantly, to prepare for what the week ahead may bring.

Hey, it's Ryan. Welcome to another episode of the Daily Stoic Podcast. Just got back from spring break with the family. We're down at the beach, it was wonderful. It was funny though, sort of pulling back into Austin. It was like we were arriving in a different place. Like we left and it was still winter. We arrived and it was spring.

And it always, I don't know why, it catches me by surprise every year, not just spring, which we've been talking about on the Spring Forward Challenge, which I'm not gonna talk about here. But I think what surprises me every year is just just spring, which we've been talking about on the spring forward challenge, which I'm not going to talk about here, but I think what surprises me every year is just like how pretty it gets like immediately on my ranch. Like you could see through all the trees, they're sort of spindly and you know lifeless and then the green comes and all of a sudden it's like oh yeah we live next to a forest. This sort of dark

shady cool beautiful forest that's beckoning you in every, every March, my wife. And I go, we gotta remember if we ever sell this place, we gotta sell it this month or next month because it's the prettiest that it will be. I guess what I'm noticing is that although the aesthetics can change, like the bones, the core

of it are good, right? Like the leaves fall and there's a sparseness and a harshness to it, but when the seasons change, all that goes away and it gets pretty again. And I think a metaphor there for life, which is like when you start to lose hope when it gets dreary and depressing and dark, it doesn't take much for that to completely change. In part one, I was telling you that my wife turned me on to Maggie Smith's work. She sent me that poem. We bought that book during the pandemic. I've thought about it a lot since.

Good Bones has inspired a bunch of Daily Stoke and Daily Dad emails over the years. Like when I read stuff that shapes me, it almost inevitably shows up in the writing. So here's one we did for Daily Dad called We Keep This From Our Kids, which is cribbing from a line in the poem. We keep this from our kids.

We tell them inspiring stories. We keep this from our kids. We tell them inspiring stories. We tell them the history we're proud of. Tell them they can be anything they want to be. We tell them that everything is going to be OK, that they are safe. Of course, we are lying, or at least we're not being fully honest.

Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, Maggie Smith writes in her beautiful poem, Good Bones. And for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you. Though I keep this from my children. We keep this from our children, she writes, because we are trying to sell them the world. We're trying to paint a picture for them of a world at its best.

A world defined by cooperation and compassion, not by fractious tribal primates fighting over resources. That's the picture we're painting over, because we need our kids to have hope. We need them to believe in a better future. We need them to buy in. There may be a part of us that wonders what the point of all of this is sometimes. We all have a part of us that feels guilty about the deception. And sometimes that guilt coalesces into a movement towards confessional transparency. And these days, it has taken the form of political pressure

to drop the full weight of the awfulness of the past and the present on school children. But we can't do that. We must not do that. We have no right to weigh down our children with our cynicism. We have no right to deprive them of their innocence too early. It is our obligation not to do that, because our only hope as a species, as a planet,

is to sell them the world and to support their goodness and hard work and earnestness so that they might manage to craft a new reality from the world we have left behind for them." Anyways, she has a new book out called Dear Writer, Prep Talks and Practical Advice for the Creative Life, which has got both poems and memoir and advice in it. She is a New York Times bestselling author. She's won all sorts of poetry prizes. She's an amazing writer,

and I really enjoyed this conversation. We talked about the ethical implications of our writing routines, living about what you write, and so much more. You can follow Maggie at MaggieSmithPoet. You should definitely buy her books, grab signed copies from the Painted Porch, and then listen to us chatting here.

Here we go. I wanna go back to Restraint 2, because there's another thing. I read go back to restraint too, because there's another thing. I read this article, maybe Patty, I think Patty Davis wrote it in your time. She's Ron Reagan's daughter. And she was talking about, we think of memoirs like, you say everything you think, whatever happened to you.

And she was just talking about how, that even in this genre, restraint is important because your words have impact on other people. Sure. Right. And so again, I think sometimes people think that courage for the artist is just saying whatever you think. And there is something maybe dashing and bold again about that, but there's also something maybe cruel about it too.

And so you don't want to be someone who's pulling your punches, but at the same time, do you, how do you think about how your work lands for and on other people? Yeah. I mean, that's just responsibility, right? It's just being a good person. I think when you're writing, the writer can't always win, I guess is one way to put it, right? So I'm a writer, but I'm a human first. Yeah. I'm not a writer first and then a human. Yeah. And so the human being in me has to be

part of the editorial process and part of the shaping process. And so, you know, when I was working on my memoir, a lot of what I was doing was thinking about boundary setting. Yeah. Like what I wanted to say, what I didn't wanna say. And most of that had nothing to do with me.

It had to do with how to protect other people in my life who aren't explicitly consenting to having me write about my life with them as characters in it. And so how do we, without pulling punches, show up in an honest and vulnerable and transparent way while also not just handing it all to other people, which I think would feel bad in one's body too.

And so for me, I knew that the first sentence of my memoir would have something in it that would say this is not a tell-all. Right. In part because in thinking about it, I realized they don't exist. And so every book that is marketed as a tell-all isn't that. Sure.

Because you only have- Something was left out. Something, well, but it's also just your perspective. If you're writing a tell-all memoir. It's tell-all from my perspective. From your perspective, maybe, but probably not, right? I mean, it's however many words it is, it's not your whole life. Yeah, yeah, sure.

So it's not a tell-all even from your perspective. It's certainly not a tell-all of the situation. It's a very narrow view of a certain time in your life told from the perspective of your consciousness at the time that you were writing the book. Yeah. And so the narrator of my memoir is Maggie Smith. Yeah. But I left her in the book.

Right. She lives in that book because I'm not exactly that person anymore. And if I were writing that memoir today, it would be a different book. Yeah, and it's not illegal. I mean, obviously there are legal things. Sometimes you can't say this, you have to change this or that.

But like, there's just this decision to say, hey, I'm not comfortable doing this to this person or they don't deserve that. There is this, again, we think of justice too often as a black and white thing and not just a, hey, what am I comfortable with? What feels right and responsible here? And that the, yeah, the artist's obligation

isn't solely to truth. I think about this now even with platforms and stuff where like people seem to not, your job isn't just to get an audience or just to do what will do well, but to do what feels true to you and what is responsible in some way to the medium and to society, you know?

And then- Yeah, and you can do all of those things at the same time. Well, that's the puzzle of it, is figuring out how to do it. And that means not doing some things that other people are doing or that would be financially renumerative. Yes. Or fun or easy and to go,

hey, I'm not gonna platform this person, or I'm gonna have to go out of my way to really explain why I'm doing this or that, because there's a responsibility. I think in the way that company, like CEOs go, oh, my obligation is to the shareholders, or to the share price as a way of excusing morally reprehensible things.

I think a lot of artists and then more sort of the more modern entrepreneurial artists just goes like, well, it's doing well. People like, people are interested. Like a lot of people I know that have podcasts are going, well, my audience is interested in hearing about this. And that's how they sort of, they rationalize talking to a person.

Yeah. And instead of, you know, going, Hey, is the impact of talking to this person more negative than positive? You know? Yeah. I mean, would saying a lot of inflammatory things in a book, sell more books. Sure. Sure. If that's the sole goal to sell a bunch of books, then everybody would just be sort of like setting fires. Well, if the sole goal was just to make money, why do a book at all?

There's so many things that make so much more money. Right. You know, like- Yeah, I know personally, like I don't really know that many poets who got into writing because they thought it would be incredibly lucrative. Yes, you fucked up if that's what you got in poetry. Really, I know.

It's amazing that after studying creative writing, women's studies in philosophy in college, that I'm not living in my parents' basement right now. So none of this was supposed to be a money-making endeavor, but I think that's right. I mean, so many people ask, like, how do I write the thing I can't bear to write? Yeah. Right? Like, I have this story to tell, but I don't know how to tell it because it's going to upset my mother, or I'm going to have to finally tell the story about this thing that happened to me when I was a kid. How do we responsibly, like ethically, and also take care of ourselves in the process?

Because there is a difference between writing a story and then living in the world with the story. And I think it's really helpful to think as you're deciding how to tell the story you want to tell, to imagine yourself a couple of years out on book tour or on a podcast or giving a talk or running into somebody at the farmer's market who has read that book or running into your child's teacher who has read that book.

And what stories are you thinking about telling that maybe you would tell differently if you knew you had to take that show on the road because you will have to take that show on the road. And so how does it feel in your body to think about having those conversations or with people in your life who are in that book? And so no, your obligation is not solely to your publisher or the readers or the audience or however you conceive of it. I think when you're making things, your first responsibility is to yourself and your own

sense of right and wrong and also to the people in your life because you are a human being first. Yeah. But there's something earnest and almost self-important about going, no, what I'm doing matters. And there's an ethical implication for the decision I'm making, but it's true. And if when you don't think that,

you get this sort of nihilistic exhibitionist art that might be titillating and exciting or even invigorating to do. But there's something kind of empty about it because you're just talking shit about people or you're just exposing things and what you're not doing is the real weight of exploring it and talking about it.

And then also thinking about how it's gonna land and what it's gonna mean to people. And if also this question of like, hey, if everyone did what I'm about to do, what would that world look like? Actually, that's a really funny way to think about it. Like, how would I feel if someone was doing, I mean, it's also just the golden rule,

but if someone did this to me. Right. And again, radical empathy, right? Like how do I sort of share my truth, but also treat the story with the care it deserves because I'm a person and we're all people and we're all messy and fallible and none of us is doing a perfect job at any of this.

I mean, one of the things, I think Gina Frangelo said this about memoir, that it needs two ingredients, self-assessment and societal interrogation. And so if you think about it that way, to sort of write what you would conceive of as a tell-all and sort of just dump everything and likely, I think, in that make others the villains and yourself the hero of your own story. It's a really dangerous stance and probably is going to miss at least one of those two

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I write a lot about history and these long dead historical figures. So you can kind of reduce them to these caricatures. These are their motivations, and they were, you can be very judgmental because not only are they dead, but all their relatives are dead. And not being without them. No one's coming for you.

Yeah. Yeah. And every once in a while I'll talk about a more modern figure. It was weird to write, like I wrote about Michael Jordan in one of my books and this sort of endless competitive desire and how kind of toxic that was. And then I like met his son, you know?

And then you're like, oh, okay, like here's a person who's reading this about someone they like and know, right? And so it changed one, how I think about it when I write about people who are alive. It just, and I think I've gotten better at it. Just like I now go out of my way to like talk to people that know them or read sympathetic takes and just trying to sort of round out the picture,

but also to think, hey, you know, this Roman emperor or this, you know, general or whomever from a long time ago, they probably didn't think they were a piece of shit, you know, like. I feel like most people don't think that, right? Right, right. I mean, some people are wrong. Yeah, of course, of course. And what they did can still be objectively reprehensible.

Bad, yeah. But there was clearly something that they thought that allowed, like, so what is that? And so the curiosity of like, well, how did they think about it and how did they square this? You have to have the curiosity. And if you have it becomes much more interesting because they're not evil person doing evil thing.

They're normal person thinking they're doing a good thing that in fact is evil. Yeah. How does that happen? Yeah, but I mean, I think that that is part of just taking people in as humans, right? And thinking like, oh, you, who are doing something reprehensible or not,

it would be easy for me to make you into a caricature. Yes. You are someone's child. Yeah. Like you grew up as someone's child. Sure. You are perhaps someone's spouse or someone's parent or someone's fun uncle.

Yes. And so how do I not excuse any of sort of who you are to me and what you're doing and what the impact is, but also refuse to flatten you into just like a bumper sticker for this sort of a bad infomercial for what you're doing. And that's, I mean, hard sometimes, but I think necessary, because we're people.

Well, and that's the job of the artist. There's this crazy interview where James Baldwin is talking about these Southern sheriffs, and he's like, I'm sure this guy, after a long day of work, he gets a beer out of the fridge, he kisses his wife, and he's thinking about him as this human being, and he's thinking about him as this human being, and he's trying, how does that human being

then stick another human being with a cattle prod? And that was kind of the brilliance of the civil rights movement, which is you have this structure and this system that is profoundly unjust and evil. And these people who had no reason to do the empathetic work of figuring out why this was being done to them. Like the black leaders who go,

well, why is the sheriff operating this way? And what conscience does he have that we could appeal to? What makes a group of people come to a school and yell at little children trying to, like, what is that? And what redeemable parts are in them? And how can we hit them there? That is, I think, art on a fundamental level,

that empathy and just getting to the basis of the human experience and then being able to, either whether it's a political campaign or a slogan or a speech or a stunt that is designed for the TV cameras to hit at that. That's the art, that's, you know, Kafka said that art is supposed to be an ax that breaks this frozen sea. That's also what great activism and political oratory does

is it doesn't assume that the ice is unbreakable. Yeah, I mean, I think a lot of us need to be sort of shake, held by the shoulders and kind of shaken awake. Yes. And that's something that art can do, which is why it's important. I mean, sometimes it feels, you know, times like these, but I say times like these,

but times have always been like these in one way, shape or form for someone. What's another time you would rather be alive that's objectively better? Right, and I think, you know, if a different time felt better to me, that's probably a mark of privilege on my part. Would be better for you, but not everyone.

Not everyone else, right? So I keep thinking in times like these, but no, in all times, in all harrowing times, because all times have been harrowing in some way for someone, art matters. And yet sometimes it feels like playing with blocks. Because it's just like, but I want, it's not a tourniquet, right? It's not, I'm not an ACLU lawyer. I'm not an ACLU lawyer. I'm not a surgeon. I don't have the ability to sort of make large scale decisions that would positively impact

people in the ways that I feel frustrated that I'm not able to do. And so I'm like, I'm writing poems or I'm, you know, working on a new book or I'm giving talks or teaching. And sometimes it feels like not quite enough. And it's helpful to remember that sort of frozen sea and that kind of wake up that a lot of people need. And maybe it's incremental, but I think it matters. It does matter.

It matters a lot. And it's funny how we have no compunction about or doubt that there are people who are making things worse, right? And that the people who go making things worse. Right? And that the people who go along with it or cheer for it, that they're helping make it worse. And then when we decide, first off, not to join the mob, right, one of the early Stokes said,

the whole point of being a philosopher is to not be part of the mob. To just think for things yourself. When we do that, we go, we shrug that off as nothing. If what they're doing is making the problem worse, and not being part of the jeering mob that's doing bad shit is itself a positive thing. And then, you know, speaking out,

doing whatever your thing is well, if you're gonna hold these people morally culpable over here, you have to morally credit yourself for these seemingly infinitesimal or inconsequential contributions. It matters too. And then, you know, obviously it's a spectrum. There's more you can do. And it can make a difference. And art historically has made an enormous difference. I think we're too quick. There's a cynicism, a cynical element of us is

too quick to dismiss these things as inconsequential or meaningless, and they're not. No, not at all. I mean, art has saved my life a thousand times over. And I know that's true for a lot of people. I mean, and also I don't know what the point is of saving a world in which art is not a part of it. Also true. Yeah. Right? Yeah. Yeah. I mean, look, it's not the same as being an ACLU lawyer, but like there is some self-importance that can come in where you make yourself seem like you're doing the Lord's work when really you're not. But I don't know. I just, there's something like the great man

of history theory is not, a lot of people don't, you know give it much credence these days, but it's like we definitely see where not so great people made history really bad. And then we're like, but there's nothing an individual can do. It's like, well, if they can make it worse seems like a person can make it better.

I agree with that. And so I think there's something hopeful in not just thinking that a person could make it better, but then you could be that person. Instead of waiting on someone else to do it for you. Totally. Yeah. Yeah. These big movements, they do start, you know, somewhere. Yeah. And sometimes it's a poem. Sometimes. Or perhaps the poem encourages someone who does the thing to not give up. I hear that a lot. Yeah. I mean, it's funny, especially with Good Bones.

I have a kind of a strange relationship with that poem because it does get shared when things are particularly terrible. It's like that Mr. Rogers quote about helpers. Yeah. It just enters the viral commons. Yes, exactly. So I mean, A, it feels like public domain work to me now. It almost feels like it's not my personal work anymore.

But it's also whenever I see it a lot, it's during times when people feel like they need to acknowledge darkness, but look for light. And so I hear all the time that that poem, or I hear from people about the memoir that it helped get them through a really rough patch in their life. And it is sort of affirming to think that something that you brought forth from yourself and from your own,

struggles or experience or even pain might be helpful to somebody else. Yeah. And you would probably, I'm guessing, trade if you said, hey, would you like your poem to become irrelevant? You're like, awesome, sure. Yeah. Right? It would be great. We never needed it again. Yeah. I would love to find out that the need for stoicism has disappeared and my niche has

disappeared and my niche has been rendered obsolete by progress and innovation. I just don't, I don't think that's happening. Yeah, I'd write about anything. I mean, it's funny, after my memoir came out, more than one person would say something like, well, at least you got a book out of it. You know, like, wow, you really made lemonade from those lemons.

And I just thought like, I'm a writer, I'll write anything. Like if it hadn't been that book, I would have written another book about something else. Like I don't actually need grief or loss. Joan Didion did not need her husband and daughter to die. No, no. She would have written a couple other good books. And I would have loved them, right?

Like the material is everywhere, it doesn't need to be that hard. So yes, I would absolutely loved them, right? Like the material is everywhere, it doesn't need to be that hard. So yes, I would absolutely trade art made from painful experiences because I wouldn't be trading away my art, I would be trading away my material for other material. We also wouldn't be trading away painful experiences because you just have-

I have other ones. Yeah, you just have other ones and they're all equally pain, that is the thing that is our superpower as humans is we can feel everything intensely. And so this is what allows us to survive horrible things and also to make not so horrible things feel like the world is ending.

And it's like, you're gonna be fine. People have been getting through stuff like this for a long time. Yeah, life is long actually. In some ways. So you don't like writing routines? I don't. Why? Well, because they don't work for me.

So I don't, I don't not like them for others. Yeah. Yeah. because they don't work for me. So I don't not like them for others. Yeah, I think if you are the kind of person who can sit down at the same time every day, I mean, I have friends who do this. I have friends who sit down at the same time every day in the same chair. Sometimes they wear the same color.

Like I know people who like routine. And I think whatever works for you works for you. For me, what I would like to do is reassure people that if they're not the kind of person who has a routine or who can manage a routine because of life circumstances, that does not mean you're not a real writer and can't get a lot done. Yeah.

Writing routines have not worked for me mostly because of raising kids and being a primary caregiver and now a solo caregiver. And so, no, I can't say at this time of day, every day I'm gonna be doing this because I might be at the pediatrician or I might be walking my dog or I might get invited to do something, to give a talk.

And I really would like to do that. My life is very kind of haphazard right now. And so the writing is catch as catch can. And frankly, writing with a newborn and a toddler taught me to write on scraps with scraps whenever I could, whether it was late at night or during a nap or on the back of a check or, you know, while waiting in the carpool line.

And I don't know, I think probably, there are probably people out there who can find a little time here and there, but maybe feel like they're not doing it for real. There are air quotes there because they're not the kind of person who has a writing room and a writing schedule. And I just want to tell people, it's okay, you're still doing it.

Well, that's a routine also. Like Susan Strait, the novelist, who is my professor in college, she talks about this in her memoir. She would put her kids in the stroller and walk them till they fell asleep, like, because they always fall asleep in it, you know, they take their nap in the move.

And then as soon as they fell asleep, she would stop and sit down and write in a notebook, like on the curb. And it's like, that's a writing routine. You know what I mean? That's a discipline. And in fact, that's more discipline than the I wake up at six and I make coffee,

and then I do yoga, and then I meditate for six hours. You do it within the, like poetry. It's constraints, exactly. You know, like you do it within the, like poetry. It's constraints, exactly. You find the parts you control inside all that you don't control and you create a discipline and a practice or a ritual that allows you to sort of do the thing. Just obviously there are some that are more inspiring

and beautiful, although I would argue there's something actually much more inspiring and disciplined about the, no, I squeeze the writing in between naps, or, you know, Toni Morrison being like, no, I get all my writing done before I hear the word mom. Like that's cooler in a way, it's not as celebrated, but it's cooler than the, I don't know,

I use this old typewriter, you know, like there's something kind of luxurious and, I don't know, I use this old typewriter. You know, like there's something kind of luxurious and I don't know, like signaling about the more elaborate routines. Yeah, and frankly, I mean, growing up and being a young writer, a lot of the elaborate routines that I was hearing about were men's elaborate routines. And it was probably because they were able

to be in that writing room for five hours because their spouse took care of the children. Yeah, right. So I just thought like, what is, if you are, if you're a writer and you're self-employed and you're a single parent, what does your writing routine look like? And it looks a lot less like a writing routine

and a lot more like carving out as much time for it and sort of like carving around. Why, I say you should have routines, plural. Like this is what you do when they wake up at this time, this is what you do when this happens first, like because the rigidity can become a kind of inflexibility or necessitating a certain amount of privilege and certainty that life is just not gonna offer.

And also, you know, a lot of these older ones, it was predicated on an environment where there was a small group of working writers and everyone else was on the outside desperate to get in, or it was a totally uncommercial enterprise. Sometimes people go, well, what would the ancient stoics think about you, I don't know, selling ads, or the commerce element. And I go, you know, what would the ancient stoics think about, you know, you, I don't know, like selling ads or like the commerce element.

And I go, well, look, if I had an estate tended by slaves, you know, in a giant hegemonic empire, maybe I wouldn't be thinking about being directly compensated for my work, but that's not the economics that we live in. Thankfully, like this is actually a much pure and less exploitative system than it was for, even these like poets or whoever in the Renaissance,

like they got all their money from the Pope who stole it from other people. Like it wasn't such a pure system. Patriotage has its issues too. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. And just because they could be removed from society, it makes it actually less impressive. Yeah, it wasn't cleaner.

Yes, it wasn't cleaner, but also it's less relatable and in some ways involved less discipline. Like to make it work in being a functioning member of society or like knowing the names of your children and the names of your children's teachers is like, that's a responsibility that writers, even a generation and a half ago didn't have. And so it's more impressive if you can manage to do it

and not be what they call an art monster. Yeah, exactly. Not be an art monster. If you can break dance in a straight jacket. Totally. Yeah, I mean, like, look, there's a lot of people who've done incredible things and what did they trade to be able to do that?

It's like, oh, no, this person's an NBA champion and a good hang. You know, like, oh, wow. Like that's actually, they did two hard things. Let's not trade our humanity away for our art or our jobs or whatever those things are. Yeah, does the success come at the expense of, yeah, being at all normal?

Right. It's kind of impressive if you can be pretty good at what you do and pretty normal. Yeah, and say, actually, no, I can't do that literary festival because it's my kid's last day of school and they always have a little picnic that I'd like to attend.

I mean, these are the compromises that we make. It can't be all or nothing. Yeah, there's a story about Danielle De Prima, and she's at this party with the Beats, and she says she has to leave. Oh, Diane. Yes, Diane. Did I say it wrong?

Danielle. Oh, yeah, and she's supposed to leave. And she goes, I gotta go relieve my babysitter. And Kerouac says, if you go pick up your kid, you'll never make it as a writer. And she says, if I don't pick up my kid, I'll never make it as a writer. And her point was that this is a discipline too, like the, hey, I said I'd be home at 11. That's a routine too.

Yes. Not just the, hey, I'm JD Salinger and I have a separate life in a bunker behind the house and I'm neglecting my other responsibilities as a person, as a parent, as a decent human. And in the rare cases where someone can do both or is doing one and earnestly trying to do the other two, that to me is like just an even narrower target or more elite company.

Yeah, like I can't be everywhere at once, but I sure try. Yeah, yeah. And I'm not using my work as an excuse to not have to try, which is I think in the domain of most of the great male artists in history. I think it helps that I write so much about my domestic life. Like my kids are so much a part of my work

and also my community and my neighbors and my friends. And so when people ask me to do things and I'm not able because of family obligations. Yeah. I'm like, well, that's, if you're asking me because you like what I do and what I do, this is it. Like it's not an act. Yeah, you want me. Like this really is my life.

Would you rather I come and be a hypocrite or not come and show that I meant this thing that means something to you? Yeah. Shall I walk the walk? Because that's what I'm really trying to do. Yeah, which is part of the art too, I think. Yeah. Right, like if it's just words and you don't mean them, or you're not, as we all fall short,

you're not trying to mean them, what does that mean? That would be odd and inauthentic. But don't you think that's probably more the rule than the exception? Oh, I hope not. I don't mean now. I just mean historic, like with a lot of the people that we hold up. Perhaps. I mean, what do they say? Don't meet your heroes, right? Because what if this person, you've been reading their work for years and you think they're one way and then you meet them and they're rude to you, or I feel very lucky that my experience with most writers,

at least I've met, has been incredibly positive and most people are maybe even better than what you think they are from reading their work. Yeah, it's like how many great men, women, artists of history would you want to have been married to or raised by? Probably very few. Yeah, right, right.

But I'm independent. I'm just saying, it's like, you know, it's like, and I think when you learn those things, it does reflect on the work. You go, oh, it's not the same anymore. Yeah. And just like, look, presidents used to be able to have lots of affairs and everyone sort of didn't detract from the thing and now I think it's progress.

We could go like, don't be so much of a piece of shit. Yeah. Yeah, it's funny when I meet people and they're like, oh, you're so friendly. You're just like I thought you would be. And then I think, well, what would it have been like if I hadn't been like, what a weird thing to think that you know someone because that happens, right? Like when you put books into the world and then you meet someone who's read your books,

there is like an immediate, like asymmetrical intimacy that is happening because they know a lot about you and you know nothing probably about them. But just like the point about as you become more successful as a writer, you know, you get more latitude from your editors or from the industry. I think you also sense when you become

a kind of a public figure or a success, you have an audience of people, you go, oh, there are fewer constraints on me now. Like I could get away with more. And that is a weird thing to realize. And it's also weird to realize some people go, well, I'm gonna do that then. You know, like the idea that success exempts you

or makes lessons the standards, I think it's the wrong lesson to take. It's like, no, no, no. Actually now it's a harder thing because no one's making me and they will make allowances for me in fact. And so it's like, yeah, you're doing a talk. You go something like, oh my God, you hear later.

Or they say, you were so nice. You're not what I expected. You go, I was like, could have been a dick. And you guys would just would have, I could have asked for more things. I could have phoned this in. I could have been a dick and that you guys would just would have, I could have asked for more things. I could have phoned this in. I could have been late and you guys would have just figured it out.

Right. That's weird. And there are, I think people who go, oh yeah, I just don't have to be on time anymore. Right? That's not a healthy thing, but it's a timeless one. I mean, that's what so Mark Surulis' meditations is so fascinating because here you have this guy fundamentally exempted now from all the rules of society.

And he writes this book to himself where he's like, no, no, no, here's all the things you're, here's the standards you're gonna try to hold yourself to and I'm gonna hold you accountable when you don't. But that's, when it becomes a thing, it I think becomes more meaningful. Absolutely, but also you have to live with yourself. Sure. So, I mean, I can't imagine what it would feel like

in my body to show up late. It would feel bad. But I think, do you think the people that are doing it, do you think it feels like anything at all to them? I don't know. I bet you become desensitized. I bet it's less of a day-to-day wrestling and choice and more like a choice you make and then it kind of takes care of itself.

That's just what I do now. That's who I am now. Yeah. I'm Lake Guy. Or it's on time when I get there. Yeah. Do you know what I mean? It's a kind of a more-

We're on my schedule now. Yeah. It's a more- where you just, it's a self-centeredness that metastasizes. I think everyone has, like, not just everyone has, but I would argue you inherently have as some kind of artist because there's some thirst for attention or recognition or desire to be seen or else you probably would have been drawn to accounting instead of writing. So it's there and then it can be metastasized by the radiation that's being. Blasted at you?

Yes. Yeah. My joke is that I became a writer because I'm an introvert. And if you write long enough and get enough of a readership, then you have to sort of put your introvert away. Yeah, yeah. And start extroverting. Yes. Yes. But if one could just write books in a cabin forever,

I feel like I would sign up for that. That's not how the world works. No, no, definitely not. At all. No, you get asked, I say like the reward for succeeding as a writer is less time for writing. Yeah, absolutely. And you have, that's again, we're back to the discipline because doing the other things often pays more.

Yeah. And it's more immediately validating. Yeah. And it's more immediately validating. Yeah. And it's easier. Even if you're an introvert, I'd rather give a talk than write a fucking book. You know, like it's not so- I'd rather write a book.

No, I just mean like the talk takes an hour. That's true. Like it's immediately simpler thing. Yeah, and time-wise. So you can, yes, as much as you love what you do, there's also the resistance and procrastination that wants to not do the thing. Yeah, and time-wise. So you can, yes, as much as you love what you do, there's also the resistance and procrastination that wants to not do the thing. You can find yourself with a lot of very good excuses

to not have to do it. 100%, and good excuses that are also the way that you are supporting yourself and your family, right? And so to be able to look at some of those things and say, okay, I actually need to, I have to have some restraint here, right? And say, I have to say no. Yes.

Which I love to say yes. I'm really good at saying yes. I'm Midwestern. Like I'm early and I love to say yes. And having to say no is difficult for me. And it's something I'm learning to do because I realized that saying no to that is saying yes to the other thing that I'm tacitly saying no to every time I say yes to these other things. So if I'm saying no

to this, so I'm saying yes to my children, or I'm saying no to this because I'm saying yes to working on this book and I can't be out flying around everywhere while I'm saying no to this because I'm saying yes to working on this book and I can't be out flying around everywhere while I'm doing it. Well, yeah, you don't wanna be rude. Yeah. And so you say yes. And then there's something powerful about having kids

because then when that crying six-year-olds is you're talking to them on the phone and they're asking where you are, or they're, you know, I thought we were doing this or whatever, or they're, I thought we were doing this or whatever, or the thing you're late because you said you would, you couldn't extricate yourself from a conversation that you didn't wanna be rude.

Yeah. Well, you were rude. You were rude to a person that is feeling it much more deeply than this complete stranger. And you're also being rude to yourself. And if you love what you do and you love that person that gets to do the thing, the main thing that you do, like why are you treating that person shitty

by stealing all their time? These are the things. We got a second to go look at some books. Yeah. Let's do it. Yeah. Thanks so much for listening. If you could rate this podcast and leave a review on iTunes, that would mean so much to us and it would really help the show.

We appreciate it. I'll see you next episode. If you like The Daily Stoic and thanks for listening, you can listen early and ad free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple podcasts. Prime members can listen ad free on Amazon Music. And before you go, would you tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey on Wondery.com slash survey.