Does this question even make sense in this form? I shared my previous post on Facebook and LinkedIn. Surprisingly, it resonated with a lot of people. I felt satisfied and happy. Comments and feedback started coming in. And then I began checking the numbers. How many likes, how many comments, how many people clicked through to the blog, what do the stats say? Wow, it’s gaining traction! What should the next post be? How can I top this? What are others writing about, and what does ChatGPT suggest?
Okay, stop this right now.
A strange feeling came over me as I realized what I was doing. I’m writing about how quality matters more than quantity in building my business, yet I find myself focusing on the numbers for the very post about that topic. Worse, I’m starting to think about what I should write to increase those numbers. But instead, I should just continue doing what I’ve been doing—writing what’s inside me and letting it reach whoever it resonates with.
Still, isn’t it true that if something impacts many people, it’s a mark of quality? In a way, yes.
Is it, though?
Van Gogh created a little over 2,000 works during his lifetime, yet only a handful are known to have been sold during that time. Does that take away from their quality? In some sense, yes, because the environment in which he created didn’t recognize his talent. I’ve always been intrigued by the question of what makes art, art. How do we define it? Is it the artist who gives something the status of art? Is it the intention behind the creation? Is the work inherently a piece of art, or is it the impact on the audience that defines its artistic value?
It’s easy to ask these questions about my own writing. Are my writings good only if they impact many people and receive lots of reactions (and, if so, do the numbers and statistics matter)? Or is a piece of writing already good if it impacts just one person? Do people resonate with a piece more if it’s written by someone with credibility in the eyes of the masses? I don’t want to get lost in these questions because they arise from some internal lack.
I want to be more.
This desire has followed me throughout my life. And this need to “be more” has shown up in many forms. I wanted more friends, more money, a bigger car, the ability to speak more languages, more degrees, to run, walk, or row more kilometers… And when I felt I couldn’t be more in any of these ways, I ate. I wanted to swallow the entire world. To become more. And I did—by becoming bigger. Maybe that way, the world could see I was more.
But being more wasn’t better.
So, I started exercising, lost weight, became less in kilograms but more in performance. I became better. What an illusion. Because while I became better at performance, I became less present at home. Like a branch swaying in the wind—up, down…
But where am I going with all of this? To the realization that wanting can distort what’s inside me. In an instant, it pulls my attention away from who I am. Who am I in writing? Perhaps the version of me that comes out spontaneously. Without planning, intention, or the need to make an impact. Embracing the fact that maybe no one will read what I write. Except me. And if I read it, I like it; I feel good, even if just for a moment, being back in the emotion I had when the thought formed.
Why? Because it’s nice to see that I’ve since moved a little further from that thought. I’ve become a little more, a little better.
And if you’ve read this far, at least one person besides me has read it. Thank you!
The article was originally published on the vendler.hu blog.
