"Never enough"
The bane of ambition and insecurity
“All the shine of a thousand spotlights,
All the stars we steal from the night sky,
Will never be enough,
Never be enough….”
When opera singer Jenny Lind takes the stage in the movie The Greatest Showman this is her song. It’s definitely not operatic, but it is clearly showing the heart of her character, and also that of P. T. Barnum, the Showman. Lind and Barnum are longing for something more, and at this point in the movie, Barnum is in danger of losing everything of true value in his life to his driving ambition. But the song tells the truth of it—even if he gets everything, it will “never be enough.”
Any time my kids get in one of their grasping moods, I tend to burst out into a rendition of this song, and eyes roll. They know, though, how appropriate the sentiment is. The problem is, the song applies to me just as much as them. It is the siren call, the longing—“I want, I want,” my soul cries, but what I get is never enough. “A thousand spotlights”? Isn’t that what I wanted from my writing? Accolades galore? I like to pride myself that I’ve grown out of silly dreams of fame. I really don’t want to be a celebrity hounded by fans and jetting around the world to sold-out events. But I do long for recognition, and when I don’t get what I think I want, I find myself fighting an insidious voice: Not only is what I get never enough, but maybe I haven’t gotten it because I am never enough….
The other night I dreamt I was asked to read a story I’d written to a packed auditorium. In true dream fashion, the person announcing each speaker was a family friend, but he only gave my name to the audience as he welcomed me up.
“My bio?” I asked. I knew I’d handed him a paper with the information on it.
He shrugged sheepishly. “I lost it,” he said.
So I gave my own introduction, and started to read my story only to constantly stumble over words. Then, in the midst of it, someone’s phone alarm went off, and it went on and on, loudly. With embarrassment, I realized it was my phone. I called to the people sitting next to my seat and asked if they could turn it off, but the sound continued. Then I discovered that the phone was in my back pocket, so I yanked it out and shut it off…but it kept going. Finally my conscious self tapped my unconscious.
“You’re asleep,” it said. “The alarm is your real one, in the real world.”
I groggily rose out of my dream to my true alarm in the real world, and I left my mortifying moment in the spotlight behind. There are times when I am very, very thankful something is not real.
But in the real world I fight my ambitions and my insecurities on a regular basis. Recently I received a small blow to my ambition, and the other day a friend, completely inadvertently and not at all personally, tapped my insecurity. It happened within a text group, a small band of close friends, and I tentatively broached how it had hit me. I knew when I wrote I was testing our friendship, wondering if I could honestly share how I felt and still be accepted by the group. My words did bring more hurt, specifically to the friend who hadn’t intended harm, and we had to work through that. But what struck me most was the discovery that more than one of us, this friend included, was battling the lie, “I am not enough!”
I know that I am recognized and loved by my family and friends. More than that, I know I am created, recognized, and loved by the God of the universe who sent his son to die for me because of that love. One would think that would be enough. Instead, I often wallow and squirm, wishing for more, more, more…even while I know that what I want actually won’t satisfy me if I get it.
This week my “never enough-ness” was defanged by the united response of my friends. I think that by yanking it out into the light it lost power—not all of it, but an awful lot. I know I will have to deal with this feeling again. My guess is it will be a struggle until I pass into eternity. Then, in God’s presence, I will finally be free of it. What a relief that will be! For now I need to remember that I am not alone, and that sometimes shining a spotlight on “never enough” will expose it for the lie it is. The “shine of a thousand spotlights” won’t be on some grand stage. Rather, the spotlights will illuminate what is true.
Art for the week:
When I can, I like to shine a spotlight on the work of friends. Emma C. Fox has just released the second book of her Serpents and Stone trilogy, Heart of Stone. You can find it for sale through her publisher, Owl’s Nest, or on Amazon. Her beautiful cover, which pairs nicely with the first book in the series, The Carver and the Queen, is by the talented artist, Amy Grimes.
Check out Daughter of Arden at Bandersnatchbooks.com, along with other great titles.
You can find links to more of my writing at A Shaft of Sun Through the Rain and my old blog, Willing, Wanting, Waiting.
Don’t forget to check out Bandersnatch Books’ podcast, including my interview in Season 1, episode 2!
I'm thinking Jonathan Rogers offers hope and help with his admonition to "serve the reader." When I can remember that good counsel, it helps with the “I want, I want” cry of my soul. And with Amanda Geidl, "I’m cheering you on! We are in this boat together. Thank you for your transparency and helping me remember I am not alone either!"
Loren, I believe we’re all in the same boat. It’s a tricky situation to write for an audience. On the one hand, we don’t want to chase fame. I heard a quote by Al Andrews that sums it up, “The human soul was not made for fame.” We can’t carry it. But we do write for readers. So to an extent, we do want people to know about it!
You are not alone. We do walk the fine line. I’ve often had the thought that my writing isn’t good enough, and you know what? It may not be. Still, I am compelled to keep doing it. I trust my Father is shaping me in secret and anonymity for my good. And the readers? They’re there, that small and mighty band! I mustn’t forget that I can learn to be content with the audience I’ve been given, to faithfully steward my voice for their good.
I’m cheering you on! We are in this boat together. Thank you for your transparency and helping me remember I am not alone either!