I’m working with a client who writes magnificent 3,000 word essays. They’re well researched, beautifully arranged, and they’re starting to gain traction and getting paid subscribers.

The problem is; they write a 3,000 word essays every week.

If this were their full time job, this would be great. But it’s a side thing, and side things can easily start to crowd into other areas of our lives if we let them. And when it’s work we love doing, it happens quick, before we even realize it.

Your newsletter writing shouldn’t be a prison sentence. It shouldn’t feel like digging ditches. It shouldn’t be fraught with stress, or like dealing with a horrible boss. None of these things are desirable, and yet so many times we create these situations for ourself.

We get so wrapped up in the moment, in the performance, and we see a sliver of it working, and we lean in.

Before we know it, we’ve painted ourselves into a corner.

But I have good news: you’re the artist. You’re the conductor. You’re the band leader. You’re the director, the captain of the ship.

You got yourself into this situation, and you can get yourself out. Otherwise you burn out, resentment builds, and you’re working this new job for yourself that doesn’t pay the rent.

It’s okay to take your foot off the gas. It’s okay to write one 3,000 word essay 12 times a year.

If you need the extra day of travel time to show up bright and refreshed for a talk or a performance, take it, because otherwise you’re putting on a different kind of show, trying to impress everyone else except yourself.

We’re trying to be our own boss, so don’t be a bad one.

Believe that your true fans will probably stick around. Let the other people leave, that’s okay. There are thousands of people out there today who’ve never heard or seen your work, who have no idea exist.

What then?

What happens when they do find your writing, or your music, or your artwork, but your latest output was from seven years ago?

You crashed and burned because you piled up too many expectations of yourself, trying to meet some un-said protocol, trusting gurus instead of your gut.

The saying “it’s a marathon, not a sprint” doesn’t even apply here because marathons hurt, too, but in a different way.

Writing is still hard work, yes, but it shouldn’t leave you sore.