I used to spend time struggling with the idea of “fairness.”
Do you, ever? Do you think about whether people or situations or the universe itself are fair to you? Or to other people? I’m not even sure I know what fair means anymore… but I’m pretty sure that it’s meaningless to talk about it in any context beyond that of specific personal interaction.
I think it’s fine to tell a friend I think they are being “unfair” — they aren’t taking something into account that they should in this moment, or they are judging me without empathy, or…. well, there are many ways that people who are vulnerable to each other can be unfair, you know? Perhaps fairness and vulnerability are linked in this way… I don’t know, I’ll have to think more about that. But I do know that part of my definition of closeness is that there is space for me to speak and be heard.
But, you know, Life and The Universe and the Random Strangers Of The World do not have to listen to me. It’s not a rule. And so how can I possibly expect fairness from them?
It’s nice to think that things happen for a reason — good things and bad things — because it makes it seem possible to control them if we only understand the cause. It makes it seem that we can interject an element of fairness into these universal transactions. But, you know, it’s not “fair” that Nicola has MS, and it’s not unfair either. MS is in the world, and people get it. It’s not fair that our beloved cat died this summer and broke my fucking heart and that I still cry so hard I get nosebleeds, but it’s not unfair either. All living things on the planet die. It’s not fair that I have specific opportunities that other people don’t, and it’s not unfair either. It’s the result of a million choices that I made, and that some of those Random Strangers made, that ended up bringing us together in ways that changed our lives. That’s what happens. (I recognize that many of my opportunities are a result of social injustice to other people — but I’m not sure I wish to apply the word “unfair” to that anymore. Wrong? Yes, that’s a good word. But this idea of fairness is something else.)
And in the midst of thinking about fairness, today I read this post on Seth Godin’s blog: Maybe you can’t make money doing what you love.
I’ve long felt this way. I knew I would not make a living as a writer at the beginning, and that’s why I was so happy to find myself at Wizards of the Coast, doing work that I could really get behind, that changed me in ways I will carry with me for the rest of my life. That’s where I made the money that let me stop working full-time and focus on my art. And you know, it never occurred to me to think it was unfair that I had to do that. Why should I expect people to support me — to pay for my life on the planet to whatever standard I set for myself — just because I want to express myself? Just because I want to make art?
Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great that people make a living as artists, and I would like to do it myself — but I sure as hell don’t expect it, and I don’t think it’s a direct measure of the value of my art if I do, or if I don’t. I think it’s just what happens.
And the interesting thing to me is that, like Seth Godin, I have lots of negative capability around this stuff. Screenwriting fascinates and compels me because it is both art and work, in all the ways that I understand the latter — creative, collaborative, communication-dependent, and focused on results that do not necessarily reflect only my needs. The opportunity to do it was one of those million-choices confluences. And it gave me the enormous gift of rediscovering pure passion for my writing, and the equally great gift to walk away from standards of commercial success that I could not live up to.
But you know what? If it works out, I’ll have found a way to make money through art.
I used to spend time struggling with the idea of fairness. Now, I’d rather spend time making choices. And seeing what happens.
