"Are you planning to work in a cafe all your life, or do you have bigger plans?"
"I want to live from writing," I answered automatically.
I had a conversation with a customer at a local coffee shop where I worked as a barista ages ago.
He was a regular; his name was Saul. I'm introducing him in the past tense because he passed away a few years ago. Even then, he was old, sick with diabetes and other kinds of illnesses that he preferred not to talk about. He was a charming espresso drinker who always had something to say.
"Well, that's a beautiful ambition," he said, "but there is a great distance between wanting and doing. What are you doing about it?"
"I Write." I said, "Send materials to different places, magazines, anthologies... My debut novel is still in progress." Then I leaned forward as a secret holder and added, "People keep suggesting I should publish stuff to the Internet, but I have no desire to go on the Internet. I don't have Facebook, and I hate social media." I straightened up again and added, "Besides..."
"What?"
"I'm improving all the time. My old stuff seems amateurish and silly every few months, and I find grammatical errors. On the Internet, things remain for years in front of everyone, and I will be ashamed of them at some point, and they will be illuminated there like the mark of Cain."
"Mistakes can always be corrected," he said.
"And what if I succeed? It is revealing and open to all. What if some ex read me, someone from my neighbourhood where I grew up, oh my... my parents. I prefer to write to strangers."
He laughed, "Most people are afraid of failing, of being found to lack talent, and here you are, afraid of succeeding? And even if you succeed as a writer in the future, do you think you'll have privacy then?"
As he lit himself another cigarette, I thought. At least the world of good literature belongs to real writers who hide behind a magnifying glass. The web, on the other hand, is full of angry 14-year-old girls who write articles they call "posts" about gel nail polish that didn't last long enough or upload a picture of their breakfast or themselves in a bikini at the student beach. At least, that was my guess. I took a puff from the cigarette, on that occasion gathering strength to admit what no one likes to admit, "I fear exposure."
Saul looked at me momentarily, then said, "When I was young, I was scared to death of talking to women."
My eyebrows curdled. Saul's notorious flirts knew how to gracefully make their way into the familiar ears of young waitresses.
"You don't look like the shy type," I said
"I know, but I used to be very cowardly. I was afraid that a beautiful woman I would hit on would tell me no. I didn't know what to say or how to react to rejection, and what if she laughed at me? I thought there was no chance at all that I would get a yes. For years, I would fall in love with women without saying. Until a good friend told me, 'Saul, what are you afraid of? If this woman says no to you, there are other women. The world is full of women. So start with one, and she'll refuse, and you'll be ashamed and feel bad, then hit on the next girl, and she'll say no too and think you're an idiot, and then you'll hit on another one and another one. In the end, you will have a huge collection of rejections, but you know what? At some point, one of them will say yes to you and that someone is walking around the world, but you won't reach her if you don't go through all the rejections first. Rejection brings you closer to her.'" Saul drank his long espresso and looked at me with a look of shared reproach, "So I tried, and I went, and I invited a woman for coffee, and she refused. It was embarrassing and frustrating, but I gathered my strength and did it again. Another woman laughed at me, and It got a little easier each time and again and again. Until I got to my wife, who ruined my life, but that's another story. Do you get the point?"
After thinking about it a bit, I said no.
"You want to succeed, but you're afraid of being exposed. One cannot happen without the other. One has to get out of one's comfort zone to be successful. Do you think I didn't feel exposed when I started dating women? Every time, it was like running naked down the hill with all my parts dangling, but I kept going. Because I knew that in the end, after all the humiliation and anxiety, I would get somewhere. Don't think about it too much; do what you know how to do. It will get easier the more you do it. You will start to be numb to it after a while, as what happened to me from woman to woman. Because your success is out there, after all the exposure and nudity, you have to reach it."
"Saul, I'll make you another espresso," I said, unsure how else to express my gratitude.
"Make one for me and one for yourself," he said, "and then tell me what this book you're writing is about."