As someone who has been publicly recognized for my work, I often worry that if what I'm doing isn't recognized, how could it possibly be as good as what I did before? Is my best work behind me?

Yesterday I read this in The Artist's Way:

Fame is a spiritual drug. It is often a by-product of our artistic work, but like nuclear waste, it can be a very dangerous by-product. Fame, the desire to attain it, the desire to hold on to it, can produce the "How am I doing?" syndrome. This question is not "Is the work going well?" This question is "How does it look to them?"

The point of the work is the work. Fame interferes with that perception. Instead of acting being about acting, it becomes about being a famous actor. Instead of writing being about writing, it becomes about being recognized, not just published.

We all like credit where credit is due. As artists, we don't always get it. Yet, focusing on fame -- on whether we are getting enough -- creates a continual feeling of lack. There is never enough of the fame drug. Wanting more will always snap at our heels, discredit our accomplishments, erode our joy at another's accomplishment. [...]

What we are really scared of is that without fame we won't be loved -- as artists or as people. The solution to this is concrete, small, loving actions. We must actively, consciously, consistently, and creatively nuture our artist selves.

When the fame drug hits, go to your easel, your typewriter, your camera or clay. Pick up the tools of your work and begin to do just a little creative play.

Soon, very soon, the fame drug should start to lessen its hold. The only cure for the fame drug is creative endeavor. Only when we are being joyfully creative can we release the obsession with others and how they are doing.

Yep, that's about right.

I have a strong tendency to take my "leisure activities" pretty seriously.  When I wanted to start exercising regularly a few years ago, I suddenly jumped to doing triathlons. When began taking improv classes in 2007, I quickly transitioned to spending three nights a week at the theatre. I'm an enthusiastic person, and I can't seem to dip my toe in the water without jumping in with both feet.

That's why this article hit me where I live. In particular, this bit:

Stop Expecting Results

Progress is good, and skill building is great. Yadda yadda yadda. If you have fun hitting the driving range, then don’t worry about perfecting your swing. If you like to cook, stop stressing that the new recipe you’re trying is going to stink. As soon as we expect a certain quality of results, we’ve turned fun into work. Goals are okay, but try to give yourself a lot of leeway to reach them.

I've talked before about needing to enjoy the feeling of doing something and not just enjoy the feeling of having done it. This is a step further: sometimes I need to just do the thing, with no expectations or goals. I need to just do it and immerse myself in the moment. I need to let the process of doing it be enough, without the need to be better at it. It turns out I'm actually pretty good at figuring out what I need to do, if only I'll get my brain out of the way.

Which of my current leisure-time activities I'm thinking specifically about is left as an exercise for the reader.

In what's becoming regular feature, here's a quote from this week's reading from The Artist's Way.

Art is not about thinking something up. It is about the opposite -- getting something down. The directions are important here.

If we are trying to think something up, we are straining to reach for something that's just beyond our grasp, "up there, in the stratosphere, where art lives on high..."

When we are getting something down, there is no strain. We're not doing; we're getting. Someone or something else is doing the doing. Instead of reaching for inventions, we are engaged in listening.

When an actor is in the moment, he or she is engaged in listening for the next right thing creatively. When a painter is painting, he or she may begin with a plan, but that plan is soon surrendered to the painting's own plan. This is often expressed as "The brush takes the next stroke." In dance, in composition, in sculpture, the experience is the same: we are more the conduit than the creator of what we express.

Art is an act of tuning in and dropping down the well. It is as though all the stories, painting, music, performances in the world live just under the surface of our normal consciousness. Like an underground river, they flow through us as a stream of ideas that we can tap down into. As artists, we drop down the well into the stream. We hear what's down there and we act on it -- more like taking dictation than anything fancy having to do with art.

Two bits of recent wisdom from friends of mine (via Twitter):

Josh Roby: "Done is the engine of more."

Rob Donoghue: "Good managers are not sin-eaters, but rather stupid-eaters. They will knowingly eat the stupid of the company so that others can be smart."

I've mentioned The Artist's Way before. Here's what jumped out at me in this week's chapter.

People frequently believe the creative life is grounded in fantasy. The more difficult truth is that creativity is grounded in reality, in the particular, the focused, the well-observed or specifically imagined.

As we lose our vagueness about our self, our values, our life situation, we become available to the moment.It is there, in the particular, that we contact the creative self. Until we experience the freedom of solitude, we cannot connect authentically. We may be enmeshed, but we are not encountered.

Art lies in the moment of encounter: we meet our truth and we meet ourselves; we meet ourselves and we meet our self-expression. We become original because we become something specific: an origin from which work flows.

Recently I've experienced the power of making myself available to the moment. It's the sort of thing we talk about a lot in improv, but it's so much more applicable than that. Overcoming the fear, doing the work, putting yourself out there to actually experience what's going on: it's powerful, transformative stuff. I don't do it enough.

This is as far as I've gotten in the book before. Presuming I make it, next week will be new ground.