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Several years ago, a writer telephoned me a few weeks after publishing what should have been the happiest time of his career.
His book received glowing reviews, made several bestseller lists, and generated invitations to speak and teach. Friends congratulate him. Readers wrote heartwarming letters. For years he had imagined what this moment would be like. Yet when we spoke, there was little excitement in his voice. Instead, there was confusion.
“I thought I would feel different,” he said. “I thought I’d finally believe I’d made it. Instead, I’m already anxious about the next book.” He paused before adding something that surprised her. “Part of me actually misses those years when I was struggling.”
His confession was more common than he realized. We spend so much of our lives imagining success that we rarely stop to imagine pursuing it. We assume that recognition will calm our doubts, that achievement will settle our restless minds, and that reaching an important milestone will finally allow us to relax into the life we’re trying to build.
Of course, there are moments of genuine satisfaction. It is deeply satisfying to see years of hard work pay off, to know that something you cared about has made its way into other people’s lives. Those moments are worth celebrating. Yet they almost never last as long as we expect. Before long, the applause fades, the reviews stop appearing, the exhibit closes, the tour ends, or the book quietly takes its place among thousands of others. The artist, meanwhile, wakes up the next morning to face exactly what it is: another blank page, another blank canvas, another rehearsal room, another beginning.
For many artists, this comes as a profound surprise because we have quietly created a story long before success. We envision it as a destination rather than an event. We picture ourselves crossing an invisible finish line beyond which uncertainty will eventually disappear. But creative work has no such finish line.
Each completed project simply introduces a new set of questions. Can I do it again? Was that success a lucky accident? Anyone care about the next piece? The doubts that accompany us before success often return almost unchanged, now dressed in different clothes.
Before recognition, we worry that no one will notice us. After recognition, we worry that people will expect more than we deliver. Anxiety changes its subject, but rarely its essential character.
I sometimes think that artists unintentionally carry more responsibility than they can bear for success. We ask it to confirm our talents, justify our sacrifices, reassure us about the future, and settle lingering questions about our worth. No professional achievement can do all this. Success is real, but not magical. It cannot overcome the common weaknesses of being a creative person. If anything, success often makes those weaknesses more visible because there is now something to lose.
An unknown novelist may dream of being discovered. A successful novelist can silently worry about disappointing readers. A budding painter hopes for an important exhibition. A well-established painter may fear that the next exhibition will not measure up to the end. Success increases opportunity, but it can also raise expectations of both ourselves and others.
Over the years I’ve noticed that the artists who navigate success most gracefully rarely become famous. They are the ones who gradually realize that success is not the goal of a creative life but one of its companions. Their deepest commitment is sometimes to the work itself rather than to the rewards that come with it.
They celebrate recognition when it comes, but they don’t build their identity on it. They understand that every career unfolds in seasons. Some years bring extraordinary visibility. Other years are quieter. Some projects attract widespread attention. Others seem to speak only to a small circle of readers, listeners, or viewers. Yet the work continues. The conversation between artist and craft continues. That ongoing relationship becomes more reliable than the changing fortunes of the market.
I often think of the writer who wondered why success made him feel strangely restless. As our conversation continued, he finally said something that seemed close to the heart of the matter. “I thought success would tell me who I was.” It was an honest sentence, and perhaps one that many artists could quietly claim as their own.
We all hope that recognition will settle certain questions once and for all. Yet identity was not something that awards, reviews, sales figures, or lasting habits could permanently establish. These things may acknowledge our work, but they cannot define us. That quiet work is ours alone, and it is done not in moments of public recognition, but in the personal rhythm of returning to work day after day.
If success has visited your creative life recently, I hope you welcome it with gratitude. Celebrate it. Share with the people who helped make this possible. Allow yourself to enjoy what you have achieved. But when the excitement begins to fade, as it inevitably will, remember that nothing essential has changed. You’re still the one who has to sit down tomorrow and start over. That’s not a disappointment. This is a great advantage of the artistic life. Success may visit from time to time, but work itself is your true companion. Ultimately, it is that enduring relationship—not a particular conquest—that sustains the lifetime of creation.
Learn more about the International Association of Creative and Performing Artists here.
Eric Maisel, President
International Association of Creative and Performing Artists
The International Association of Creative and Performing Artists (IACPA) is the first global home built for the creative, cultured and bohemian of every nation. We’re creating a place without borders—a global launchpad where we can connect, learn, and showcase our talents in a global community.
Our core belief is that creativity has no limits. While we enthusiastically embrace performers like musicians, actors and dancers, we are equally dedicated to all writers, visual artists and every creative soul. Our community spans everyone who imagines and creates in any domain from architecture to physics and education to business.
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