you don't need everyone to like your work (2018)

revisiting something i wrote years ago

Odessa, Ukraine. At age 6, I feel the love of an audience for the first time.

Hi. I originally published “you don't need everyone to like your work” in 2018. Obama was no longer president, music ruled the airwaves, and I was juuuuust getting started as a guy who writes stuff online.

Re-reading the post made me cringe. Whoever wrote that was way more upbeat but in a fake way? Or maybe I am now a husk of the hopeful man I once was? I don’t know. Regardless, here’s the essay along with my (2024 reactions in bold). for your viewing plzr.

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People usually have one or two seminal (seminal??) events in their lives that, when you get down to it, explain everything about them. Were these events to not happen, everything in their lives would be completely, irrevocably different. (completely! irrevocably!! only people who are terrified that they suck at writing use such words)

(honestly I’d cut all of the above and just start with some version of the below)

For me, that single event is moving to America from Odessa, Ukraine when I was seven years old. See, life in Ukraine sucked. Big time. That girl didn’t respond to your text? Your boss hated your powerpoint presentation and you have to start over? You blew that audition you really wanted to book for a feature length film in Hollywood, CA? If you’d count those as a bad day, they would easily have been the best day of your life in Odessa, Ukraine. (the premise here is strong but the examples? meh. especially because I doubt that any of them will come back later in the piece which is a missed opportunity! sneak in an example here that feels random but then you call it back later and everyone will go “WHOA”)

I’m exaggerating, yes, but not by much. And so my parents said, “Sasha, we’re moving.” And so we did. (Yes, my real name is Sasha, not Alex. Please don’t tell anyone this is just between us.) ( lol nice)

1993, Odessa Ukraine: the first recorded footage of my natural acting talents during the Odessa Community Players' rendition of "Goldilocks and the Three Bears." My Oscar-winning line comes at 0:51.

(ok this video above is not fake it’s the real deal!! As part of a “Learn English” program in Ukraine, we put on a little play and I played one of the bears in Goldilocks and, well, the rest is history.)

((reaction to above reaction: I sorta feel like I’m ‘wasting’ this video by posting it here? Like, it could perhaps be an epic part of a bigger essay about, I don’t know, my career as an actor or something to do with never feeling satisfied (“my cup really was never full”), but who the fuck knows if that’ll ever actually happen. I’d rather just publish this now and then use the video again later if need be!)

When we got here, it didn’t take long for me to realize I was different. I wore matching sweatpants and sweatshirts every day and brought a bunch of mini hot dogs in a ziploc bag to school for lunch (pigs in a blanket but without the blanket) (nice- another metaphor opportunity to come back to later - “I was the pig with no blanket” or something else dumb like that.

On top of that, I LOVED the food here - hot dogs and pizza oh my god - and so I got fat. Fast. The lunch lady - a woman who by all accounts should be an ally to the children, took to calling me “Cheeks.” CHEEKS!

And so, with all the strength of a kid who would do ANYTHING to fit in and just be like the other kids, I began to study these strange little Americans and became exactly like them. By 7th grade or so, I had become one of you with your Jnco jeans, Old Navy TechVests, and insanely expensive basketball shoes (why did I pay so much for Kobe2’s!??!). (how much did you pay??? if I remember correctly these shoes were like $120 or $150 in 2001)

The Kobe2, a hideous shoe I owned at one point in my life. These look like what hipsters on the Death Star would wear. 

What I inherited through this process of cultural assimilation was a deep-seeded need to be liked. And not just liked by a few people. Liked by EVERYONE. More than anything, I needed the American kids around me to accept me. To tell me that I was like them. That I was normal. (yep)

And now I bring that need to my creative work. (I’m listening…)

Operating on a subliminal level, I am wondering, hoping, needing for you - the collective you - each and every one of you - to like me and the work I’m doing. This results in my needing positive feedback, or as my girlfriend (girlfriend!!!) Lauren calls them, “gold stars.” And now, more than ever, these stars are everywhere - likes and comments you get on social media, instant e-mail and text responses, etc. Hello my name is Alex and I’m an addict.

I’m no betting man, but I’d wager some serious USD (lol) that this phenomenon isn’t limited to the eastern european immigrant population. Because wanting to fit in - wanting to be “normal” - is an animal instinct…I think. I mean, I’d imagine so - a bunch of deer who hang out together are more likely to keep being deer than some wacky, lone deer who has new, radical ideas about being a deer that no one understands. (ha the deer thing has legs (ughlol), I’d just go further with it now - what would some of that radical deer’s ideas be? would that deer start watching a lot of TV and see Bambi and feel misrepresented on TV and become a screenwriter that writes a horror movie about a deer that gets revenge for Bambi’s death called Bamboo?)

And yet, I would like to posit, that need is antithetical to creating personal, meaningful, fulfilling work. So be the crazy deer. Because there’s probably lots of deer out there going on the deer-wide-web (dwb) and looking for something that helps them understand themselves. And that can be you. (oops I guess I sorta did. also deer-wide-web 10/10)

Haruki Murukami is a badass. He’s the writer of awesome books such as 1Q84, Norwegian Wood, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and more (I’ve only read 1Q84 -it blew my mind and I am pumped to read more). (I have not read more)

Murukami also wrote an inspiring, guide to the life of a writer called The Running Novelist. The entire thing is beautiful (cut), but there’s one part in particular I want to mention here. In talking about the several years he ran a night club while beginning his career as a novelist, Murukami learned something essential to his work:

“A lot of customers came to the club. If one out of ten enjoyed the place and decided to come again, that was enough. If one out of ten was a repeat customer, then the business would survive. To put it another way, it didn’t matter if nine out of ten people didn’t like the club. Realizing this lifted a weight off my shoulders. Still, I had to make sure that the one person who did like the place really liked it. In order to do that, I had to make my philosophy absolutely clear, and patiently maintain that philosophy no matter what. This is what I learned from running a business.”

— Haruki Murukami

In other words, you don’t need everyone to like your work. In fact, why would you? The closest things to universally “liked” works are network sitcoms, and those generally suck! So as Murukami says, I am learning to lift this weight off my shoulders, and instead focus on making sure that the people who do like the work really like it. And how do you do that? By making work that is as true to you (in his words, making your philosophy clear) as you can.

(ok damn all of this is actually really good. I needed to read that Murukami quote today honestly bc I feel myself slipping back into the ‘why doesn’t everyone in the world like my work’ trap. good job past me for showing future me the way)

This idea, by the way, is much easier to write about then actualize. Of course I still wonder if people will like the work I’m doing. Right now, I wonder if you will like this post I’m writing. I don’t think that will ever go away. But I can be aware of it, and actively fight against it. So, with this post for example, I’m proud of it. I’m happy with what I’ve written and hope that some people - one out of ten, maybe - will appreciate it and gain something from reading it. But I’m not going to obsess over it (that’s a lie), or stop doing it if no one likes it (that’s true).

Because that, I believe, is a big part of the path towards a life spent goofing with friends that isn’t burdened by the praise (or lack there of) from the outside world (goofing with friends was the name of the blog I wrote this on).

So, the next time you begin to obsess about whether all the American kids like you, remember that you’re also probably a weirdo Ukranian boy in purple sweatpants/sweatshirt eating mini-hot dogs without a blanket and that very fact is the root from which your voice, however weird and awesome it is - will emerge.

So...did y'all like reading this? JK but seriously but JK.

(that ending is great. I’d probably add a final ‘but seriously’ because I have yet to figure out how to not worry or wonder about what the audience thinks about my work. I’m learning to both accept that truth and recognize it so I can realize when it’s getting in the way of me doing more work.

because with comedy, you need feedback. the whole thing is a conversation and laughter, silence, and every other emotion you feel from the audience is their way of speaking back to you and guiding you to move forward. obviously that’s harder to pull off in the written form but not impossible, not by a long shot

i’m jealous of the hope i used to have. maybe i still have it somewhere. either way - hopeful or hopeless - feels like playing a character, so maybe i oughta pick the character who isn’t a total downer? food for hmms.)

((note to self: revisit this essay in six years and annotate my annotations))

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comments

1. what’s your relationship to feedback?

2. do you obsess whether people like your work?

3. how do you get past that sort of obsession and keep working?

6. where on the hopeful - hopish - hopeless spectrum are you?

7. what sorta stuff were you writing or making six years ago and how does it differ from your stuff today?