You write to find yourself. You fashion nets out of your glittering words, out of letters and art that looks like you to remind yourself of your place in the world-- the place that looks like it does it in your head.

It anchors you.

I met a man at a party who used to work at a bookstore. He wanted to write so badly. He wrote and submitted books to publishers without luck, for eight years. No interest came back at all, from throwing his work into the void of the world. But he believed in himself.

And eight years after starting this process, writing and writing again and writing some more, submitting and getting rejected, working in a bookstore and dreaming: he got a publishing contract. For half-a-million dollars. And promptly quit his bookstore job.

My friend and I discussed this after: how long would you chase a dream? To some eight years might seem interminable; to others it's a drop in the bucket. And the key here is, had the writer in question stopped believing himself at any point-- though I'm sure he had moments that rocked the foundation of his faith-- had he at any moment really and truly just quit on his dream, he never would have gotten here. Never would be enjoying the knowledge that yes, it mattered. His work, his belief in self, it has amounted to him realizing what he's always wanted.

What would you let yourself chase for eight years?

Better question: what have you avoided letting yourself chase, while eight years have passed you by?