Unconsciously Moving the Goalpost

The process of launching a novel, part 3

One of my biggest “Aha!” moments so far in the book-launch process came during a conversation with my agent last week. She talked about how we can move the goalposts we set for ourselves unconsciously, and how helpful it can be to bring awareness to this—a lesson that extends well beyond book launches.

For years, I had two goals: to hold a book that I had written in my hands, and to touch a single reader deeply with something I had written. Over the past two months, I’ve subtly expanded those goals without realizing it, leaving me feeling like I was failing. I never did this consciously. But my emotions tell me I did. Just seeing the word “bestseller” next to another author’s name, or not getting selected by a bookstore as a “Staff Picks” section, can leave me feeling insufficient.  

I’ve been trying to tease apart aspects of comparison and goal setting since I wrote about comparison as the thief of joy a few weeks ago. Comparison can be problematic, but it can also helpful. It’s such a motivator, key to our functioning in society. What my agent said helped get me to a key insight: The problem is not with comparison per se or with setting new goals for ourselves. The problem is doing so reflexively or unconsciously instead of thoughtfully. Or blowing past long-held goals like a freight train without pausing to stop for celebration and gratitude.

For me, “success” for my book has become a moving target, undefined for myself and so subject to wild mood swings. And this has resulted in a lot of needless suffering.

Which, of course, is not a phenomenon specific to book launches. How many other places in my life do I do this? Forget the deep worry that kept me up at night with my daughter the minute it is resolved, without pausing to feel how grateful I am? Forget how much I once doubted that I would ever feel in a law job the way I do in my current one? Forget to be grateful for all that has gone well and right?

My agent helped me realize that I can and should define consciously what success looks like for me from here on out. I’m trying this on for size: Success is showing up authentically in the book-launch process, and picking myself back up when I fall. Simple to say and an art to do well. But the best part is that it is within my control. 

Our conversation also reminded me that I had never taken quiet time by myself to hold the book in my hands. When my author copies first arrived, I didn’t even want to look at them out of fear that I would obsess over something flaw I’d failed to identify. I’ve treated them like hot potatoes ever since.

Having just written that, I went over to my bookshelf, picked up a copy of the book and held it. And I remembered the years of my life spent hoping against hope.