Something a stranger once told me

Plus some "Words that fed me".

Dear Seekers is a newsletter and podcast by Sasha Xiao, for the curious souls seeking artistic and spiritual fulfilment. If you love it, please consider sharing it with others. Here’s my About page (updated). Any questions or feedback, you can directly hit reply to this email.

Hi friends,

This week, there is no podcast conversation, instead, a personal essay and some Words that Fed Me. I’ve also updated my About page to reflect more accurately of where I am currently.

Enjoy,

Sasha

In 2017, I travelled to London, UK to visit my best friend. She was still working during the day so I would walk aimlessly in the city for 8-10 hours a day everyday.

On a very bright day as if the sun is bleaching the sky - when many Londoners would tell you this is very rare, so you better take it and run, I go on my solo walk and end up at a row of houses with incredible architecture where the Sir John Soane's Museum is tucked away.

As soon as I step in, I’m immediately taken to a completely different world. Since it was Sir John Soane’s resident, the rooms are considered quite small for a museum yet jam-packed with his personal collections - painting, objects and big sculptures oddly situated as if they are real-life pieces placed in a doll house. I feel like a cat in a mouse tunnel sneaking around, navigating very cautiously so that I don’t wake up or accidentally step on my “prize”.

It’s on a Wednesday, so there are only three visitors in the whole museum- including me, and we can all hear each other breathing. Just as I’m splitting my attention between being blown away by everything, and trying very hard not to knock down any big sculptures or make too much noise on the old squeaky floors, my peace is irrupted by a voice.

I look on my right where the voice came from and see an old gentleman standing there with a big smile- very genuine, full of curiosity. He wears a slightly over-sized heavy wool tweed blazer and a flat cap that seem to be taken directly from the “Menswear in 1920s” department at the Victoria and Albert Museum. But they suit him very well.

“Hello? Do you have any questions?”

I just realize his curiosity was promoted by him waiting for an answer from me.

“Oh, no, I’m okay. Thank you very much,” I’m neither in the mood for a conversation nor am I interested in having our exchange being broadcasted to the whole museum that is clearly napping.

“You’re interested in Sarcophagus of the Egyptian Pharaoh Seti I?” his left eyebrow raised.

“I’m sorry?” I’m completely not aware that I’m standing right in front of the most renowned treasure of the museum- something people would travel miles to just lay their eyes on for a quick two minutes.

“It was discovered in 1817 by Italian explorer Giovanni Battista Belzoni. He had planned to sell the Sarcophagus to the British Museum, but they declined to pay the £2,000 he was asking for. Sir John Soane was very interested in ancient artefacts, so he didn’t hesitate and purchased the sarcophagus for his own collection,” he shares with pride.

“Oh that’s so fascinating!”

He sparks my interests as I always love discovering stories of collectors who choose to go out of their way- physically and financially to collect certain pieces that may seem weird or worthless to others yet are worth every penny to them. I let him continue.

“VERY fascinating, indeed…” he goes on.

15 minutes later, we find ourselves sharing our common frustrations about how arts, culture and especially historical artefacts are not being protected and preserved well enough in the modern days. I also may or may not have overshared how I disapprove the trend of Canadian historical buildings being turned into tasteless condos.

Then, out of nowhere, he asks me “You look like a writer. Are you?”

With his strong British accent, it sounds too certain to be a question. I feel like I’m being interrogated as if he already knows the answer about me yet myself, are incompetent to deliver.

This photo was taken on the same day

To this date, I still don’t remember what was the answer I gave him. It certainly wasn’t Yes, I am!

That, I know for sure.

But my memory sort of just stopped there and the rest couldn’t be restored. I guess it tried to protect me from drowning in shame, self-pity and embarrassment.

I didn’t know what he saw in me that I couldn’t see it myself.

The funny thing though is that this happened after my years of working as a broadcast journalist where I spent my every work day writing scripts for news stories, and after my years working as a fashion and market editor where I spent majority of my time writing feature articles and interviews.

I told my husband about this story when I came back to Canada. He responded: “You ARE a writer though.”

Me? Naw…

All these years, I had no problem with the titles I was given- bus girl, waitress, barista, news reporter, fashion editor, translator, social media strategist, content strategist, mother, etc. because they were my jobs. Jobs that I was monetarily rewarded for- I was even paid to go on maternity leave to be a mother.

But writer was never one of them.

I thought since I had never been *paid* to be a writer, I was not legitimate enough to call myself one. I didn’t dare to flirt with the idea because calling myself a writer would mean my words bring in dollars.

The title is a prize. And I was a fraud.

After years of searching, meandering, being confused, finding clarity and being lost again, I’ve finally realized: No one will give me the permission to call myself a writer- or anything I desire to be. No amount of education, recognition or financial security would grant this for me if I cannot begin to see it myself.

The reality we should consider is: If you like writing and making jokes, you’re a comedian. You don’t have to be standing on a big stage or getting a half million Netflix special to call yourself one. If you love swimming and you dive in the lake every day in the summer, then you’re a swimmer. You don’t have to be competing in the Olympics to call yourself one. If dancing brings you joy and you love moving with beats, then you’re a dancer. You don’t need to be dancing on Broadway or as a backup for Beyoncé to call yourself one.

During my early days of motherhood, the only thing that carried me through and lifted me up was writing- on my iPhone notepad 1 minute at a time. This has made it crystal clear to me: I AM a writer.

Since then, I’ve been calling myself one.

Being a writer doesn’t mean I’m where I want to be (yet). And that’s okay. That’s precisely the point. I need to continue to hone my craft and to expand my perspectives. Write, write and write more. Read, read more and write again.

Dani Shapiro shares about permission in Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life, which is an incredible book for not only writers, but anyone who is interested in living and leading a creative life- which should frankly be everyone.

“But when we give ourselves permission, we move past this. The world once again reveals itself to us. We become open and aware, patient, and ready to receive it… We give ourselves permission because we are the only ones who can do so. There’s a great expression in Twelve Step programs: Act as if. Act as if you’re a writer. Sit down and begin. Act as if you might just create something beautiful, and by beautiful I mean something authentic and universal. Don’t wait for anyone to tell you it’s okay. Take that shimmer and show us our humanity. That’s your job.”

“You become. It takes a long time… Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to the people who don’t understand.”

- Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

“People working in the arts engage in street combat with The Fraud Police on a daily basis, because much of our work is new and not readily or conventionally categorized. When you’re an artist, nobody ever tells you or hits you with the magic wand of legitimacy. You have to hit your own head with your own handmade wand. And you feel stupid doing it.

There’s no “correct path” to becoming a real artist. You might think you’ll gain legitimacy by going to university, getting published, getting signed to a record label. But it’s all bullshit, and it’s all in your head. You’re an artist when you say you are. And you’re a good artist when you make somebody else experience or feel something deep or unexpected.”

- Amanda Palmer, The Art of Asking: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Let People Help

“Creativity is a spiritual practice. It is not something that can be perfected, finished, and set aside. It is my experience that we reach plateaus of creative attainment only to have a certain restlessness set in. Yes, we are successful. Yes, we have made it, but… In other words, just when we get there, there disappears.”

“What we really want to do is what we really meant to do. When we do what we are meant to do, money comes to us, door open for us, we feel useful, and the work we do feels like play to us.”

- Julia Camera, The Artist Way

“But it's not the external voice that will break you down. It’s what you tell yourself that matters. The most important conversations you’ll ever have are the ones you’ll have with yourself. You wake up with them, you walk around with them, you go to bed with them, and eventually, you act on them. Whether they be good or bad. 

We are all our own worst haters and doubters because self-doubt is a natural reaction to any bold attempt to change your life for the better. You can’t stop it from blooming in your brain, but you can neutralize it, and all the other external chatter by asking, What if?”

- David Goggins, Can’t Hurt Me

“Truth in art is the unity of a thing with itself: the outward rendered expressive of the inward: the soul made incarnate: the boy instinct with spirit.”

- Oscar Wilde, De Profundis