Issue 28: I used to want to be famous

Dearest reader,

When I was younger, I’m pretty sure I wanted to be famous. I’m not confident I can pinpoint the exact age during which this desire was planted, but I feel quite genuine in claiming that by the time I reached the ninth or tenth grade—and especially by the time I approached the end of high school, the prospect had established itself as a mild obsession of mine. I remember reading Robert Greene’s 48 Laws of Power in what must’ve been my senior year of high school. It had to have been that year because I remember my English teacher—the legendary, local British institution of a man, Mr. McTernan1—looking at me one afternoon between classes with his characteristic, condescending yet puzzled grin and saying, “That book in your hand. Yes, that. That’s pure rubbish.”

I read it anyway because the rappers I idolized kept referencing it2, and if it worked for them (and if I wanted to be like them, which I did) then surely it would work for me. Alongside some other “here are the keys to life” titles I’ve now long forgotten, the book became required reading for my young and increasingly impious mind. (Astaghfirallah.) Whether the infamous Mr. McTernan saw in me genuine potential being misdirected or was simply disappointed by a naive, gullable boy seeking guidance in all the wrong places will perhaps be a mystery that will remain forever unsolved.

One of the difficult dilemmas an artist seemingly must face, at some point in their journey or perhaps at all points of their journey, is the question of what, under the circumstance they don’t achieve a certain level of success by a certain time, they will do about it. Maybe you stop and put the pen down for a while. Maybe you help someone else and live vicariously through them. Maybe you ditch the whole charade and become an accountant.

I’m at an age where I can remember the amount of eagerness I used to feel when presented with the possibility of gaining more attention—around the prospect of getting “more eyes on your work”. I remember chasing the ever elusive and evermore tempermental exposure train, with the same relentlessness you might’ve seen me possessed by, head tucked in a corner, body crouched over a Game Boy, looking, for hours on end, for a Latios that was probably never going to appear and, even if it did, I was probably never prepared to catch.3

These days, I find myself feeling very little motivation towards gaining attention in a generalized sense. I feel far more motivated by the possibility of earning the respect and trust of a small handful of people I admire and whose opinions I hold dearly. Maybe I’ve grown old, maybe I’ve started to live vicariously through others, but—and this I assure you—I am no accountant.

Love,
Reef

PS. Thank you to everyone who’s continued reading these letters since I started sharing them in March. It’s now been over half a year!