Motivation. What is it?

I used to think that I could move myself to do work. I used to think that when the going got tough, I could give it my all. I used to think a lot of things, but I guess, looking back on it all, it’s just a bunch of ego-talk.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about over these past few months. Ego-talk. Or rather, my greatest harmartia—hubris. It’s not just the fact that I’d talk big that bothers me; no, it’s the fact that I actually believed in it. Perhaps that’s why I feel so let down all of the time by myself. Perhaps that’s where all of this self-stress and self-pressure comes from.

You know, I sat down to write the first words of On the Selfless Selfish over half a year ago. At that time, it seemed like such a plausible thing to self-publish a philosophy book at the age of seventeen. I don’t want to say that I was wrong, but I don’t want to say that it was nearly as easy as I thought it would be.

I worked on writing for a few weeks, but got carried away by college applications and the flurry of college essays that I had to write. I applied to roughly 20 schools, each with about 1 long essay and a few short responses, so that was nearly a total of 80 300-word-to-one-page prompts to respond to. After that, all of the energy I gathered to work on my book just… vanished.

I wonder, what exactly is motivation? Sure you can incentivize action, through outside forces, but deep down, what drives a man to act? Can you even think to the extent that it moves you to do something? Can an idea be so powerful it drives you to change? The answer is yes, but for the most part, no. Maybe we are wrong in calling what we call “thinking,” thinking. Maybe the only true form of thinking is that which moves us to act. Maybe thinking is truly the most powerful tool we have—the very thing that separates us from all other animals—but we just don’t have the access to it just yet. At least, it seems I don’t.

I tried sitting down to write today, but couldn’t. I was stunted by my inability to find the right words to describe what I wanted to write. But how could that be? I’ve worked so long and hard to change and fix my writing style… I suppose I’ve gotten too used to the colloquialisms that I use in daily life, on Tumblr, in verbal conversations, that I just can’t go back to what I used to think was more formal language. Or maybe that’s the point all along: to not spew formal and formulated garbage. But then, everything sounds too… immature… and unprofessional.

When I think about it, I realize I am quite unprofessional. It was indeed hubris that drove me to believe that my writing is any less trashy than any other teenager’s. I’m not ready to assume the sophistication of a nonfiction writer. Not just yet. I still need time to develop my thoughts and my style, and even if it means stalling my writing of On the Selfless Selfish, then so be it. The thing is, I know I have a great framework of philosophy… it’s just, why can’t I write it? I feel as if talking about it is one thing, but actually sitting down to put it into words is another. Things just don’t communicate the same way. I’m not comfortable with the words I choose, and I’m too afraid to go forward with the careless amount of verbage I usually tend to spew in late-night conversations. All in all, the way I speak is far too excessive for the written word, and I feel like it detracts from the readability of my work.

I then ask myself, why can’t I write it the way I write my Tumblr posts? I realize the answer is that Tumblr is more personal and less professional… Professional in the sense that I will be publishing On the Selfless Selfish, and it will be read by an audience of harsh critics. I will be judged by how I present my ideas there, at least on more of a serious level than on here. In that sense, perhaps it is ego-talk that drives me to be afraid. I’m afraid of a bad reputation of how I write. I’m afraid of people not liking what I write. I’m afraid of the world.

So then, what can I do about it? How can I truly move myself to think, and thus, to act?