Contact Information:

Debra Traverso
P.O. Box 4842
Hagerstown, MD 21742-4872
240-782-4218

Ouch. Labels hurt sometimes, don't they?

On the other hand, I know dozens of people who would give up their corporate parking spaces in a New York minute to be "just a writer." Hmmmm. . . it's all in how you look at it, isn't it?

Unfortunately, labels often dictate how we look at ourselves. Sure, some labels are useful, even necessary. But, other labels can alter the way we act and feel, and the way people act and feel toward us.

I've learned that, no matter what titles you're assigned, none of them can fully describe the multifaceted truths that make up a human being. Life coach Martha Beck once said this of labels: "Any external criteria we use to label ourselves—looks, power, health, relationships, anything—can disappear in a heartbeat." Therefore, to avoid insecurity and suffering, she recommended that we wear our identities lightly and let go of them easily.

That's the first change you must mentally make when stepping away from those impressive titles hanging on your corporate door when moving into the solitary, nondescript world of being a writer. The other is to reassess how you define success.

Success isn't about making it in a popular field. It's about the freedom to pursue any endeavor, as passion dictates. I learned the hard way that if your passion is writing, no amount of success in any other field will satisfy you. That's like having no success at all.

I started my career as a journalist, eagerly covering stories, getting into the minds of people and structuring pithy phrases that would captivate my readers. I lived to see my byline. I also longed to do my own personal writing and freelancing because my soul cried for an outlet. Writing was how I was determined to leave my mark, my legacy, on the world.

Then, in the trailblazing spirit of mid-80s' materialism when other young people began to turn their backs on idealistic dreams of the '60s and '70s, I eschewed my soul's longing and stormed the gates of "professional" offices. I left journalism behind for many other reasons too, among them being that I got tired of redefining—with each interview—that fine line between establishing a human connection and losing professional objectivity.

Or, maybe I made that change due to greed; the greed to own lots of things and the greed to be perceived as one of the "upwardly mobile" success stories. Perhaps it was the shame I felt as a result of a relative's passing comment to a neighbor that I was "just a writer." Perhaps it was that one gene of insecurity that I inherited from my mother that screamed for me to "belong" to something more acceptable by the mainstream. Or maybe—even though I hold a master's degree—I was afraid I would be perceived as an academic failure or a professional dawdler.

So, I eagerly joined the swelling numbers of "yuppies" making it big in corporate America. Along the way my passion turned from celebrating self-expression to collecting labels and titles: public relations executive, college instructor, supervisor then manager, director, consultant, and eventually owner of my own management consulting firm. I romanced and won impressive alphabet clients, from DOE to NASA to UPS. I traveled throughout North America. A walk through a new airport always confirmed for me that I had "arrived."

It was heady stuff for the daughter of a farmer and a quiet housewife. I felt like Alice in a corporate Wonderland: power breakfasts at lavish hotels, meetings filled with white-collared-blue-suited executives, contracts with more zeros than I thought possible for work I could provide, and applause following every talk I gave in which I shared my expertise in management.

But the thrill didn't last. In fact, my presence in the field far outlived my thrill with the work. I began to daydream in meetings, wondering how I could inflict some self-expression in the dry rote work I was doing. Rather than wondering if the prospect I was trying to market would be impressed enough to buy, I began to wonder if he was intriguing enough for a personality profile.

I found myself editing—rather than reviewing—clients' reports and marketing material. I began to inject anecdotes and metaphors into the technical reports I prepared, much to my business partner's chagrin. And, I found myself plotting an idea for a young adult novel right before I stood up to lecture about management activities, at Harvard University.

Eventually, my soul won out. I left corporate America to begin writing full time. And, although I still lecture at Harvard to keep my credentials current, my delivery each year emphasizes more and more the importance of effective communication and writing in management.

Now I spend my days writing. I'm still "just a writer," but now that phrase carries a new significance: I'm happy to report that I'm successful enough that writing is all I have to do. Thus, I am "just a writer" and proud of it.

Writing fills my life now, from the fifth book I'm writing, to the people I interview, to the articles I place, to the classes I teach. My soul is happy again because it's living in harmony. It no longer feels like a trespasser in a walk of life where it doesn't belong.

Now, I'm happy to report that professional terms I used to use so readily—like shareholder agreements, balance sheets, and asset-based financing—are no longer in my vocabulary because I consider them jargon. And everyone knows that jargon—and labels—are not friendly material to anyone who is "just a writer."

© 2003 Debra Koontz Traverso

Debra Koontz Traverso, M.A., is a creative and commercial writer, public speaker and consultant, having published several books and hundreds of articles. She also serves as a guest instructor at Harvard University and as adjunct faculty at her local community college. She can be reached at Debra@DebraTraverso.com.

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