10 Years Later, I Hardly Recognize Myself Because I'm Becoming Who I AmLetting go of a creative path in book publishing felt like some part of myself was dying. Now, I can see that other branches were coming to life.
Ten years ago this spring, I was with my people at the Festival of Faith and Writing at Calvin College. The first time I attended in 2012, I finally felt like I fit somewhere. These were mostly progressive evangelicals who wanted to make a difference with their writing and to lift up excellent books and fellow writers who were making our world a better place. I had a book that was doing OK, I helped fellow writers meet editors, and we had our little tribe that felt meaningful, positive, and encouraging. Then a lot of the world seemed to fall into pieces after the 2016 election—at least my world. Perhaps most accurately, that election revealed just how much the world had already fallen apart—the evangelical world, especially. How could people who claimed to hear clearly from a good and holy God ally themselves with someone who has such a horrifying history of exploitation, dishonesty, corruption, and abuse? There were moments when I had to ask myself if I needed to rethink my Christian faith. What remained that hadn’t been hopelessly corrupted by politics? I don’t write that to upset people. That’s where I was. I ended up resolving that I could stick with Jesus, albeit with some heavy questions that still don’t feel resolved, but I couldn’t stick with evangelicals. At first, I tried writing to evangelicals as a former insider, pleading with them to stop aligning themselves with political parties, especially ones that are so cruel and dishonest. It didn’t take long to realize that I just needed to step away from most of it. I had to spent well over a decade building a career as a writer for American evangelicals, and that election revealed I had to let it go. It wasn’t all bad because the modern focus of publishing on building an online platform can be draining and even toxic. Nevertheless, it was difficult to let go of something familiar that I had spent so many years building. I used to fear not having another book to work on as I completed one project, but at this point I was facing the prospect of letting go of writing books. While I wasn’t giving up on writing altogether, I needed a different outlet for my creativity as writing took more of a back seat. Maybe I could write more in the near future, but I wasn’t sure what I’d write about. I turned to art, teaching myself oil pastels through the “time-tested” methods of books, YouTube videos, and lots of really, really awful drawings. Art became a lifeline as I sorted through the loss of my identity as a Christian author. I soon found that there had long been an artistic part of myself longing to come out but stifled by my fears of failure—the real possibility of making terrible oil pastel drawings. Ironically, I have decorated my office with oil pastel drawings, given them as gifts, and even donated one to a local fundraiser, and yet, I’d still judge at least half of my drawings right now as “meh” at best. I kept writing here and there, but it wasn’t my only, or main, creative avenue. Oil pastels unlocked something that I’d overlooked for about 30 years of my life. Then, an even worse election followed in 2024, and I once again retreated into the solitude of creativity through woodworking. Something about woodworking with hand tools clicked for me. This was the creative outlet I’d longed for but had always ruled out for fear of failure, making something that looks terrible. I still write, but woodworking has felt like the creative avenue I needed to pursue. Woodwording has been the perfect combination of creative work and physical activity that results in something beautiful and useful that I can enjoy every day. For perhaps the past 20 years or so, I admired the people who could make things out of wood. Yet, I had long ruled out making any kind of fine or simply functional furniture. I would make too many mistakes and build something that looked terrible. It took some failures at writing and many, many failures at oil pastels to help me realize that every skill is built through struggle and gradual improvement. Each woodworking project has been a series of challenges to solve that generally revolve around 3 questions: How will I remove the material? How will I hold the wood down while removing the material? How will I join it together? Those 3 questions keep my mind busy, and the process of working with hand tools has been a quiet, meditative way to spend chunks of my free time. Back when I invested my time in becoming a professional author, I couldn’t imagine who I would be if I wasn’t publishing books. I was aware of not making publishing my entire identify, but it was still a huge chunk of who I was. I didn’t want to let go of it. Now, I can see that the creative, maker part of myself that found fulfillment in writing was also longing for the creative outlets of oil pastels and woodworking. These have felt like parts of myself that had always been present but needed the attention, resources, and practice to come to life. The person who drove to the Festival of Faith and Writing couldn’t imagine skipping it at any point in the near future. It would have been hard to imagine myself finding something else that was more fulfilling or better suited for myself. Now, I can’t imagine my life without the joy of woodworking. Letting go of a creative path in book publishing felt like some part of myself was dying. Now, I can see that other branches were coming to life. And honestly, writing hasn’t died, but it has changed and made more room for my other creative outlets. Such transitions are never easy, but on the other side, I have a wall of oil pastels, a workbench full of handtools, and a heart that is full of gratitude. You're currently a free subscriber to Ed Cyzewski :: Author // Contemplative // Maker. For the full experience, upgrade your subscription.
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