Milk Bone Underwear

You can't do much about the dogs. But the underwear is entirely up to you. — Barney Davey

Does it sometimes feel like you’re living in a dog-eat-dog world and you’re wearing Milk Bone underwear?

I know the feeling. I think most of us have been there at one time or another.

It sucks when you’re not feeling the love.

Maybe it’s critics who don’t appreciate your work. Maybe it’s the lame lookie-loos who waste your time, ask a hundred questions, and disappear. Or maybe it’s family and friends who just don’t get what you do and have no idea how to support you.

Whatever the source, it can wear you down.

Artists put a lot of themselves into what they make. Unfortunately, not everyone gets it, from clueless to dismissive. No matter how or why they are that way, when someone dismisses your work, questions your rates, offers unsolicited advice, or treats your career like a pleasant little hobby, it’s hard not to take it personally.

There’s something I learned from Stephen Covey long ago. That is, you can’t change your circumstances. And I would add that you can’t really change other people. And even if you could, it’s probably not worth trying. But what Covey taught me was that you can change how you react to circumstances or other people. And that’s what’s useful here.

The reality is that sooner or later, you are going to have to ask yourself: What the heck are you going to do about it? How am I going to respond? How long am I going to let other people get me down?

This is where “hope is not a plan” applies. That’s because you can explain yourself until you’re blue in the face. And you can wish other people were more supportive and understanding, giving you the respect you obviously deserve, and simply taking some interest in what you’re doing. I don’t think it’s too much to ask because I suffer from the same thing.

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When I wrote my first book, I thought everyone I knew would be interested in reading it. It was a cold slap in the face to realize that many, in fact, most weren’t. It’s an esoteric topic on how to get your art into the print market that doesn’t apply to most people’s lives, and it doesn’t even apply to most artists’ lives. It’s very specific.

Your art is kind of the same thing. It’s very specific. It applies to the people who get it. Everybody else is an outsider. And some of them are cruel or stupid in how they react to you. And that’s a shame, but it’s the truth.

So we’re faced with the reality that you can’t make other people change, and furthermore, you shouldn’t even try. It’s not worth your time.

With my first book, I went through some version of the Kübler-Ross continuum. Something like disbelief, frustration, disappointment, and eventual acceptance. These folks, even ones close to me, just weren’t that into what I was doing. And to be honest, I probably wasn’t that interested in what they were doing either, so it works both ways.

And that’s a good thing to think about when someone doesn’t get your art or dismisses it. You probably don’t care that they’re a financial planner or whatever they do. It’s only mildly interesting to you, if that.

Eventually, I found enough people who thought my book was terrific, including the North Light Book Club. That was from The Artist’s Magazine. They bought 1,000 copies to stock their bookstore. I can’t tell you how good that felt.

My advice is not to worry about people who don’t get your art. It doesn’t mean you stop loving or liking them, though you’re welcome to if the situation warrants it.

You can turn the situation around by changing how much influence you give others over your feelings. Everybody’s got an opinion, but none of them matter unless they’re paying your bills or buying your work. And even then, it’s a limited deal, not giving up everything to someone else.

There’s an enormous amount of freedom that comes with understanding that you’re not going to chase people who aren’t interested. And that you can’t convince people who don’t understand. And that you give up giving every criticism equal weight. And you become more selective about where you put your time, attention, and energy.

Essentially, you realize that wearing Milk Bone underwear is optional and that you don’t have to do that anymore. You can wear what you darn well please and not worry about what anybody else thinks.

Your work has value, and you’re going to find people who appreciate it. I’m not saying that’s an easy task, because it never is.

Getting your work into the world is a challenge. It always will be. But it’s not an insurmountable one, and you can find ways that work for you to become associated with people who are most likely to buy your work and appreciate it.

And when you start becoming selective like that, everything gets a little easier. And living in a dog-eat-dog world doesn’t feel so difficult. And your butt probably hurts a little less, too.

Just because you are more aware of Milk Bone underwear, you can’t expect to change everything about yourself, especially all at once. Change takes time; it might involve money, convenience, familiarity, and sometimes even a relationship that no longer fits. That’s why you need to be realistic about what you can change now and what might take a little longer.

But realism doesn’t mean being timid. If anything, turn that timidity around and shoot higher.

You just need to accept that you’re never going to get rid of all the critics, tire-kickers, skeptics, and people who don’t get or understand what you’re trying to do. Those dogs are always going to be there with fleas and all.

But one thing I am certain of is that you’re going to be much happier in those new silk undies or boxer briefs than in the old Milk Bone underwear you’ve been wearing lately.

That is all. Peace out.

See you next week,

— Barney