Vanity of vanities, said the Preacher
Vanity of vanities, all is vanities.
Our picture of a vain writer is that of a 20-year-old kid who angrily denounces the people who failed to see the genius in their enthusiastic retelling of the plot of Star Wars in the style of Earnest Hemingway. That is vanity.
It is also vanity to stop writing because you realized that you won't become a giant of world literature.
Both are tantrums. One is the explosive kind; the other one is the uncomfortable silent treatment. Both are vain. They come from the fear that we are insignificant to our society, to history.
We are insignificant. So there is no reason to fear it. It is as pointless as fish fearing being wet.
At the same time, we matter to those closest to us. To our parents and to our children. To our teachers and our students.
If we are moved to write, or to paint, or to make music, we do it to share it with them. Because that poem or that sketch is you, and you are sharing your life with the people you love. The people who love you know your shortcomings. They appreciate your craft because it came from you.
We learned from others who shared their lives with us. We have a duty to share what we have learned with our friends as well.
My grandfather died when I was a young child. I never interacted with him. He lived in a small rural village. One of his hobbies was to compose satyrical songs based on the village's gossip. My father and uncles would sing them to us now and then.
My grandfather could have decided that he wasn't Lope de Vega and refused to share these songs. He lacked that vanity. He shared. Because he shared it with his children, I, his grandchild, is able to know him a little, to get a sense of who he was.
Express yourself then. Share who you are with others. We don't need the promise of greatness to write. Because writing or making art for greatest is not why we should do it. We should do it to teach and share our lives with others.