Little did I know, this solace is all the more satisfying when it is unexpected. I recently finished my first freelance piece for a Lebanese magazine. I had about a week to write 1400 words and though I managed to do all of the necessary reporting on a respectable timeline, I left most of the writing until the weekend before deadline. Silly, but not surprising.
But as I sat on Sunday night futilely trying to concentrate and frantically trying to write articulately and efficiently about a topic of which I have a cursory knowledge at best, I had a flash.
I felt a familiar pang of procrastination shame and I was immediately transported back to any number of dorm rooms, coffee shops and library desks where I had felt this feeling hundreds of times before.
I sip cups and cups of coffee waiting. Waiting for that surge of creative energy brought on by shear necessity which inevitably comes. I have learned not to doubt my friend the surge, but in this case I wavered. Perhaps it would not come in this time zone. Perhaps the concept of professional writing would change my subconscious's sense for when it is time to panic.
I doubted, I admit. And with good reason, for the surge did not come until the morning of deadline. I woke up at 7 am and finished the story to satisfactory reviews from my editor.
And after the euphoria of clearing the article off of my plate subsided I realized that the stress and the release were both equally familiar. And both brought me satisfaction in their own way.
In journalism, the subject is always new. But the process, and perhaps especially my process, is familiar. And when one can find comfort in the familiarity of even negative emotions, then maybe deadlines will be my friends. Maybe I have chosen the right career.
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