Elizabeth Gilbert's 4-Question Test to Know Who to Trust

Honesty's the best policy, of course—unless someone uses it to tear you down.

By Elizabeth Gilbert

Twenty years ago, a friend and I were having dinner at a Mexican restaurant when she suddenly asked me, "Liz, can I be brutally honest with you about something?" 

Here's how dumb I was back in my 20s: I actually said, "Yes! Of course!" 

At which point my friend took a shiv out of her purse and expertly slid it right between my ribs. 

Okay, to be fair, she didn't literally stab me. She merely told me that I was selfish and lazy, and also that I would probably never be able to make a living as a writer, and moreover that nobody liked my boyfriend. Oh yeah, one last thing: My hair didn't look very good. My jaw is too big to carry off a pixie cut, apparently. Makes my face look all weird and out of balance. 

As I sat there gasping for oxygen over my half-eaten fajitas and trying to stem my internal emotional bleeding, my friend reached across the table and pushed aside the salsa so she could place her hand on mine for emphasis. 

"I'm the only person who cares about you enough to tell you the truth," she said. "That's why it's important that you keep me around. Everybody else just blows smoke up your ass." 

Here's another example of how dumb I was in my 20s: I actually believed her. Thus, I kept this friend in my life for another five years. Whenever I faced a difficult decision or needed an opinion on a sensitive issue, I would return to her and ask once more for the brutal truth—which she would happily deliver, smiling with pleasure as she donned her executioner's mask and got busy hacking me up.

Why did I keep going back for more abuse? Because I figured her honesty was keeping me honest—when in fact it was just keeping me injured. Interestingly enough, it was the progress I was making in my professional life (the one she thought I'd never have) that ultimately taught me how injurious these criticisms really were. 

See, despite my friend's prediction, I did eventually start making a living as a writer. Putting my work into the world meant I had to learn how to take criticism. But I slowly realized that I didn't have to take it from everybody. I learned, over time, how to seek out the type of readers who would actually serve my writing. I came up with four questions to help me decide who got to read my work when it was in its most vulnerable stages: 

Do I trust this person's taste and judgment?

Does this person understand what I'm trying to create here?

Does this person genuinely want me to succeed?

Is this person capable of delivering the truth to me in a sensitive and compassionate manner? 

If I could not answer yes to all four questions, then I would not let that person read my stories. And the fourth question was the most important—because here is what I learned (the hard way) about readers and editors who offered me a "brutally honest" critique of my writing: They were always more brutal than honest. Whenever somebody promises a brutally honest opinion, what they are actually saying is, "Please give me the opportunity to take you down!" The truth delivered without a dose of kindness was of no help to my work. (Cruelty only made me want to stop writing and hide.) Once I started to keep my writing away from such people and found more compassionate readers, my work improved. 

Best of all, I eventually learned that I could apply these four questions to the critics in my personal life as well. If I'm going to open myself to you, then I need to know that I can trust you, and that you understand me, and that you genuinely want me to succeed, and—most of all—that you are capable of being compassionate with your honesty. When I began surrounding myself with people like this, I was able to start coaxing my life in a better direction and creating a more wonderful story about my own existence. 

Which meant that finally a day came when my old shiv-carrying friend asked me, "Can I be brutally honest with you?" and I told her my own truth: "Oh, hell no." 

Don't worry, I said it with more kindness than that. Because that's the only way it works. 

Elizabeth Gilbert is the author of, most recently, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. 

Contagious Behavior

Take Agency Over Your Own Life

This is true for everyone:

Dear Ones -

When I think about how hard my mother pushed me to become as strong and independent and resourceful and resilient a person as possible, I believe it was because of this truth — which life had already taught her very well:

Bad things happen to women who wait for good things to happen.

Waiting to be rescued, waiting to be noticed, waiting to be heard, waiting for things to change, waiting for somebody to defend you, waiting for somebody to understand you, waiting for things to get better, waiting for a miracle, waiting for recognition, waiting for a promotion, waiting for the economy to pick up, waiting, waiting, waiting...

But here's the dangerous thing about spending your life waiting: When you are paused — defenseless and passive — the world around you does not pause. Life remains in session, which means: THINGS KEEP HAPPENING. Whether you show up or not, life will keep occurring. And as you sit there waiting for good things to happen, all sorts of other things are happening around you. And if you continue to just sit there (hoping and waiting for something "good") then things will not only happen around you, but TO you. And the less you participate in that story (the story of "your life is in session"), the more likely it is that the things happening to you will be based upon other people's decisions, other people's power, other people's demands, other people's needs, other people's manipulations, other people's will — in short: other people will show up and start using your life for their own purposes.

Other people's purposes are unlikely to be in your best interest.

This is very, very dangerous.

Please understand: I am not a forceful person, by nature. I was not, by nature, born confident and certain. My brain and heart lean more toward "worrier" than "warrior". My inclination as a child was to hide in quiet rooms, safely building nests of blankets and pillows — wishing to not have to participate. So reluctant to even be here!

But my mother had already seen what happens to girls who grow up to be women who are reluctant to engage with their own lives. She wasn't having it. It was a battle for my mother to forge me into somebody who could participate in her own life at every level, rather than softly folding in on herself, and becoming life's victim. But my mom didn't give up on that battle, because she cared about me. And when I'm feeling scared and small, I STILL have to reach deep down and find that power to show up — to keep participating in my own choices, no matter how hard it is. And to accept the consequences of my choices from a place of sober self-accountability...which is the ultimate source of power.

If there's one thing I'm trying to do on this page, every single day, it is to pass that lesson onto you.

I want you to take agency over your own life.

I know: You're afraid sometimes to take agency over your own life because you're afraid you will make the wrong decisions — but if you don't make decisions for yourself, then decisions will be made for you, by somebody who may or may not (probably not) feel the same sense of sacred stewardship over your one rare and precious life that I want you to feel.

This doesn't mean you have to do everything alone. Find your team, find your tribe, find your supporters, find your coaches, find your teachers — find those who will love and uphold you. But make sure they are people who know that you are strong — not people who fear that you are weak. Make sure they are encouragers, not enablers. Ask their advice. Listen to their wisdom. Fall in their arms at times in tears, seeking comfort.

But then — DECIDE.

Make your move. Understand that your life choices must originate from your own power — or else somebody else will lay their power upon you. And that will never be a good thing.

Stop waiting, everyone. Please don't forget this: Any move you make — born of your own volition — is better than BEING moved by somebody else's hand.

I love you, and you can do this.

ONWARD,

LG

Perfection

“Let go of your fantasy of perfection.”

“Perfection is the death of all good things, perfection is the death of pleasure, it’s the death of productivity, it’s the death of efficiency, it’s the death of joy. Perfection is just a bludgeon that goes around murdering everything good. Somebody once said I was disingenuous for saying this, because surely I try to make my work as good as it can be. And that’s absolutely true — but there’s a really big difference between “as good as it can be” and perfection.”

Fear is boring, and other tips for living a creative life

Not This

Dear Ones -

Most of us, at some point in our lives (unless we have done everything perfectly...which is: nobody) will have to face a terrible moment in which we realize that we have somehow ended up in the wrong place — or at least, in a very bad place.

Maybe we will have to admit that we are in the wrong job. Or the wrong relationship. With the wrong people around us. Living in the wrong neighborhood. Acting out on the wrong behaviors. Using the wrong substances. Pretending to believe things that we no longer believe.  Pretending to be something we were never meant to be.

This moment of realization is seldom fun. In fact, it's usually terrifying.

I call this moment of realization: NOT THIS.

Because sometimes that's all you know, at such a moment.

All you know is: NOT THIS.

Sometimes that's all you CAN know.

All you know is that some deep life force within you is saying, NOT THIS, and it won't be silenced.

Your body is saying: "NOT THIS."

Your heart is saying: "NOT THIS."

Your soul is saying: "NOT THIS."

But your brain can't bring itself to say "NOT THIS", because that would cause a serious problem. The problem is: You don't have a Plan B in place. This is the only life you have. This is the only job you have. This is the only spouse you have. This is the only house you have. Your brain says, "It may not be great, but we have to put up with it, because there are no other options." You're not sure how you got here — to this place of THIS — but you sure as hell don't know how to get out...

So your brain says: "WE NEED TO KEEP PUTTING UP WITH THIS, BECAUSE THIS IS ALL WE HAVE."

But still, beating like a quiet drum, your body and your heart and your soul keep saying: NOT THIS...NOT THIS...NOT THIS.

I think some of the bravest people I have ever met were people who had the courage to say the words, "NOT THIS" outloud — even before they had an alternative plan.

People who walked out of bad situations without knowing if there was a better situation on the horizon.

People who looked at the life they were in, and they said, "I don't know what my life is supposed to be...but it's NOT THIS." And then they just...left.

I think my friend who walked out of a marriage after less than a year, and had to move back in with her mother (back into her childhood bedroom), and face the condemnation of the entire community while she slowly created a new life for herself. Everyone said, "If he's not good enough for you, who will be?" She didn't know. She didn't know anything about what her life would look like now. But it started with her saying: NOT THIS.

I think of my friend who took her three young children away from a toxic marriage, despite that fact that her husband supported her and the kids financially...and the four of them (this woman and her three children) all slept in one bed together in a tiny studio apartment for a few years, while she struggled to build a new life. She was poor, she was scared, she was alone. But she had to listen to the voices within her that said, NOT THIS.

I think of friends who walked out of jobs — with no job waiting for them. Because they said NOT THIS.

I think of friends who quit school, rather than keep pretending that they cared about this field of study anymore. And yes, they lost the scholarship. And yes, they ended up working at a fast food restaurant, while everyone else was getting degrees. And yes, it took them a while to figure out where to go next. But there was a relief at last in just surrendering to the holy, non-negotiable truth of NOT THIS.

I think of friends who bravely walked into AA meetings and just fell apart in front of a room full of total strangers, and said, NOT THIS.

I think of a friend who pulled her children out of Sunday School in the middle of church one Sunday because she'd had it with the judgment and self-righteousness of this particular church. Yes, it was her community. Yes, it was her tribe. But she physically couldn't be in that building anymore without feeling that she would explode. She didn't know where she was going, spiritually or within her community, but she said, NOT THIS. And walked out.

Rationally, it's crazy to abandon a perfectly good life (or at least a familiar life) in order to jump into a mystery. No sane person would advise you to make such a leap, with no Plan B in place. We are supposed to be careful. We are supposed to be prudent.

And yet....

And yet.

If you keep ignoring the voices within you that say NOT THIS, just because you don't know what to do, instead...you may end up stuck in NOT THIS forever.

You don't need to know where you are going to admit that where you are standing right now is wrong.

The bravest thing to say can be these two words.

What comes next?

I don't know. You don't know. Nobody knows. It might be worse. It might be better. But whatever it is...?  It's NOT THIS.

ONWARD,
LG

Curiosity

Curiosity is the truth and the way of creative living.

" Whenever you’re told to “follow your passion,” it can be very intimidating, and it can be very confusing, because sometimes passion isn’t very clear, sometimes passions burn hot and then burn out, sometimes your passion changes, sometimes on a very sad Tuesday morning when you didn’t sleep well, the idea of passion just feels so out of reach that you can’t even imagine ever accessing it. And yet curiosity is this faithful, steadfast, friendly and accessible energy that is never far out of reach. There’s never a day where you couldn’t dredge up some tiny little fragment of interest in something in the world, no matter how modest it may seem, no matter how humble, no matter how much it might seem to be unconnected to anything else that you’re doing, no matter how random. Passion demands full commitment out of you. You’ve got to get divorced, and shave your head, and change your name, and move to Nepal and start an orphanage. And maybe you don’t need to do that this week. But curiosity doesn’t take anything from you. Curiosity just gives, and all it gives you are clues, just a beautiful thread, a tiny little clue from the scavenger hunt that you’re unique here in life."  -  Elizabeth Gilbert

Fear is boring, and other tips for living a creative life

Fear

“You can’t get rid of fear, but do remember that fear is boring.

   This is my fundamental opposition to the mythological dream of fearlessness, and the frustration I feel whenever fearlessness is held up as a virtue. I just feel like that it’s the wrong battle. Because for one thing, you don’t want to get rid of your fear; you need it to keep you alive. We’re all here because we had fear that preserved us. So there’s a little bit of a lack of appreciation for fear when we say that we want to be fearless. But then, fear is the oldest, deepest and least subtle part of our emotional life, and so therefore it’s boring. It’s dull. It doesn’t have any nuance. So have a little conversation with your fear when it starts to get riled up when you’re trying to do something creative. Let it know, “I’m just trying to write a poem, no one’s going to die.” But don’t try to go to war against it, that’s such a waste of energy. Just converse with it and then move on.”         - Elizabeth Gilbert

Fear is boring, and other tips for living a creative life

Frustration

Frustration is not an interruption of the process, frustration is the process.

“I have watched so many talented, creative, and inventive people rage against their work, or even worse, stop doing their work because of the frustration that they encountered along the path of whatever it was they were trying to create. And they speak of this frustration as though it is this obstacle from outer space that is ruining everything. All they wanted to do is be creative, and here comes frustration again, just taking all the fun out of it, making it impossible to do this work, and destroying the entire game. And my feeling is, “You guys, you’re mistaking the whole process, because the thing that you’re in love with, and that you’ve gotten infatuated with, is that moment in your creative process when everything is working — all the cylinders are firing at full speed, and the inspiration is flowing, and it feels really easy, and it’s fun, and it’s delightful.” And that’s the aberration. That moment of smooth, easy grace where everything is going great — that is not the normal. That is the miracle that happens every once in a while if you’re very lucky. The frustration, the hard part, the obstacle, the insecurities, the difficulty, the “I don’t know what to do with this thing now,” that’s the creative process. And if you want to do it without encountering frustration and difficulty, then you’re not made for that line of work.” - Elizabeth Gilbert

Fear is boring, and other tips for living a creative life

Fear Sits Here

Dear Ones -

A friend of this page named Charlotte Murphy sent me this photo the other day. She teaches art to fifth graders (first of all, GOD BLESS YOU FOR TEACHING ART TO FIFTH GRADERS, CHARLOTTE) and she has found that already, many of them are too locked-down by fear to be creative. (It starts so early, you guys. It starts so early.)

So, recently, she read them the section of BIG MAGIC where I talk about how fear is allowed to have a seat in the car, when we are being creative, but it's not allowed to drive.

The kids came up with the inspired idea that the art classroom should have a FEAR CHAIR, where fear will be allowed to sit —but not allowed to control everyone's creative process. Each child wrote their fears on the chair, just to get them out. (Please note, if you look closely, the fears range from "tests" to "football"...I love this so much.)

When it's time to create, the kids now understand that they have to send their fear to sit in the FEAR CHAIR...and then they can get back to work.

Notice that the kids don't try to banish their fear (because we all know that's impossible; fear always acts up and throws temper tantrums when we try to banish it) but they bravely give their fear a name, and then give their fear a nice, pretty, respectful chair to sit in. They acknowledge that fear will always be in the room...and then they get back to the business of making things, anyway.  

It's such a beautiful idea, and I was so moved by this — by the handmade ritual (all my favorite rituals are handmade) of literally giving fear a seat, but not allowing it to take command.

Just wonderful, Charlotte — and so inspiring! Tell your students that I think they're geniuses, and that soon I'll be making my own FEAR CHAIR, which I will put in a prominent corner of my own writing room, where I can keep a close eye on it. I want my old familiar friend fear to know that I respect its right to be part of my life...but that it must keep its butt placed firmly RIGHT THERE.

In the corner.

And not one inch closer.

ONWARD,
LG

You are Allowed

Eat Pray Love

“Just as there exists in writing a literal truth and a poetic truth, there also exists in a human being a literal anatomy and a poetic anatomy. One, you can see; one, you cannot. One is made of bones and teeth and flesh; the other is made of energy and memory and faith. But they are both equally true.”

Find Your Teachers

Thought of the day: GO FIND YOUR TEACHERS.

Dearest dear ones -

I was lucky enough to spend the day yesterday at the Emerging Women conference in San Francisco with my friend here, Brené Brown. I love Brene as a friend, because she is kind and honest and loyal and funny. But I also need her as a teacher.

What Brene has to teach me, through her books and talks on vulnerability and courage, is of vital and mind-altering importance to my life. I need what she is teaching. When I was growing up, I never learned how to have to the kind of emotionally honest (sometimes terribly frightening) conversations with myself and others that Brene teaches us to engage in.

The fact that I never learned all those skills as a child is not the fault of my parents; they never learned all those skills from their parents, either. My parents taught me literally everything they knew, but people cannot teach you what they do not know. People cannot give you what they themselves never had.

We all have gaps in our comprehenion of the world and we all have holes within ourselves, because we were all raised by people who had gaps in their comprehension, and holes in themselves, too. This is a story as old as time. Whether you came from a dysfunctional family or a (fairly!) functional one, you simply didn't get all that you needed. Nobody did.

This is why we all need great teachers.

There is a time in your life to mourn and grieve what you were not given as a child — and maybe even to compare yourself to other people you perceive as having been luckier than you. There is a time to process your pain, perhaps in a professional therapeutic setting, about how you wish life could have been, and what it cost you not to get what you needed. And then there comes a time in your life when you must stop mourning, and you must take accountability for going out there in the world and filling in your own gaps.

You must find your teachers.

I sit at the feet of so many wise people who have information that I do not have. Brene Brown is one of them. Also: Pema Chodron, Rob Bell, Iyanla Vanzant, the psychoanalists Adam Phillips and Pilar Jennings, the poets Walt Whitman, Mary Oliver and David Whyte, the late Richard from Texas, Ticht Nhat Hanh, Jack Kornfield, the long-dead mystics Rumi and Hafiz, and a few of my wisest personal friends whom you've never heard of — these are just a few of the faculty members of my university.  They can be yours, too...and there are more of them out there.

I say to my teachers (whether I ever meet them in person or not, and most of them I have not met): "Teach me. Walk me through this. Show me how you do that. Rub a little of your grace off on me. Give me exercises, and I will do them. Explain to me how it is. Reveal to me what you have learned. Show me how to fill in the parts of myself that I am missing."

It is my job to contiune being a student forever, because I am still figuring out how to live in this life, in this body, in this community of humans, at this moment in history.  I'm still working out the glitches in my own software, and still trying to grow.

It's your job to be a student, too — because the alternative is so dreadful. The alternative is to never stop saying, "Oh well, I didn't get what I needed in life," and to just surrender into self-pity and stagnation, and to never go looking for what you need. And that would be a great shame, because what you need can still be found. You have a human mind that is incredibly elastic, and still capable of learning and healing.

Go looking, then.

It's out there, you guys. Find your teachers, and learn from them. They are accessible and available. It's not too late.

ONWARD,
LG

Taking Up Space

"She is taking up every molecule of space that the universe has allotted to her...". -  Elizabeth Gilbert

Quote: Contentment

Quote: Rare Joy

“For this kind of rare joy, we are here.” - Elizabeth Gilbert

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Word of the Day

at·a·vis·tic/ˌadəˈvistik/
adjective:  relating to or characterized by reversion to something ancient or ancestral.

"I startled a large and handsome hare, who ran away from me in a zig-zagging panic — and with all those hawks around, so he should. I had an atavistic urge to chase him, but quickly came to my senses and realized I had no chance."
- Elizabeth Gilbert

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