So, a few years ago I was at JFK Airport about to get on a flight, when I was approached by two women who I do not think would be insulted to hear themselves described as tiny old tough-talking Italian-American broads.
Disa vjet me pare isha ne aeroportin JFK te New Jorkut ne momentet para se te nisesha mu afruan dy gra te cilat nuk mendoj se do te fyheshin nese degjonin se i pershkruaja si plaka te vogla italo-amerikane me nje te folur te serte.
The taller one, who is like up here, she comes marching up to me, and she goes, "Honey, I gotta ask you something. You got something to do with that whole 'Eat, Pray, Love' thing that's been going on lately?"
Ajo qe ishte me e gjata, afersisht kaq, erdhi duke marshuar ne drejtimin tim, dhe filloi, "Zemer, duhet te te pyes per dicka. A ke gje te besh me te gjithe kete "Ha, Lutu, Dashuro" qe po ndodh se fundmi?"
And I said, "Yes, I did."
Dhe une i thashe, "Po"
And she smacks her friend and she goes, "See, I told you, I said, that's that girl. That's that girl who wrote that book based on that movie." (Laughter)
Ajo ia beri me shenje shoqes se saj dhe filloi "E sheh, te thashe qe eshte ajo vajza. Ajo vajza qe shkruajti ate librin qe bazohet tek ai filmi." (Te qeshura)
So that's who I am. And believe me, I'm extremely grateful to be that person, because that whole "Eat, Pray, Love" thing was a huge break for me. But it also left me in a really tricky position moving forward as an author trying to figure out how in the world I was ever going to write a book again that would ever please anybody, because I knew well in advance that all of those people who had adored "Eat, Pray, Love" were going to be incredibly disappointed in whatever I wrote next because it wasn't going to be "Eat, Pray, Love," and all of those people who had hated "Eat, Pray, Love" were going to be incredibly disappointed in whatever I wrote next because it would provide evidence that I still lived. So I knew that I had no way to win, and knowing that I had no way to win made me seriously consider for a while just quitting the game and moving to the country to raise corgis. But if I had done that, if I had given up writing, I would have lost my beloved vocation, so I knew that the task was that I had to find some way to gin up the inspiration to write the next book regardless of its inevitable negative outcome. In other words, I had to find a way to make sure that my creativity survived its own success. And I did, in the end, find that inspiration, but I found it in the most unlikely and unexpected place. I found it in lessons that I had learned earlier in life about how creativity can survive its own failure.
Kjo jam une tani. Dhe me besoni, jam shume mirenjohese qe jam ai person, sepse me ka ecur shume me "Ha, Lutu, Dashuro". Por me la ne nje pozicion delikat gjithashtu ne ecjen perpara si autore perpiqesha te kuptoja sesi do te arrija do te shkruaja perseri nje liber qe do t'i kenaqte te gjithe, sepse e dija me siguri se te gjithe ata njerez qe kishin adhuruar "Ha, Lutu, Dashuro" do te ishin shume te zhgenjyer ne cfaredo qe une do te shkruaja me pas sepse nuk do te ishte "Ha, Lutu, Dashuro" dhe te gjithe ata njerez qe e urryen "Ha, Lutu, Dashuro" do te ishin shume te zhgenjyer ne cfaredo qe une shkruaja me pas sepse do ti jepte prova se une jetoja akoma. Keshtu qe e dija se nuk kisha asnje menyre qe te fitoja, dhe duke e ditur qe nuk kisha asnje menyre per te fituar me beri te konsideroja seriozisht per ca kohe te hiqja dore dhe te levizja ne fshat e te rrisja qen 'Corgi'. Por nese do ta beja kete, nese do te hiqja dore se shkruari, do te humbisja prirjen time qe e dua kaq shume, keshtu qe e dija se qellimi ishte te gjeja nje menyre per t'u inspiruar per te shkruar librin tjeter pavaresisht ketyre rezultateve te pashmangshme negative. Me fjale te tjera, duhet te gjeja nje menyre per te siguruar se kreativiteti i mbijetonte suksesit te tij. Dhe ne fund e bera, e gjeta inspirimin, por e gjeta ne vendin me te pamundur dhe me te papritur. E gjeta ne nje mesim qe e kisha mesuar me heret ne jete sesi kreativiteti mund t'i mbijetoje deshtimit te tij.
So just to back up and explain, the only thing I have ever wanted to be for my whole life was a writer. I wrote all through childhood, all through adolescence, by the time I was a teenager I was sending my very bad stories to The New Yorker, hoping to be discovered. After college, I got a job as a diner waitress, kept working, kept writing, kept trying really hard to get published, and failing at it. I failed at getting published for almost six years. So for almost six years, every single day, I had nothing but rejection letters waiting for me in my mailbox. And it was devastating every single time, and every single time, I had to ask myself if I should just quit while I was behind and give up and spare myself this pain. But then I would find my resolve, and always in the same way, by saying, "I'm not going to quit, I'm going home."
Keshtu qe thjesht u ktheva pas dhe shpjegova, se e vetmja gje qe doja gjate gjithe jetes time, ishte te isha shkrimtare. Kam shkruar gjate gjithe femijerise dhe gjate gjithe adoleshences. Kur u bera adoleshente fillova t'i dergoj tregimet e mia te shemtuara te The New Yorker, duke shpresuar qe te zbulohesha. Pas kolegjit, fillova nje pune si kamariere restoranti, dhe punoja, vazhdoja te shkruaja, perpiqesha shume te publikohesha, dhe deshtoja ne kete gje. Deshtova ne te publikuar per rreth 6 vjet. Keshtu qe per 6 vjet, cdo dite, nuk kisha asgje pervecse letra refuzimi ne kutine time postare. Dhe cdo here ishte shkaterruese, dhe cdo here, me duhej te pyesja veten a duhej te hiqja dore sa isha akoma ne kohe, te hiqja dore dhe t'ia kurseja vetes te gjithe ate dhimbje. Por me pas do te gjeja zgjidhjen, dhe gjithmone ne te njejten menyre, duke thene, "nuk kam per te hequr dore, do te shkoj ne shtepi."
And you have to understand that for me, going home did not mean returning to my family's farm. For me, going home meant returning to the work of writing because writing was my home, because I loved writing more than I hated failing at writing, which is to say that I loved writing more than I loved my own ego, which is ultimately to say that I loved writing more than I loved myself. And that's how I pushed through it.
Dhe duhet te kuptoni qe per mua te shkoja ne shtepi nuk do te thoshte te kthehesha tek familja ime ne ferme. Per mua, te shkoja ne shtepi do te thoshte t'i kthehesha punes per te shkruar, sepse te shkruarit ishte shtepia ime, sepse e dashuroja te shkruarit me shume se sa urreja te deshtoja ne te shkruar, qe do te thote qe dashuroja te shkruaja me shume sesa e doja egon time, qe ne fund te fundit eshte per te thene se e doja te shkruarin me shume sesa doja veten time. Keshtu qe kjo eshte sesi vazhdoi me tej.
But the weird thing is that 20 years later, during the crazy ride of "Eat, Pray, Love," I found myself identifying all over again with that unpublished young diner waitress who I used to be, thinking about her constantly, and feeling like I was her again, which made no rational sense whatsoever because our lives could not have been more different. She had failed constantly. I had succeeded beyond my wildest expectation. We had nothing in common. Why did I suddenly feel like I was her all over again?
Por gjeja e cuditshme eshte se 20 vjet me pas, gjate periudhes se cmendur "Ha, Lutu, Dashuro" e gjeta veten te identifikohesha perseri me ate kamarieren e re dhe te papublikuar qe isha me pare, te mendoja per te ne menyre te vazhdueshme, dhe ndihesha se isha ajo perseri, qe ne fakt nuk ishte nje gjykim racional sepse jetet tona ishin kaq te ndryshme. Ajo kishte deshtuar ne menyre te vazhdueshme. Une kisha pastur sukses me shume se cfare prisja te arrija. Ne nuk kishim asgje te perbashket. Por perse ndihesha sikur isha ajo perseri?
And it was only when I was trying to unthread that that I finally began to comprehend the strange and unlikely psychological connection in our lives between the way we experience great failure and the way we experience great success. So think of it like this: For most of your life, you live out your existence here in the middle of the chain of human experience where everything is normal and reassuring and regular, but failure catapults you abruptly way out over here into the blinding darkness of disappointment. Success catapults you just as abruptly but just as far way out over here into the equally blinding glare of fame and recognition and praise. And one of these fates is objectively seen by the world as bad, and the other one is objectively seen by the world as good, but your subconscious is completely incapable of discerning the difference between bad and good. The only thing that it is capable of feeling is the absolute value of this emotional equation, the exact distance that you have been flung from yourself. And there's a real equal danger in both cases of getting lost out there in the hinterlands of the psyche.
Dhe ishte vetem atehere kur po perpiqesha te hiqja dore, ku me ne fund fillova te kuptoj lidhjen e cuditshme dhe psikologjikisht te pamundur ne jeten tone ndermjet menyres sesi e perjetojme deshtimin e madh dhe menyren sesi perjetojme suksesin e madh. Mendojeni ne kete menyre: Per pjesen me te madhe te jetes suaj, ti jetove ekzistencen tende ketu, ne mes te zinxhirit te eksperiences njerezore ku cdo gje eshte normale, e siguruar dhe e rregullt, por deshtimi te hedh befasisht shume larg mu ketu ne erresiren verbuese te zhgenjimit. Suksesi te perpin po aq befasisht po aq larg mu ketu ne te njejten vezullim verbues te fames, te vleresimit dhe te njohjes. Dhe nje nga keto fate shikohet objektivisht nga bota si e keqe, dhe tjetri shikohet ne menyre objektive nga bota si i mire, por nendergjegja jote eshte plotesisht e paafte te beje dallimin ndermjet te mires dhe te keqes. E vetmja gje qe eshte ne gjendje te ndjeje eshte vlera absolute e ketij ekuacioni emocional, distanca ekzakte qe ti je larguar nga vetja. Dhe eshte nje rrezik i njejte ne te dyja rastet ne te humburin atje jashte ne humbetiren e psikikes.
But in both cases, it turns out that there is also the same remedy for self-restoration, and that is that you have got to find your way back home again as swiftly and smoothly as you can, and if you're wondering what your home is, here's a hint: Your home is whatever in this world you love more than you love yourself. So that might be creativity, it might be family, it might be invention, adventure, faith, service, it might be raising corgis, I don't know, your home is that thing to which you can dedicate your energies with such singular devotion that the ultimate results become inconsequential.
Por ne te dyja rastet, del se atje eshte i njejti sherim per vete-permiresim, dhe kjo eshte ajo qe ju duhet te gjeni rrugen per ne shtepi ne menyren me te bute dhe te qete qe te mundeni, dhe nese po pyesni se cila eshte shtepia jote, po ju jap nje ide: Shtepia juaj eshte cfaredo ne bote qe ju doni me shume se sa doni veten. Kjo mund te jete kreativiteti, mund te jete familja, mund te jene shpikjet, aventurat, besimi, sherbimi, mund te jete rritja e qenve 'Corgi', nuk e di, shtepia jote eshte ajo gje te ciles ti i dedikon energjite e tua me nje devotshmeri te tille saqe rezultati final behet i parendesishem.
For me, that home has always been writing. So after the weird, disorienting success that I went through with "Eat, Pray, Love," I realized that all I had to do was exactly the same thing that I used to have to do all the time when I was an equally disoriented failure. I had to get my ass back to work, and that's what I did, and that's how, in 2010, I was able to publish the dreaded follow-up to "Eat, Pray, Love." And you know what happened with that book? It bombed, and I was fine. Actually, I kind of felt bulletproof, because I knew that I had broken the spell and I had found my way back home to writing for the sheer devotion of it. And I stayed in my home of writing after that, and I wrote another book that just came out last year and that one was really beautifully received, which is very nice, but not my point. My point is that I'm writing another one now, and I'll write another book after that and another and another and another and many of them will fail, and some of them might succeed, but I will always be safe from the random hurricanes of outcome as long as I never forget where I rightfully live.
Per mua, ajo shtepi gjithmone ka qene te shkruarit. Keshtu qe pas suksesit disorientues dhe te cuditshem qe kalova me "Ha, Lutu, Dashuro" kuptova se gjithcka qe une duhet te beja ishte ekzatesisht e njejta gje qe beja gjate gjithe kohes, kur isha nje deshtim i corientuar. Duhet te kthehesha te punoja, dhe keshtu bera, dhe ne 2010-n, arrita te publikoja vazhdimin e "Ha, Lutu, Dashuro" Dhe e dini se cfare ndodhi me ate liber? Doli huq dhe une isha mire. Ne fakt, u ndjeva pak si e papershkrueshme, sepse e dija qe e kisha prishur mallkimin dhe kisha gjetur rrugen per ne shtepi te shkruaja per perkushtimin absolut ndaj tij. Dhe qendrova ne shtepine time te shkruaja me pas, dhe shkrova nje liber tjeter qe doli vitin e shkuar dhe ky u prit shume mire, eshte nje gje e kendshme, por kjo nuk eshte ajo qe dua te them. Ajo qe dua te them eshte se po shkruaj nje tjeter tani dhe do te shkruaj nje liber tjeter me pas dhe nje tjeter, dhe nje tjeter dhe nje tjeter dhe shume prej tyre do te deshtojne, dhe disa prej tyre mund te kene sukses, por une gjithmone do te jem e sigurte nga uraganet e mundshem te suksesit per aq kohe sa nuk e harroj se ku jetoj.
Look, I don't know where you rightfully live, but I know that there's something in this world that you love more than you love yourself. Something worthy, by the way, so addiction and infatuation don't count, because we all know that those are not safe places to live. Right? The only trick is that you've got to identify the best, worthiest thing that you love most, and then build your house right on top of it and don't budge from it. And if you should someday, somehow get vaulted out of your home by either great failure or great success, then your job is to fight your way back to that home the only way that it has ever been done, by putting your head down and performing with diligence and devotion and respect and reverence whatever the task is that love is calling forth from you next. You just do that, and keep doing that again and again and again, and I can absolutely promise you, from long personal experience in every direction, I can assure you that it's all going to be okay. Thank you. (Applause)
Une nuk e di se ku jetoni ju, por e di se eshte dicka ne kete bote qe ju e doni me shume se doni veten tuaj. Dicka qe t'ia vleje, meqe ra fjala, se varesia dhe cmenduria nuk quhen, sepse e dime se ato nuk jane vende te sigurta per te jetuar. Apo jo? E vetmja gje qe duhet te beni eshte te identifikoni me te miren, dicka me me vlere dhe qe ju e doni me shume, dhe me pas te ndertoni shtepine tuaj siper saj dhe mos luaj nga ai vend. Dhe nese nje dite , per ndonje arsye mbylleni jashte shtepise suaj nga nje deshtim ose nje sukses i madh eshte detyra juaj te luftoni ne rrugen e kthimit per tek ajo shtepi dhe e vetmja gje qe mund te behet, eshte te ulesh koken dhe te performosh me devotshmeri dhe zell me respekt dhe perulesi cfaredo lloj detyre qe ajo dashuri kerkon te behet me pas. Vetem bej kete dhe vazhdojeni ta beni e perseri e perseri e perseri, dhe une mund tju premtoj ju, nga nje eksperience e gjate personale ne cdo drejtim, mund tju siguroj se cdo gje do te behet me mire. Ju falemnderit. (Duartrokitje)