Great performers have a wall of heroes. Figures who set their standard of excellence.
They provide energy in moments of sloth, direction in moments of confusion, and most of all, inspiration in moments of apathy.
All kinds of high performers are moved by the achievements of their heroes. Tiger Woods measured his childhood progress against the (then) best golfer of all time: Jack Nicklaus. Golf Digest published a list of Nicklaus’ career accomplishments after the 1986 Masters, along with his age at every significant achievement. He won his first U.S. Amateur at 19 years old and his next when he was 21. At 22, he earned his first professional victory. By 26, Nicklaus had won two straight Masters Tournaments. And later that year, as young Woods sat in front of his living room television, Nicklaus became the youngest player to win all four majors.
Tiger printed out the list of Nicklaus’ wins and taped it to his bedroom wall. For the entirety of his childhood, Nicklaus was the first person to greet him in the mornings and the last person to say goodbye at night.
Creatives should have heroes too. Writers, designers, painters, musicians, and dancers. All of them.
My wall of writing heroes is lined by three figures, all of whom whisper in my ear as I write this sentence. It includes Marshall McLuhan, Robert Caro, and Gregory David Roberts, each for different reasons.
Marshall McLuhan reminds me to explore. To synthesize never-before-been-synthesized ideas to create new, panoramic explanations of the world that get richer with time like the lyrics to a favorite song. Robert Caro reminds me to explore my subjects from every possible angle, as if I’m adding an extra dimension like a Cubist painting. And finally, Gregory David Roberts reminds me to turn the world into a frozen tableau of wonder.
To be sure, those aren’t the only writers I revere. I envy Jia Tolentino’s knack for capturing the strangeness of contemporary life, John O’Donahue’s ability to describe the indescribable, and Tim Urban’s ability to make me laugh louder than a flushing airplane toilet.
My heroes write with me, no matter where I am.
In a world where complacency passes for excellence, these writers set my standard. They exist outside of time, so they’re unfazed by the turbulence of daily life. I surge with envy when I read their work. They are my judges and my coaches, my friends, and my teachers. Without them, I’d cave to the temptations of mediocrity.
Who are your heroes?
Thanks to Andy Matuschak for the conversation that inspired this essay.
If you want to write essays like this, subscribe to my free 9-day writing course. In it, you’ll learn about note-taking, The Netflix Principle, and why you should write in small chunks.
