Turning Pro

Turning Pro Plot Summary

Introduction

We all harbor dreams of mastery - that space where our talents, passions, and opportunities converge into meaningful work. Yet something powerful holds us back. We distract ourselves with shadow careers, procrastinate through addictive behaviors, or simply refuse to commit to the difficult journey ahead. This resistance isn't just laziness; it's a primal fear of becoming who we truly are. The path to mastery isn't about finding some magical shortcut or waiting for permission. It's about making a fundamental decision that changes everything: turning professional. This transformation doesn't require special credentials or external validation. It demands something both simpler and more difficult - a profound shift in mindset that revolutionizes how you approach your work and your life. When you turn pro, everything changes.

Chapter 1: Recognize Your Shadow Careers

Shadow careers represent our unconscious way of orbiting our true calling without fully committing to it. These are the substitute paths we take that echo our authentic desires but keep us safely distanced from the risks of genuine pursuit. They become metaphors for the lives we're afraid to live. Steven Pressfield describes his own shadow career as a truck driver. In his late twenties and early thirties, he drove tractor-trailers up and down the East Coast out of Durham, North Carolina, and later cross-country from Seaside, California. He committed himself fully to this profession, finding it powerful, manly, and worthy of pride - qualities he associated with being a writer. Yet what he was really doing was running away from writing. The road seemed to promise freedom and adventure, taking him somewhere new with each journey. In reality, every mile he traveled only carried him further from where he needed to go and who he needed to become. This pattern repeated throughout his life, as he embraced various occupations that provided the illusion of the writer's life without actually doing the writing. The appeal was undeniable - these shadow careers offered legitimate reasons to avoid facing the blank page and the fear of failure. Driving trucks was honest labor with tangible rewards. Unlike writing, where success was uncertain and rejection likely, trucking paid a dollar for every dollar of work. Recognizing your shadow career requires honest self-examination. Ask yourself: What is your current occupation a metaphor for? What qualities does it share with your secret ambition? Pay attention to activities that feel adjacent to your true calling but never quite touch it. Perhaps you teach writing instead of writing, manage musicians instead of making music, or edit films instead of directing them. The key insight is that shadow careers aren't meaningless detours. They're valuable signposts pointing toward your authentic path. By identifying the elements that attract you to your substitute career, you can understand what you're truly seeking. Your metaphorical life will invariably point you toward your real calling. To move beyond your shadow career, acknowledge it without judgment. Recognize that it has served a purpose - protecting you from perceived failure while keeping you in orbit around your dreams. Then take one small step toward the real work, however frightening it might be.

Chapter 2: Face Your Fears and Self-Sabotage

At the core of every creative struggle lies a fundamental conflict between our desire to create and our fear of being truly seen. This isn't just ordinary anxiety - it's a primal terror that Pressfield calls Resistance, a force that activates precisely when we pursue our highest calling. Pressfield shares a powerful story about his moment of confronting this resistance. After years of running from his writing, he found himself alone in a $110-a-month sublet in New York, having diverted himself into countless fruitless channels. That night, he hit bottom. Despite dreading the experience as pointless and painful, he forced himself to sit with his ancient Smith-Corona typewriter for two full hours, producing what he immediately recognized as garbage. Afterward, he went to the kitchen where ten days of dishes sat in the sink. As he began washing them, something extraordinary happened - he realized he was whistling. In that moment, he understood he had turned a corner. Not because he'd written anything good (he hadn't), but because for the first time in years, he had actually sat down and done his work. This pivotal experience reveals how our greatest breakthroughs often feel like failure in the moment. Epiphanies aren't always ecstatic moments of elevation; they're frequently painful strippings away of self-delusion. When we face our fears directly, we discover that what we've been avoiding isn't the work itself but the shame of confronting our own resistance to it. The amateur mind operates from fear. It identifies with the ego and seeks constant validation from others. It permits fear to stop action entirely. Pressfield notes that the amateur harbors a long list of fears, but near the top are solitude and silence - the very conditions necessary for meaningful work. The amateur avoids these at all costs because they would force confrontation with the voice inside that points toward their true calling. To face your fears, start by naming them specifically. Are you afraid of failure? Of success? Of being excluded from your tribe? Recognize that most fears are projections - the tribe you imagine judging you is largely indifferent to your choices. As Pressfield bluntly states: "The tribe doesn't give a shit. There is no tribe." This realization is liberating; your life is entirely up to you. Practice sitting with discomfort rather than fleeing from it. Begin with small commitments to your work - even just thirty minutes of focused effort. Remember that the professional experiences the same fears as the amateur; the difference lies in how they respond. The professional feels the fear but acts anyway.

Chapter 3: Develop the Professional Mindset

The professional mindset represents a fundamental shift in how we approach our work and ourselves. It's not about external credentials but internal commitments - a code of behavior that transforms sporadic inspiration into consistent creation. Pressfield outlines specific qualities that distinguish the professional from the amateur. The professional shows up every day without fail. They stay on the job all day, committed over the long haul. For them, the stakes are real. The professional is patient, seeks order, and demystifies the creative process. Most crucially, they act in the face of fear, accept no excuses, and play it as it lays. They prepare thoroughly, avoid showing off, and dedicate themselves to mastering technique. The professional doesn't hesitate to ask for help, yet doesn't take failure or success personally. They endure adversity, self-validate, and continually reinvent themselves. In one revealing anecdote, Pressfield describes watching a famous horse trainer work with thoroughbreds. He had expected a harsh, military-style regimen but instead witnessed something closer to play. The sessions were serious - teaching two-year-olds to enter the starting gate - but the trainer made the schooling feel like fun. When a horse got tired or restive, the trainer never forced it to continue. He explained: "A horse is a flight animal. Picture the most sensitive person you've ever known; a horse is ten times more sensitive. I want my horses to love the track. I want my exercise riders to have to hold them back because they're so excited to get out and run." This approach reveals a crucial aspect of professionalism often overlooked: compassion. The professional brings discipline but also understands that sustainable practice requires joy. They're ruthless with their work but gentle with themselves. They recognize that driving themselves to exhaustion serves neither the work nor the worker. To develop this mindset, establish clear boundaries between your professional and personal selves. When you step into your workspace, you become a different person - someone dedicated solely to the work at hand. Start by creating non-negotiable work hours and treating them as sacred appointments. During these times, eliminate distractions completely. The professional doesn't check email, answer calls, or scroll social media while working. Practice detachment from outcomes. As Krishna advised Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita, "You have the right to your labor, but not to the fruits of your labor." Focus on the process rather than the product. Judge each day by whether you showed up and did the work, not by what you produced. Remember that the professional mindset isn't about perfection but persistence. It's about returning to the work day after day, regardless of inspiration or mood.

Chapter 4: Create a Sacred Practice Space

The transformation from amateur to professional requires more than just mental commitment; it demands physical space where the work can unfold without interruption. This territory isn't merely functional - it's sacred, a dedicated realm where your highest self can emerge. Pressfield describes a book called "Where Women Create," a collection of photographs showing studios and workshops of various female artists. Despite their diverse disciplines - pottery, weaving, quilting, architecture, sculpture, painting, filmmaking - these spaces share essential qualities: order, commitment, passion, love, intensity, beauty, and humility. Each workspace reflects its creator's personal journey, yet all serve the same purpose - creating a container for communion with the creative force. Your practice space needn't be elaborate. During Pressfield's year of turning pro at age 31, he worked in a rented house behind another house, paying just $105 monthly. His setup was minimal: an old Chevy van, a Smith-Corona typewriter, and his cat, Mo. He eliminated distractions completely - no TV, radio, music, newspapers, sports, or social activities. Each morning, he'd walk to his friend Paul Rink's house (actually a camper-shell mounted on a pickup) to discuss literature before returning to his typewriter. His cat would curl up on the desk beside the typewriter, so the carriage would pass over its head as Pressfield typed. In this humble space, with these simple rituals, he finally completed a manuscript. Creating your own sacred space begins with selecting a dedicated location, however modest. It might be a spare room, a corner of your bedroom, or even a specific chair at the kitchen table. What matters is consistency - returning to the same physical spot signals to your subconscious that it's time to work. Keep this space organized and free from distractions. Remove anything unrelated to your practice. Establish rituals that mark the transition into your creative work. Perhaps it's brewing a specific tea, lighting a candle, or arranging your tools in a particular way. These ceremonies aren't superstitious; they're practical psychological triggers that help you shift from everyday consciousness into creative focus. Protect your practice space fiercely. Set clear boundaries with family members, roommates, and colleagues about when you're unavailable. Turn off notifications and internet access if possible. As Pressfield notes, "The amateur tweets. The pro works." Remember that your practice space exists in time as well as physical space. Regular hours are as important as a dedicated location. When you show up at the same time day after day, powerful creative energy accumulates around your practice. The universe notices this commitment and responds accordingly.

Chapter 5: Trust the Mystery in Your Work

Creative work, whether artistic or entrepreneurial, inevitably leads us to the edge of the known world. Beyond our rational understanding lies the mystery - that inexplicable source from which our best ideas emerge. Learning to trust this mystery becomes essential to professional practice. Pressfield illustrates this through his experience writing about prison. Having hit rock bottom as a failed novelist in New York, he decided to write a screenplay about prison despite never having been incarcerated or knowing anything about prison life. Desperate and with nothing to lose, he simply plunged in, "slinging bullshit with both hands and not looking back." When he later showed the script to writer friends, several pulled him aside to whisper, "Steve, where did you do time?" Somehow, he had accessed authentic knowledge beyond his conscious experience. This mysterious access to deeper wisdom isn't unique to Pressfield. He describes Patricia Ryan Madson, who taught improvisational theater at Stanford. She would ask students to imagine a small white box with a lid, then lift that lid and describe what they found inside. The exercise addressed their fundamental fear - getting on stage and drawing a blank. The lesson? There is always something in the box. The Muse always delivers, though she may surprise us with unexpected gifts. Pressfield's approach to this mystery evolved into several working principles. First, "work over your head" - don't be afraid to write characters smarter than yourself or tackle subjects beyond your expertise. The place we create from is deeper than our personal egos, beyond rational thought. Second, "write what you don't know" - contrary to conventional advice, exploring the unfamiliar often leads to our most authentic work. Third, when facing creative blocks, "take what the defense gives you" - if one approach isn't working, try another angle, accepting small gains while remaining patient. To develop your relationship with the mystery, begin by acknowledging its existence. Recognize that conscious planning and research, while valuable, account for only part of the creative process. Create space for intuition by incorporating periods of deliberate non-doing - walks, meditation, or simply staring out the window. These aren't procrastination but essential incubation time. Keep notes on your creative insights, particularly those that seem to arrive from nowhere. Over time, you'll recognize patterns in how your unconscious communicates. Trust that when you sit down to work, something will emerge - there is always something in the box. As Pressfield advises, "The professional trusts the mystery. He knows that the Muse always delivers."

Chapter 6: Maintain Discipline Through Resistance

Resistance - that invisible, insidious force that prevents us from doing our work - never vanishes completely. Even after turning pro, we face it daily. The difference is in how we respond. Pressfield shares the story of his year turning pro at age 31. Having saved $2,700, he moved to a small town in northern California where he rented a house for $105 monthly. Each Monday, he withdrew $25 from the bank - his budget for the entire week. He isolated himself completely, focusing solely on writing. "I had decided I would finish it or kill myself," he recalls. "I could not run away again, or let people down again, or let myself down again. This was it, do or die." After months of disciplined work, he finally typed "THE END" - the moment he knew he had beaten Resistance. Though that manuscript wasn't published (it "wasn't good enough"), the experience transformed him. "That year made me a pro," he writes. "It gave me, for the first time in my life, an uninterrupted stretch of month after month that was mine alone, when I was truly productive, truly facing my demons, and truly working my shit." This battle with Resistance continues throughout a professional's life. Pressfield compares turning pro to kicking a drug habit or stopping drinking - a decision requiring daily recommitment. Each morning, the professional faces the same demons, the same self-sabotage, the same temptations to distraction. The difference is they no longer yield to these forces. One essential discipline Pressfield emphasizes is "playing hurt." The amateur believes they must have all conditions perfect before creating, while the professional knows better. Has your spouse just left you? Has your car been repossessed? Keep working. "Athletes play hurt," he reminds us. "Warriors fight scared." Take two aspirin and continue. Similarly, he advocates "sitting chilly" - maintaining composure during moments of panic or uncertainty, like a rider approaching a terrifying jump who must stay steady in the saddle to communicate confidence to their horse. To maintain discipline through Resistance, establish non-negotiable work habits. Define specific times for your practice and honor them regardless of mood or circumstance. Start with manageable sessions - even 15 minutes of focused work counts. Track your efforts visually, creating a chain of productive days you'll be reluctant to break. Prepare for Resistance's evolving tactics. It will present rational-sounding excuses, urgent distractions, and seductive alternatives. Counter these by articulating your professional standards in writing. What would the professional version of yourself do when faced with today's particular form of Resistance? Remember that discipline isn't just about forcing yourself forward. It includes strategic rest and renewal. As Pressfield learned from the horse trainer, "Never train your horse to exhaustion. Leave him wanting more."

Chapter 7: Find Meaning Beyond External Rewards

The professional's journey ultimately transcends conventional notions of success. While external rewards - money, recognition, applause - are gratifying when they come, they prove insufficient as primary motivation for sustained creative effort. Pressfield illustrates this through his own years of struggle. "In a way I was lucky that I experienced failure for so many years," he reflects. Facing rejection after rejection, he was forced to confront a fundamental question: "Why am I doing this?" While friends pursued normal careers and stable lives, he continued writing novels and screenplays that wouldn't sell. What kept him going wasn't hope for eventual success but a simpler truth: "I had no choice. I couldn't do anything else. When I tried, I got so depressed I couldn't stand it." Despite external failure, he found internal satisfaction: "The truth was, I was enjoying myself. Maybe nobody else liked the stuff I was doing, but I did. I was learning. I was getting better." This shift from external validation to internal satisfaction transforms work into something more profound - a practice. Pressfield borrows from spiritual traditions to explain this concept. A practice implies engagement in a ritual, "the dedicated, daily exercise of commitment, will, and focused intention aimed, on one level, at the achievement of mastery in a field but, on a loftier level, intended to produce a communion with a power greater than ourselves." The professional approaches their work with the same dedication a monk brings to meditation or a martial artist to training. This perspective offers a different kind of compensation. Pressfield shares a story about a Marine gunnery sergeant who explains to young Marines complaining about pay that they receive two salaries: a financial one and a psychological one. The financial salary might be meager, but the psychological salary - the pride, honor, and brotherhood - proves invaluable. Artists and entrepreneurs likewise receive dual compensation. When conventional rewards prove elusive, the psychological rewards - growth, meaning, connection to something larger than oneself - sustain the work. To cultivate this deeper relationship with your work, regularly reflect on your personal definition of success. Write down what truly matters to you beyond external metrics. Perhaps it's mastery of craft, authentic self-expression, or making a difference in others' lives. Practice gratitude for the process itself. Before ending each work session, note one aspect you appreciated about the day's effort. Was there a moment of flow? A problem solved? A small improvement in technique? Remember Krishna's wisdom to Arjuna: "You have the right to your labor, but not to the fruits of your labor." When you embrace this truth, your work becomes its own reward - a practice that sustains you through success and failure alike.

Summary

The journey from amateur to professional isn't about acquiring credentials or receiving external validation - it's about making a profound internal choice to face your fears and commit fully to your calling. Throughout this book, we've explored how this transformation affects every aspect of your life, from recognizing shadow careers to establishing sacred practice spaces, from trusting creative mystery to finding meaning beyond conventional rewards. As Pressfield powerfully states, "I wrote in The War of Art that I could divide my life neatly into two parts: before turning pro and after. After is better." The invitation before you now is simple but profound: turn pro today. Not tomorrow, not when conditions are perfect, not when you feel ready. The professional path begins with a decision you can make right now - to stop running from your true work and instead embrace it fully, with all its challenges and rewards. Your life's masterpiece awaits, not in some distant future, but in the commitment you make in this moment to show up day after day, doing the work that only you can do.

About Author

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Steven Pressfield

I was born in Port of Spain, Trinidad, in 1943 to a Navy father and mother. I graduated from Duke University in 1965. In January of 1966, when I was on the bus leaving Parris Island as a freshly-minted Marine, I looked back and thought there was at least one good thing about this departure. "No matter what happens to me for the rest of my life, no one can ever send me back to this freakin' place again." Forty years later, to my surprise and gratification, I am far more closely bound to the young men of the Marine Corps and to all other dirt-eating, ground-pounding outfits than I could ever have imagined. GATES OF FIRE is one reason. Dog-eared paperbacks of this tale of the ancient Spartans have circulated throughout platoons of U.S. troops in Iraq and Afghanistan since the first days of the invasions. E-mails come in by hundreds. GATES OF FIRE is on the Commandant of the Marine Corps' Reading list. It is taught at West Point and Annapolis and at the Marine Corps Basic School at Quantico. TIDES OF WAR is on the curriculum of the Naval War College.From 2nd Battalion/6th Marines, which calls itself "the Spartans," to ODA 316 of the Special Forces, whose forearms are tattooed with the lambda of Lakedaemon, today's young warriors find a bond to their ancient precursors in the historical narratives of these novels. My struggles to earn a living as a writer (it took seventeen years to get the first paycheck) are detailed in my 2002 book, THE WAR OF ART. I have worked as an advertising copywriter, schoolteacher, tractor-trailer driver, bartender, oilfield roustabout and attendant in a mental hospital. I have picked fruit in Washington state and written screenplays in Tinseltown. With the publication of THE LEGEND OF BAGGER VANCE in 1995, I became a writer of books once and for all. My writing philosophy is, not surprisingly, a kind of warrior code — internal rather than external — in which the enemy is identified as those forms of self-sabotage that I have labeled "Resistance" with a capital R (in THE WAR OF ART) and the technique for combatting these foes can be described as "turning pro." I believe in previous lives. I believe in the Muse. I believe that books and music exist before they are written and that they are propelled into material being by their own imperative to be born, via the offices of those willing servants of discipline, imagination and inspiration, whom we call artists. My conception of the artist's role is a combination of reverence for the unknowable nature of "where it all comes from" and a no-nonsense, blue-collar demystification of the process by which this mystery is approached. In other words, a paradox. There's a recurring character in my books named Telamon, a mercenary of ancient days. Telamon doesn't say much. He rarely gets hurt or wounded. And he never seems to age. His view of the profession of arms is a lot like my conception of art and the artist: "It is one thing to study war, and another to live the warrior's life."

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