There’s a certain ego that comes with engaging in the pursuit of fine arts. I’m allowed to say that because I’m one of those people – the ones who set aside logic and reason to pursue their passion, damn it. A little bit of that certain ego is healthy for anyone, and downright necessary in some cases. You have to believe in yourself, and if you’re engaging in any sort of competitive pursuit, artistic or otherwise, you have to believe you’re better than at least some of the people you’re competing with. A little ego goes a long way. A lot of it catapults you into the upper echelons of narcissism that have been previously been the province of reality TV stars, Instagram-famous makeup bloggers, and the current occupant of the Oval Office.

And I get it, I really do. Doing art is a hard and mostly thankless task. People are always asking after your future plans, as if by admitting that you do art you’ve consigned yourself to a lifetime of jobs that your average middle-class Baby Boomer likes to forget exist. There’s the self-doubt that wells up every time you see someone younger than you who’s more successful in your current endeavor than you are. There’s the occasional existential panic where you wonder if you’re making a terrible mistake. I sympathize. But even with all that in favor of you and your requisite form of ego boosting, you really need to stop.

It’s tacky. When I see some fellow art-maker posting on Facebook about how they haven’t slept in eight days because inspiration waits for no one, I’m not filled with admiration. I’m filled with annoyance. Like, hello, nobody’s getting enough sleep. It’s bad for you. It’s not something to brag about. There’s this idea that the more you abuse your body for your art, the more of a true artist you are. It’s dumb. I do my best writing when I’m energized and well-rested, not when I’m typing away inside some insomnia-induced k-hole. The amount of quality art you produce is not inversely correlated to the hours of sleep you get in a night. Give it – and yourself – a rest.

It all ties into this “art is pain” trope that’s been making the rounds. Some speaker in one of my classes delivered a lovely lecture about how stories shouldn’t have happy endings, and the only way to make real art is to suffer. Again, this Deep and Profound outburst didn’t inspire me to be just like the speaker. It just made me think that I was looking at a woman with only the bare minimum of life experience. Art isn’t made more valuable because it was born of suffering, and you as an artist aren’t more valuable because you’ve suffered. Catharsis can be important in art. It’s a strong place for a lot of people. But it makes no sense for all art to be catharsis-based.

Being an artist shouldn’t become performance art. It shouldn’t become a string of Facebook posts about how much more exhausted you are than everyone else. It shouldn’t be bringing up your struggles with artist’s block with the person who sits next to you on the bus. It shouldn’t be you struggling to transform yourself into the sort of person you think an artist should be. There’s no right way to be an artist. But there are some wrong ways, and one of those is using your captive audience – the people around you – to feed your ego. A little ego is healthy. A lot – well, just look towards Washington, D.C., to see where that gets you.