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If I’m honest, I think I’ve always wanted the third thing.
And now here in the gloaming of my career, I’ve come to understand that that wanting, that longing, has been at the core of my discomfort as a writer.
Foolish or not, I wanted more from the world.
Of course, it applies to every aspect of life.
I first heard it explained in this way via a brief video, which I believe featured Ryan Holiday, the philosopher and writer. Some months later, I tracked down his book, The Daily Stoic, co-authored by Stephen Hanselman.
A week ago I Googled “the third thing” and found this entry from a 2020 Daily Stoic email:
You want it, don’t you?
That “I told you so.” That “Thank You.” That recognition for being first, or being better, or being different. You want credit. You want gratitude. You want the acknowledgement for the good you’ve done, for the weight that you carry.
What you want is what Marcus Aurelius has called “the third thing,” because you’re not content enough with the doing. “When you’ve done well and another has benefited by it,” he writes, “why like a fool do you look for a third thing on top—credit for the good deed or a favor in return?”
Now, “fool” is a strong word, but the point stands. Why can’t the deed be enough? Was a pat on the back really the reason you decided to value the truth? Is that why you helped someone? Did you leave a big tip to that waitress or driver who was clearly struggling so they’d run out and thank you—or did you do it because you knew that it was right? Do you take your lonely stand because it will look cool, or because it was unconscionable to you to throw in with the mob?
You don’t need a favor back. You don’t need to be repaid. You don’t need to be acknowledged. You don’t need the third thing. That’s not why you do what you do. You’re good because it’s good to be good, and that’s all you need.
Aurelius and Holiday are focused here on daily life. Holding a door open for someone. Shoveling a neighbor’s driveway. Pausing to let a car enter into a busy traffic lane. The little things one does or does not do in the course of a day.
Why do we do it? For the accolades?
And aren’t the accolades, when we stop to think about it, irrelevant?
But professionally, I confess that deep down I’ve always hungered after it. The acclaim, the attention, the invitations & engagements. We all want to be seen, I think. And for a writer, that means to be read. Plus, of course, to be praised & loved by those same readers.
While I’ve had a long career, in which I’ve enjoyed many rewarding experiences — fan mail, school visits, awards — I’ve never achieved that highest level of success. By and large, the third thing has been elusive.
Maybe the lesson here is that there is always a third thing, no matter what you achieve? So many artists experience that nagging dissatisfaction. That great Peggy Lee song, “Is That All There Is?” I could listen to it and nod all day long.
I realize that I have nothing to complain about — there are so very many aspiring writers who would love to enjoy my success — but I’m trying to share a little nugget of wisdom I’ve learned along the way, or at least something I am trying to learn.
I’ve always wrestled with it. Ego is the enemy. The wanting is the thing to distrust. Despite being an actively published author for 39 years, I don’t feel like a success. However, I tell myself, that can’t be the measure of my happiness, or my worth. Wishing for the dubious third thing.
That’s the outside stuff. The part that I have no control over. The awards and accolades and articles and interviews that don’t come. All the stuff that isn’t me, isn’t in my domain: that’s not why I do what I do.
I am trying to let go of that third thing.
Trying to get my mind & heart right.
Trying to do the work in front of me. Be my best. Write as well as I can. Control what I can control. Feel peace and contentment and gratitude.
And let go.
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Here’s some advice from novelist Lily King, words I found today on the last page of the book, Writers & Lovers: 
