The French have this saying…
C’est la vie.
More aptly put;
“That’s life.”
Those two words carry the weight of centuries of human experience, wrapped in what I’d call a linguistic shrug, that somehow manages to be both profound and casual at the same time.
You’re not resigning nor giving up. It’s something much more sophisticated at a deeper look.
It’s a soft sigh of acceptance that acknowledges life doesn’t give a damn about your carefully crafted plans. You know that feeling when everything you’ve mapped out gets completely derailed?
When the job falls through, the relationship implodes, the project you poured your heart into gets rejected, the pandemic cancels your entire year, the diagnosis changes everything?
We’ve all been there and got the t-shirt.
Most of us respond to these moments by losing our absolute shit. We rage against the unfairness, demand explanations from a universe that doesn’t owe us any, exhaust ourselves trying to force square pegs into round holes.
The French just say c’est la vie and pour another glass of wine.
There’s wisdom in that response that goes deeper than it appears.
It might even come across as being passive or fatalistic. Now I’m sure we understand that life is fundamentally unpredictable, and fighting that reality is like screaming at the ocean for being cold, wet and deadly.
Your plans were beautiful. Your timeline made perfect sense. Your vision of how things should unfold was logical and well-thought-out. And life laughed in the face of all of it, because life doesn’t read your fucking calendar.
C’est la vie.
There will be detours. The mess isn’t interrupting your life; it is your life. The unexpected turns, the sudden stops, the routes you never planned to take…
That’s where the actual story happens even if the story feels like an absolute shit show on the surface.
Every person you admire has a biography full of detours that seemed like disasters at the time. The failed business that led to the breakthrough idea. The rejection that forced them to try something better. The crisis that revealed strengths they didn’t know they had.
None of it was part of their original plan. All of it was essential to who they became.
There’s beauty in accepting that you’re not the director of this movie.
You’re just the protagonist stumbling through scenes you didn’t write, with dialogue you’re making up as you go along. Sometimes the lighting is perfect and your lines are brilliant. Sometimes you trip over the furniture and forget what you were supposed to say.
C’est la vie.
This doesn’t mean becoming a doormat or abandoning your ambitions. It means holding your planTwitter has been insufferable today.
The Litterati? (Literature nazis or whatever) were up in arms on Elon’s hellsite…
They were screaming from their high horses about how piracy is terrible and you’re an evil monster if you don’t care about piracy, especially if you’re an indie author trying to make it in this cut throat world of self pub and ink slinging…
But now it’s my time to get on my soap box and tell a different tune about piracy.
Hark Ye!
So back in 2020 I was working on a project with a fellow writer and marketing nerd.
We wrote a couple of guides, posted it to Gumroad and had a few big twitter accounts promote it and before we knew it. They were posted all over those blackhat web forums and discord servers.
Luckily we didn’t take anything too seriously cause hey, it’s not like we were out to stop world hunger or anything…
Originally my first instinct was to fire off angry emails and DMCA takedown notices like some kind of copyright vigilante.
Then I remembered something.
I used to be that person downloading shit I couldn’t afford.
Now most artists and creatives don’t want to admit this.
Sometimes it’s the only way people can access work that might change their lives.
I know, I know. We need to eat. We need to pay rent. The written word is already undervalued and we’re all fighting for scraps in an attention economy that treats books like disposable content. Every download that doesn’t generate revenue feels like money stolen directly from our grocery budget.
But let’s talk about the bigger picture for a minute.
You know what’s really fucked up?
There are brilliant people in countries where books cost a month’s salary. Students in places where Amazon doesn’t ship. Kids in regions where accessing “Western” literature is actively discouraged by governments who prefer to control information flow.
What if someone in Africa desperately needs to read that book about overcoming creative blocks, but it costs more than they make in a week? What if a writer in rural China stumbles across your work about breaking generational trauma, but there’s no legal way for them to access it?
Are we really going to stand on principle while someone who could benefit from our work suffers because they can’t afford the entry fee to our wisdom?
It’s purely some twisted form of capitalism prancing around with a half shattered mask of artistic integrity…
Look, I’m not saying we should all just give our work away for free. I’m not suggesting piracy is morally neutral or that creators don’t deserve compensation. But the scarcity mindset that makes us treat every unauthorised download like a personal attack? That’s what’s really holding us back.
Here’s what I did instead of sending lawyer threats (Which honestly is so fucking exhausting anyways) I started to put a simple message in all my ebooks.
Something like, “Hey, if you got this book through unofficial channels, no judgment. I’ve been broke too. If it helped you and you’re ever in a position to support the work, here’s my newsletter link. I’d love to hear your story.”
You know what happened? People started reaching out. Not all of them, but enough. Some just wanted to say thanks for not being a dick about it. Others shared how they found my work and why it mattered to them. A few even sent small donations when they could afford it later.
One person told me they’d downloaded my book while unemployed and depressed, used the techniques to turn their life around, got a better job, and paid for my time via a Zoom call.
That reader is now worth more to me than ten people who bought the book once and forgot about it.
We’re not Stephen King. We don’t have the luxury of not caring when our work gets shared without permission. But we also don’t have his name recognition or marketing budget. Sometimes a “stolen” book is the best marketing we’re going to get.
Every person who discovers your work, regardless of how they found it, is a potential ambassador for everything you create next.
They might recommend you to friends who do pay. They might hire you for bigger projects. They might become lifelong supporters once their circumstances change.
The scarcity mindset says every pirated copy is a lost sale.
The abundance mindset recognises that most pirates were never going to buy your work anyway, but some of them might become your biggest fans. On top of that. When you haven’t paid for anything (Skin in the game) you’re less likely to do anything with it anyways so does it really matter?
I’m not saying don’t protect your work or that artists should embrace being exploited. I’m saying maybe we should consider the difference between organised piracy operations profiting off our labour and individuals who genuinely can’t access our work any other way.
There’s enough to go around. Your words reaching someone who needs them, even if they can’t pay for the privilege, shouldn’t be considered theft.
I’d liken it some sort of hidden impact or whatever.
If someone reads some of my words and impacts their life in a positive way, well that to me is a job well done.
And if they so happen to still be on this email list, they can happily click this super long and obnoxious link and buy me a coffee or whatever…
Stephen Walker.
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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdoms lightly enough that you can do that little jiggle wiggle thing? (Pivot lol), especially when reality demands it.
It means finding grace in the gap between what you expected and what actually happened.
The French understand something about living that other cultures seem to miss…
You can’t control the story, but you can control how you respond to it. You can rage against every plot twist, or you can trust that even the detours have something to teach you.
There’s gonna be mess. But there’s also going to be beauty.
In the way you adapt when everything falls apart. In the strength you discover when you’re forced to improvise. In the stories you’ll tell years later about the time when nothing went according to plan and somehow everything worked out anyway.
C’est la vie doesn’t make you give up on your dreams.
It’s more about giving you a little slap and letting you know that there’s no way you can dictate exactly how those dreams come true.
Sometimes the most profound wisdom comes wrapped in the simplest phrases. Sometimes the French really do have it figured out.
C’est la vie.
Stephen Walker.
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Stephen Walker, Unit 146317, PO Box 7169, Poole, BH15 9EL, United Kingdom