Learning to knock on doors, literally and figuratively

And the difference between being an 'independent' and a 'freelancer' writer

Climbing the steps to the Ateshgah in Tbilisi, Georgia. © Mariyam Haider, 2023.

Earlier last month, on a hot summer day in Tbilisi, Georgia, my partner and I decided to go about the city. We were visiting the country for the first time and spending the day ticking off certain places off our travel list. One of which was an Ateshgah, a Zoroastrian fire temple, located in the old town of the city. Amid the centuries old architecture and Soviet-era underground metro network, this temple stood as a relic of the earliest years of Tbilisi’s remarkable existence as a trading hub on the silk route.

After a steep climb into a couple of narrow lanes, the temple ruins appeared, standing a few metres above the ground. At first sight, the temple seemed to be closed. There weren’t any tourists or locals around, a thicket grew above the high wall covering the temple plaque, while a couple was getting their pre-wedding pictures taken just down the street.

However, as I climbed the stairs to what was supposed to be the entry way to the temple, the door appeared to be locked from the inside. I peaked in through the slight opening between the wooden blocks holding the door, to find a green ball and fishing rod on the floor of what appeared to be a small front yard. At the other end were two rooms, and a white curtain barely covered one of its windows.

“Should I knock?”, I thought out loud.

My partner looked up from his camera, smiled and shook his head.

Taking that as a yes, I climbed back up and tapped.

No response.

I peered through the crevice again, and knocked.

Nothing.

Third time’s a charm, I thought and gently tapped my knuckles on the doors again.

Nada.

Slightly disappointed, I began getting down. Just then, someone opened the door.

“Can I take a look at the temple?,” I asked.

The woman nodded and let me in.

Growing up, I was always the child who was afraid to walk up to strangers, raise my hand in a class, or ring doorbells of strangers’ homes. The thought of walking into the unknown was always and by default, a no. It is quite ironical then, to see myself, knocking on doors, not just of fire temples in foreign lands, but also for new opportunities, conversations, meetings, etc.

As an independent writer/artist, knocking on doors is now the de-facto mode of operations. I reach out to editors, new guests for my podcast, potential collaborators, all in the hope that some will yield results, others will just be part of good practice. The work is to keep summing up the courage to climb those stairs and knock with earnestness.

There is enough research to prove that women exponentially live with self-doubt and often apply for jobs only when they think they meet all the job requirements. Time and again, it has been studied and found that girls and women are more likely to have fear of failure than men. We ask for pay-raise only when we believe that we have earned it.

Needless to say, all of this impacts the way women look at opportunities and the journey towards making them work.

I have received nearly six rejections on various applications in the past couple of months. Rejections obviously negatively impact one’s state of mind and I’m no exception. However, the more I knock on doors, the more I recognise which way my career and life path are headed. The questions I am beginning to asking myself are these:

How will this opportunity help me grow? Does the unknown on the other side of the door excite me? What is the lesson out of this rejection? Do I really want this opportunity?

Once through the door of the Ateshgah, I found myself standing under the remains of a 5th/6th century structure. The place where a dome would’ve been was covered by polycarbonate roofing, a platform connecting the entrance to the other side of the wall, offering a small glimpse of the excavation efforts underway. Diffused sunlight poured onto the exposed brick-walls, while a miniature ateshgah stood on a table to help visitors recognise its original structure.

I don’t know if my presence meant anything to the residents and caretakers of the temple ruins, but the few seconds of hospitality by the family, a woman and perhaps her daughter, was encouraging enough for me to keep knocking on such doors.

To be ‘independent’, I’m learning, is a lesson in kindness, acceptance and encouragement from those I reach out to. The people who spend time on: reading my pitches, podcast requests, texts and even lengthy applications. I remind myself that there’s a human being sitting on the other side, considering, rejecting and hopefully in some cases, accepting my work.

I am independent professional in pursuit of new outcomes, but the outcomes are the result of those who decide to join me on this journey. Those who appear, review, collaborate, edit, and publish my work.

This is precisely why I am largely uncomfortable with the term ‘freelancer’ because besides its roots in being a mercenary who works for whoever pays them the most, the term also dilutes the effort independent artists usually take in choosing projects. Beyond simply wanting to pay their rent and bills, we choose publications, voices, platforms, opinions we want to align with. Even by self-publishing on Substack, I am adding tags that helps this machine recognise the spaces I envision to be part of.

Rebecca Solnit in her memoir, Recollections of My Nonexistence, writes, “Becoming a writer formalizes the task that faces us all in making a life: to become conscious of what the overarching stories are and whether or not they serve you…” I guess the only way to even begin comprehending these overarching stories, is to explore all possibilities that go into making a good one, and what better way to start than knock on exciting opportunities?

Slowly and steadily, the doors that align with my sense of self and place in the world will open, one way or the other. I just need to keep knocking with the right intentions.

---

Mariyam Haider is a Singapore-based writer, podcast host and spoken word artist producing works on feminism, culture and society. Her writing has appeared in Scroll, Kontinentalist, Asian Review of Books, Centre for Feminist Foreign Policy, AWARE, Livemint, Mekong Review, among others.

Her next podcast episode is out on 15th August. You can subscribe to mainbhimuslim.com to receive it in your inbox.

You can also follow Mariyam’s work on Instagram or LinkedIn, or DM her for potential collaborations.