Creative

It is 2:35 PM on a Thursday afternoon. I began this post in TextEdit yesterday, got stuck, and closed the document. Something wasn’t working for me, nothing seemed to stick—words and ideas were abundant but without connection or resonance. I opened this document today without a clue as to where the time would lead. As I type these words, I still don’t know where this post is heading. That feeling is frightening. It’s this feeling that I try to avoid through meticulous planning and hours of brainstorming. Then, I end up here and I wonder yet again: what am I doing wrong?

It is 2:42 PM. I’ve spent the last two minutes staring at my computer screen and at the words typed above. I wonder where to go with this post. Is there something within this document worth preserving?

Before hitting delete, I ask myself what isn’t working with this piece. What is different this time than previous attempts that were deemed successful? This question shifts my perspective and enables me to swerve off cruise control. Rather than berate myself and my writing process yet again, I’m going to make it more difficult. I’m going to shock my brain by requesting evidence to file under this failed attempt.

It is 2:49 PM. The answer isn’t difficult to find. When writing, I like to feel a sense of freedom. I like to feel as if I have the right to write—as if I’ve logged enough hours to discard the self-ridicule associated with this activity. I search for that right by looking for external markers—the time (how long I’ve been writing), the word count, etc.. My knee jerk reaction is to look beyond myself for the assurance that I can trust this process. This reaction is the reason I practice yoga. Opening a blank document feels similar to stepping onto your mat at the beginning of class. You never know what you’re going to get. Some days, you fly through poses and don’t break a sweat. Other days, you look as if there is alcohol in your almost drained water bottle. Most often, the judgment in yoga comes when comparing yourself to others or even to yourself from yesterday. When you shut your eyes and trust the process, you gather an inner sense of calm and control. These emotions fuel you through the practice until you roll up your mat and praise yourself for showing up. Have you noticed that yoga is the one place where you thank yourself for simply attempting the activity? I love watching a room of students during this ritual. It’s beautiful and truly rare to see so many people displaying self-compassion so publicly.

It is 3:00 PM. I’ve hit the bottom of this page and can’t believe 25 minutes have passed. This time has felt equal parts exhausting and rejuvenating. It has been a mental workout. The words produced during this workout and written above are messy yet beautiful reminders of this time spent practicing the process.

So do I have the right to write? The beauty of this question is the answer: it doesn’t matter. I did it anyway. You can always do more, be more, and improve your craft. This process is never complete. However, you must move past this knowledge and allow yourself to simply give in to its messiness. To show up, to start, and to finish. This simple truth is what separates professionals from everyone else.

image: graphic anthology

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