Why We Don't Write: Beginning Again

Buddhist writer Sharon Salzberg teaches us that "with every breath, we can begin again." I find this one of the most hopeful and helpful quotes of a lifetime of reading, writing, and listening to writers. We need this bit of "begin again" wisdom to become something we rely on in times of doubt. I say these things because, I too, fall victim to the "Oh, I haven't written a new post for so long, why do it today? It just seems too hard right now." Until a month, or even two, have passed and all my readers begin to wonder what has happened and wander off to other more conscientious bloggers.

Today I begin again. And not for the first time, but for the first time in a long time. I can blame it on my shoulder surgery which made writing hard; made it, in fact, hurt. Yikes! Or the fact that I broke a tooth and the whole getting a crown thing has been quite painful. Or maybe the fact that I have lupus and experience fatigue and pain most every day, but that hasn't stopped me in the past, and I've been dealing with it for years. The question is not why I haven't written in the past couple of months, but how do I begin again, and how do I continue? I believe this is a question we all deal with at times, especially those of us with a chronic disease or pain. Or maybe it's taxes, the state of the economy, war. These are all very real, not simply excuses. I know that. But how do we write or remain committed to our art anyway?

Because we also know the truth; our art, our passion for words or paint, the longing to somehow capture truth and beauty even for a moment, is one of the most healing things we can do for ourselves and the world. I always, not sometimes, but ALWAYS feel better when I write. And yet my tendency, when down, is to give in and allow my self to distract me from the very thing I know will help most. I can't answer the why of it so much as help with how to pull ourselves out of it. Somehow I'm better at doing the physical, when it's hard, than the mental/emotional/creative. I realize even if I'm tired or my feet hurt already, that a walk will make me feel better. And so I walk and therefore do feel better. Swimming is even harder, so I tell myself all I have to do is get in the water. It never fails. If I make it that far, I swim. I keep my expectations low--if I walk a mile or swim at all, I get a star on that day in my calendar.

Art is not as easy. We have higher expectations of ourselves--to be gifted, to be wise or witty, to make perfect whatever it is we are working on. When what is called for, what is most needed, is just doing something. Anything. Creating crap is better than not creating at all. From experience, I can tell you that writing through my pain has created some of the best poems and songs I've written. I've always loved listening to the blues, so why can't I allow myself to write some, too? Blues singers and composers are quite obviously taking a hard moment and transforming it, through their persistence and unwillingness to cave, into art. We can do the same. I often do. But not always.

That's when we have to forgive ourselves and climb with all our aches and pains and doubts, back up on the wagon of our creativity, trusting that it will take us where we need to go. We have to believe that wagon is our way out; taking us down the road to better times and into the land of truth and beauty. Even if the landscape seems bleak, we are moving! We are headed out of the "valley of the shadow" that keeps us from creating. Don't give up. Don't give in to the voice of pain, doubt, or even despair. First, forgive yourself. Then pick up your pen, and begin again. Start with small goals, short freewrites, small paintings. Write about the very thing that plagues you. You don't always have to be bright and cheery--that's another difficult expectation to fulfill. Just start and see where your life leads you. This is trusting the process to the fullest extent. Believing that all of life is like riding a bike. You don't forget how to live, no matter how long you've parked it in the dark garage. A few circles around the block, and baby, you're back in business!