Five Things
One //
It’s Sunday afternoon and I am curled up in a lounge chair in the grass receiving what I like to call vitamin D therapy. A soft breeze carries a floral scent across the lawn like a perfume sample being spritzed in front of me by one of those annoying kiosk guys at the mall. This fragrance doesn’t annoy me, though. It smells good. Really good. I’m embarrassed to tell you I know exactly which plant is producing this glorious fragrance—I could point to it in the yard—but I don’t know what the flower is called. Probably something obvious, which is a testament to how clueless I am with all things gardening. I keep wondering if there is an app where I can upload a picture from my backyard (surely there is?) that will tell me what this plant is called so I can “be specific” when I write about it, which is basic writing 101.
I keep coming across the writing advice to write what you don’t know. To write “what you fear, long for, find hilarious, love, or are bound to lose.” I like this advice. The list of things I don’t know is far longer than the list of things I know, so if we’re talking sheer material here, certainly I’d last longer as a writer working with stuff I don’t know.
At a parent school group, someone recently shared that some species of sharks cannot stop moving or they’ll die. I had to look up this fact the minute I got home to confirm its truth. Lo and behold, she was right. For some sharks lacking buccal muscles—great whites, whale sharks, and mako sharks—the faster they swim, the more water is pushed through their gills. If they stop swimming, they stop receiving oxygen.¹ In other words: they must move or die.
(Yes, that’s a metaphor. For what, I’ll let you decide.)
Two //
I don’t normally write on Sundays. But I told myself I would write on Friday, and I didn’t. Then I told myself I would write on Saturday, and I didn’t. So this is me making up for lost time, or failed promises to myself. This is me finally admitting there is a problem. That is to say: I have writer’s block. My inner critic quickly reminds me to use stronger verbs, better descriptors. I’m experiencing writer’s block. I am suffering from writer’s block. I am currently consumed by writer’s block. (Eh. Slightly better. Not great.)
Before I began writing today, I cracked open a new writing book. From the first chapter: “Know that even one good paragraph a day is reason to celebrate. Set small goals. Make them smaller. Allow yourself to write badly in order to write at all. Really, really badly; just write. Know that you can chip away what doesn’t shine later and quite possibly discover a jewel.”
I’ve heard this advice 100 times, at least.
I suppose I need to hear it 100 times more.
Three //
A writer I follow on Substack recommends a daily writing practice of writing five things. That’s it. No word count. No timer. No other instructions. Just write five things. For the past three days, I’ve been thinking I should try this strategy. Writing five things feels like writing a stream of consciousness—something I used to do on my personal blog—but with bullet points. And hey, three points in, I gotta say: this isn’t so bad. I can hear Summer herself, beckoning me in, the water’s just fine! My fingers are flying across the keyboard, I’m not even second-guessing myself too much. Shoot. Why did I say that? (And so it begins.)
Four //
On Saturday morning, I went to yoga. I typically opt for strength training or HIIT style classes, but I wanted to stay on top of my physical and mental health in what was going to be a hyper-stressful three months. I am not going to tell you yoga is changing my life, but I will tell you that I love yoga in a way I didn’t think I ever would. At the start of the class on Saturday, the instructor opened up with a short pep talk.
“A lot of people start doing yoga for what they can get out of it,” she said, “You know—lower blood pressure, less stress, more flexibility, more strength. They want relief from pain. They want better energy. They’ve got their eye on the prize, or what they think the prize is: a successful transaction. If I show up to yoga, this will happen.”
The class listened, silent. I felt that awkward buzz of familiarity, that unsettling feeling like she was talking directly to me, the Enneagram 3, the girl who loves a successful transaction. Is there any better feeling than putting in the work, and reaping the rewards?
“But you see,” she continued, “When we keep our eyes on the transaction, we miss the best thing yoga has to offer: space on the mat.”
Five //
The transactions of public writing are inevitable. You send out an email; people either read it, or they don’t. You share your writing online; people either like and comment and share, or they don’t.
Lately I’ve been getting wrapped up in these transactions. Not feeling like my writing is “good enough” or worthy of being read – I mean, who am I? I don’t have a fancy book deal or a large social media following. Does anyone even care what I have to say? This thought process is spiraling and typically doesn’t end on a positive note. When I experience this, I remind myself: don’t get caught up in the transactions. Don’t let platform-building be your lighthouse. Don’t let the book deal, or lack thereof, keep you from showing up. Don’t let the numbers and metrics steer you away from the real prize. The best thing writing has to offer is the best thing yoga has to offer: space on a blank page.
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