“In the sky there are always answers and explanations for everything: every pain, every suffering, joy and confusion.” ― Ishmael Beah
Yesterday unravelled like the previous day. I woke early, strapped on my tennis shoes and headed for a run. When I returned, the noise of the morning laid at my feet. I grabbed my coffee cup and let the smell of the liquid goodness simmer in the air. While my morning elixir brewed, I unloaded the dishwasher, made a smoothie for my daughter and assembled the parts of her lunch hoping to make it whole. We headed to the car and drove to school. She maneuvered her body and backpack outside of the car door as she waved goodbye.
Her half-wave and smile signifies the beginning of my work day. I rush up the stairs to my office and start to write. In the last few weeks, though, this part of my day is met with resistance. All writers push against a single fear – What if the stories stop? In my last post, I cited an unintended hiatus in my posting schedule. The truth is I’ve written several posts, but they are lone strands that don’t quite make a braid. My fingers hover around the delete button more often than they touch the other keys. The words are thin, the sentiment forced and it leads to a melancholy that adds a palpable edge to my day. I stalk the words of others for a glimpse of inspiration. I pull out my trusted writing guides, Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird or Dani Shapiro’s Still Writing, read the words of two of my favorite poets, David Whyte and Mary Oliver and peruse Rebecca Solnit’s, A Field Guide to Getting Lost. If I am not writing, at least I am reading words that, I hope, will push me closer to opening my own muse.
I look at the keys again. I type a few words, string together a paragraph and then the anxiety creeps in again. Didn’t I say that last week? Am I constantly repeating my own history? Is this relevant? Will anyone relate to these words? Do I even relate to them? These thoughts keep strumming with a constant hum. As if on cue, my headphones blare Grace Potter’s refrain, “Are we falling or flying?”
After a few hours, the toil of my day still looks like a blank page. Nothing. I stop. The afternoon signifies a temporary end to my writing day. I throw my hair into a ponytail and grab my keys to pick up my daughter. In the car, we exchange words about her day and she starts to tell her stories. I listen. The hours that unfold center around my role as a mother. Helping with homework, cooking dinner and coordinating her after school activities. On Thursday evenings, I chauffeur her to tennis lessons. Sometimes I watch. On this particular evening, I decided to head home and try to return to the page. I heard the woodpecker knock on the side of our house, the thrum of a lawn mower and the excited screams of kids playing on the street. I didn’t hear the sound of the keys typing. I stopped.
I darted out to pick up my daughter from her lesson and after gathering her belongings we head to the car and I glance at the spectacular sky and it stops me in a different way. I paused, as my daughter kept saying, “Look at the sky, Momma. Look at the sky.” I grabbed my phone and captured the image of the changing colors, the shifting, all the season’s emotions splattered in technicolor.
Pay attention. Look up. I am reminded I am whole, even when the words aren’t falling as they should. The stories don’t stop.
I need to shift my perspective.
I love your words and your writing Rudri so please don’t ever stop – the words will come as they may. 🙂 Even if they don’t, they will always resume. Have a great weekend Rudri! -Iva
Thanks, Iva. I appreciate your words of encouragement. I realize that I need patience and time and the words will come when I least expect it. Enjoy your Sunday.
This resonates with all of us. Writing does not come easy and sometimes it stands at bay like a new friend. There is life and the writing life and it’s not an easy task to do both. Keep writing, there will always be doubts and struggles…but keep going. Recently I had to stop writing my book because I am not eager to let that chapter in my life be an open book for everyone.
You are whole and you are doing just great, one day at a time my friend. xo
Thanks, Ayala, for your encouragement. I love how you said that writing stands at the bay like a new friend. One day, I know, I will be able to say hello. xo
Morning Rudri,
I loved this post. I’m forever struggling with exactly what you wrote. We need to look up more. Blessings on you today,
Bobbi
Bobbi: It is so comforting to know that I am not the only one facing this struggle. Good luck to you as you navigate your writing journey. xo
I think this way sometimes – that some things I write about, I sound like I’m repeating myself. But with each piece, I find that I’m unfolding more of the story, like I’m discovering and remembering for the first time. So I think that sometimes, we do have to keep writing to find the ‘newness’.
Alison: I love that you pointed out that writing is a process to help us discover our newness. I never quite thought about it that way. Thanks for this insight.
I feel this way often. I’ve found even when we grasp for stories we can’t find they are there and arrive in their own time.
Susan, I completely agree that letting time do its work is the best way to nourish a creative block.
I have those fears too. I once had such a long dry spell that now I’m petrified it could come back. It was years long.
I wasn’t trying, though. I wasn’t blogging. I wasn’t held accountable. It was different. And the stories didn’t stop, of course. I am still catching up by filling in the blanks of all that happened during those five dry years.