It is up to the writer to recognize everything that happens to her as a gift, to love each thing that comes under the eye’s contemplation, inner and outer.
Jane Hirshfield
When I first moved into this new house, everywhere I looked there was something wrong. I had so much judgement, whether it was about the metal cupboards that rattled when I opened them, the wooden railing that blocked the view to the waters of Fulford Harbour when sitting down, or the overgrown jungle of a garden outside.
In Buddha’s Brain, Neuroscientist Rick Hansen explains how our minds are hard-wired for negativity; They seem to be drawn toward the pain and struggle rather than the joy and ease.
When I first moved to the farm in 2007, I struggled with the same judgments, but there it was the rustic fences that seemed to bow and warp in every direction and the muddy path to my studio when it rained that I was averse to. My husband would point it out to me:
“You always see what’s not right. What about looking for what is?”
It’s the same with writing.
Nothing gets written if we don’t start by putting words down. Getting the words on the page is the first step. For some of us, it is the most daunting. Because the critic in our heads will try to deter us with all kinds of excuses:
“You know you aren’t very good at this.”
“What makes you think you could write a {insert your dream project here}?”
“You always start things and then you don’t continue.”
“Who do you think you are to want to be a writer?”
Rather than bullying ourselves away from the page, what if we walked ourselves gently toward it. Taking our own hands and encouraging ourselves step-by-step, word by word. As a mother encourages a child to do something they have never tried before.
“It’s okay sweetie, just get on the bike. I am holding you. See my hands on the back of the seat. Here I am. I won’t let go until you tell me.”
What if we allowed ourselves to speak this way to our own frightened writer-to-be?
“It’s okay sweetie, I know you are afraid. Just begin. Here’s a prompt to start with. And you only have to write for 5 minutes. Just see what comes. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I’m right here with you.”
(This is what I say to the writers in my memoir workshops. You can click here to learn more!)
Isn’t that how you would want to talk to yourself? Rather than with intimidation, fear, or coercion.
We may have learned this from teachers, or parents, who didn’t have anybody telling them how important it is to create a space where trying is as important as succeeding. And failing means at least we have tried.
We all have the power to write and tell our stories our way.
We also have the power to do so with a loving attention, so instead of scaring ourselves away from the page, we guide ourselves gently toward it.
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