Why Write?

One of the first assignments I had when I returned to school for professional writing was to share in a paragraph or two, the reason for my writing. Why do you write?

I told someone once that I didn’t always enjoy writing. The look on her face only solidified the confusion I myself probably felt at the time. I used to enjoy writing. But to be honest, I can be the biggest procrastinator at sitting down long enough to gather my thoughts, let alone think of a thought sometimes worth sharing. If I’m being honest, writing simply feels too draining and I grow restless in the stillness sometimes. Other times, I’m the one looking over my own shoulder, cringing at the way the words come out in ink.

But I think sometimes, that’s because the idea of being “right” gets in the way- this notion that I have to be eloquent in my speech and profound in my words. It fuels that endless desire for affirmation-that pat on the back- while simultaneously shrinking away from the hard work of crafting material that leaves me wondering if I’m actually being genuine or not.

I’m the type of person who too often struggles with doing things the right way or not doing them at all. Yes, I raise my hand and state the obvious. I am an over thinker. And I know that I’m not alone in this. I think many of us can relate to this desire for “rightness,” and fear of failure. Maybe that’s why writing slowly lost its flavor for me.

Yet…It’s also slowly coming back- this desire to write again.

I’ve finished school. With no direction on what to write about and no grade to aim for, I finally sat down last week and wrote whatever came to mind:

I’m sitting at a picnic table near some tall old maples. Just me and my dog Chester. I can hear his panting while the wind rustles the leaves and tall grass like a steady hush. The birds tenderly chirp and over on the hill, a lawn mower hums across the field.

Stepping away from the attempt at perfection can sometimes feel like stepping away from the act of performance. There is something to be said for forgetting ourselves, taking our eyes off of what others think or what we ourselves even think. Like a song ending on a dissonant note, I think I’m beginning to learn to accept the kind of writing that doesn’t always lead to conclusive periods, but sometimes to question marks.

Last month, I was at a lake with some cousins. It had rained not long before we met, and that meant puddles were the showstopper of the evening for my cousin’s toddler. He was elated to run from one puddle to the next. This went on with the utmost enthusiasm. Inevitably, a plop and muddy splash landed him sitting for a moment…but just a moment. Pretty soon he was up and charging to the next puddle as fast as his little legs could take him. He didn’t care about his falling, nor did he, I might add, even notice that his dad and I were there watching.

Maybe that’s not the best of pictures, but it’s what comes to mind as I attempt to enjoy what I once enjoyed. To not think twice about how the trip-ups and imperfections may look, but enjoy with total abandon the mess of creating something. Is that what I’m doing right now? Forgetting what this may sound like to some and wanting approval? Well, no. I think that will forever be a game of tug of war for me. Still, sometimes the joy of writing comes in paying attention to what this gentle song of life means. Why am I drawn to sit and listen to the stillness right now?

Why do I write?

Words excite me-the way they’re strung together with a thread of thought that’s lasting and true. Words appeal to me when they’re honest and still hopeful. When they spread like water color, leaving tones and shades that catch my eye. When they make me remember who I am, while all the while forgetting myself and getting caught up in Another. It’s the language so vulnerably woven that leaves my heart seeking that Word in flesh. Emmanuel.

So I write because I want my words to do the same for you. I want to reflect in a world with shadows and dried up ground, the sunlight that comes peeking through an open patch of branches, and the dancing rain that makes the ground fertile again. I want to paint for you the picture of Truth and Hope and Love and Grace I’m seeing and experiencing. I want to take your hand and share in the joy of puddle splashing. This here and now. Just this- it’s like a gift we have to unwrap. We get to slowly untie the bows; sometimes untangle the tight knots (or not); scratch off the excessive use of scotch tape; peel back the colorful paper; and find what’s even more beautiful inside.

I wish I could say something more beyond this; but I fear that if I try, I’ll become long winded and create yet another draft that gets filed away with those twenty others. So here’s simply a first blog post. Just a small “here’s what’s on my mind.”