I don’t fight to write anything. I read people often talking about how painstaking it was to get the piece out of themselves, but this process has never worked for me. I am sure the words will spill out if I pull the rope hard enough, but I have no interest in playing tug-of-war with my craft. Sometimes, the words don’t come, and I don’t wrestle or try to coax them out because the art of leaving is that everything meets its exit at its destined time. Process is personal, and the hardest part about teaching writing is that not all processes work, and not all exercises produce successful results. Some people work in ways that don’t work for others, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be explored. I avoid using the word poetry here because this is not about poetry. When I talk about departure, I am talking about what our bodies want to tell us to run on their schedule. Not all of you are writers, but you should be writing. I am not saying that you must be a poet or get started on your novel; I am saying that writing is a great tool for communicating with ourselves. Journalling, note-taking, and trying to channel our feelings into containers allow us to understand who we are at a specific moment.
When I say containers, I am speaking about poetic forms, but I am also talking about physical space. Before you continue reading this, draw a random shape on a piece of paper. Got your shape? Now, I want you to fill that shape with the answer to the question, ‘How are you feeling?’ You are now forced to think about your answer more in-depth because you know there are limitations. It would be best if you didn’t have to remove the answer from you surgically; what spills is the truth that is ready to leave the nest. Now, if you are a writer, we will imagine you aren’t for this next part. We aren’t going to focus on our quality but put emphasis on escape plans. Regarding containers that are poetic forms, haiku is a great tool. However, even though it is a poetic form, that doesn’t mean that what we use it for has to be poetry. It can be no more than a space to hold your feelings. For instance:
I am really tired.
The week has been difficult.
I need chocolate.
Nothing too deep or special; it's just a few honest truths in a contained form that forces thought and focus. The burden of being a poet is that we want to make everything poetic and have depth, but that isn’t always required. Sometimes, we have to take off our cloaks and be human above all things. I like to imagine Michael Jordan playing basketball with his friends and getting whooped because the pressure is off, and basketball in the neighborhood is different from basketball in the stadium. I like to think that Gordan Ramsey sometimes burns his toast. People tuck their lack of perfection behind locked doors, and letting them be on display, even if only we see it, is scary. I know that was a strange set of analogies, but I am saying that just because you can write well doesn’t always mean you have to and no matter what you’re good at, it doesn’t mean you always are.
Sometimes, we have to take off our cloaks and be human above all things.
I love writing beyond the profession of poet. I have notes scattered across the landscape of my living that are nothing more than an emotion I was feeling or an outline of a poem that states something like, ‘I got angry today at waking up angry for no reason at all!’ Having these thoughts outside our heads and giving them life in the physical world allows us to handle them and feel relief. Just seeing your emotions on paper can be the new perspective you’ve needed. Maybe it isn’t a negative emotion either, and it could be a problem you are struggling to solve or an idea you can’t quite grab hold of. The hardest skill to master is letting go. Allowing what we feel free to roam outside of our bodies. We must form a connection with ourselves and trust that whatever we are presented with, we will treat it with fragility. Writing can be a form of self-therapy. A trust fall exercise of self. It can be a scary leap, but forming an open conversation often leads to healing. As a final exercise in the interest of expression and opening yourself up draw a little outline of you. In the head portion, write an anxiety or a fear (or two) that you have. In the body, a longing or a lessening. On each leg, write a place you would like to go. What places call to you? Where do you think you’d find a calming? On each arm write two things you would like help with or think of something that would be easier with help. Nobody will see this but you unless you decide to show them so be honest and allow your truth to fall onto the page.
Knowing your anxieties means you know what there is to overcome. They are still obstacles but they are obstacles we can see and plan towards getting over. The longings and lessenings within the body are typically going to aid the head. The legs remind us that there are still places to see, that there is still business to be done and still something calling out our name. The arms are an admittance that we carry too much alone and we need to practice the art of reaching out. Underneath this image write a 3x3 poem to encourage yourself. It doesn’t have to be poetic, it just needs to be three lines with three lines per word. Here is mine:
This won’t be everybody’s cup of tea, but I am digging the heck out of this album right now. It also serves as writing music. I left an extra song under the album for those wanting something else. Sound off in the comments about this newsletter, and tell me what you thought of the music.
“The hardest skill to master is letting go.”
Best therapy session I have had in a long time.
It’s late as I read this but the exercises are on my list for follow up. (I still owe you that hypothetical 😉)
Thank you Ash!