Initially when I see this directive, I visualize a LIST. Lists are somewhat generic, at least as far as writing goes. Write out a grocery list, a Christmas list, a list of New Years’ Resolutions, list the Pros and Cons of a tough decision. Write it out so you don’t forget it, get it in front of you, where you can see it and analyze it. Write it out so someone else will know what you need them to get/be/do for you.
I used to love to make lists. Lists are good things, and indispensible as organizational tools. Without them, we would be…well… “list-less”. OK, ok… I apologize for that bit of bad writing in this bad bit ON writing. But sometimes a bad bit makes things a bit better. Alright, I will really stop now… Anyway… Lists are also meaningless if you don’t take the action that is listed on them. Ya gotta DO things, then check them off.
But this is not what I am talking about when I say “Write it Out” in the context of this message. I am talking about passion, I am talking about problem-solving, and I am talking about how I came to discover what it is I believe I am supposed to do with my life. What’s left of it, anyway.
When I was a kid, I wrote stuff down. Kind of obsessively. I had notebooks. Like “Harriet the Spy”. Only I never wrote bad things about people, (Well. Almost never.) or had my notebooks fall into the wrong hands, subsequently destroying people’s lives. So maybe not exactly like “Harriet the Spy”, but you get the point. I started keeping journals consistently when I was about 12, and I have over 30 volumes now. I won’t tell you that these masterpieces are full of wisdom and optimism, because that would be a lie. (Although I would like to think there is some measure of both, in those precious pages.) Mostly these volumes are full of tortured observations about the boys who tempt and try me. You will notice that I said “are”, and not “were”. Girls whining about the boys who tempt and try them is one of those things in life that does not change with age. Or experience. Or marital status. I will not be debating this point. Nor will I be dwelling on it. I just want to talk about the process.
When I am feeling something extreme, something too big to handle alone, too big to contain within my weak and mortal self, whether it is good or bad, I have to write it out. Out of my head, out of my heart, out of my system. Onto a blank page. To me, there is just nothing more seductive than a blank page. My favorite thing to do when I am feeling overwhelmed is to go to Barnes and Noble and look at the blank books. At the leather-bound journals. To buy a good pen or two. Or five. To then choose the blank book that feels the most representative of where I am in life at that given moment, buy it, and proceed to fill the pages with all my STUFF. It feels good, and it keeps me sane. I think. At least it helps me FEEL sane again, if only momentarily.
To just pour every little thing, even the iceberg-variety “little things” out of my soul and onto the page is the best therapy ever. And the best follow-up therapy is to go back and read it later, when my perspective has changed. It is a way to recycle used-up feelings, hopes, and dreams, to package them with words and see if they look better out there where I can see them. Often they do. Sometimes they don’t. But always I feel a tiny bit more able to move forward, having at least contained within a book whatever is ailing me.
There is much that has been ailing me in my recent past. I pour it raw and unedited into my journals. Which my children may or may not see after I am gone, and that is ok. There needs to be a private place for that. And then sometimes, after I have read back over something of a painful, humorous, or miraculous nature that I have experienced and written about in my journal, there are parts of it that sort of leap out at me, screaming (in their little tiny animated word-voices) that there might be other people who are dealing with similar things who could possibly benefit from my perspective. So I re-write, and then I share with all of you. The still, small voice in my head, (the one that I know is not my own) helps me with the timing and the editing. It feels like the thing I am supposed to be doing, and I am grateful that this thing I feel directed to do is also a thing that I happen to love.
So whenever you are feeling burdened by a thing that hurts, doesn’t make sense, makes you want to break something, or makes you want to break into song, just write it out. Soon, while it’s fresh, and in the form it first comes to you. Once you have done that, sleep on it. Then read what you wrote. Chances are, you will have put it in some kind of order without even realizing it. You will see something you missed before. Or you will cringe, throw the paper away, and swear never to write again. But you will have learned something, I promise you. And you should write again. Whether or not you choose to share what you write, and with whom, should be handled with care. And with prayer. Because words are powerful . They can change lives. In either direction, and sometimes permanently . So choose carefully. That’s all.
