back to basics

Writing teachers often suggest to write what you know. I start by writing what I feel. I get out the ick, what’s stuck, weighing on my heart, and woke me up at 3 am the night before. I write what’s confusing me (a lot) and making me sad or angry. I get it out first and then feel available to listen to whatever insight or idea comes through.

Tonight, I’m feeling grateful and content to be sitting on the couch with my kids, husband, dog, and cat. Last night the cat was missing and I felt unsettled without his warm, soft, body on the couch next to me. Or maybe more realistically, his warm, soft, paw swiping at my cheek. He eventually appeared at the back door, scratching the glass with his pink gumdrop pads.

I have felt waves of immense sadness and fear this summer, mostly and not surprisingly due to the increasing and heartbreaking incidents of gun violence in our country. I have been majorly and consistently disappointed by those in power determined to inflict their hateful views on us and limit the rights of so many.

I have felt antsy. If I was eight, my mom would say, “You have ants in your pants.” And she would be correct in this assessment. Also if I was 8, I would call Kristi and see what she was up to. Perhaps we could get together and create a show to perform later for my lucky parents. Or sing recipes turned songs into an oscillating fan. Or place stuffed animals on the blades of a ceiling fan and then watch them fly around the room after turning it on. The sky was the limit. I still call Kristi but it’s more likely now to see if she wants to meet for a Cosmo. (Yes, I still drink cosmos and yes, I know I’m not Carrie Bradshaw).

This morning as the sky went from bright to threatening, I grabbed my journal and started writing. As I neglected the other things I could or should be doing, I sat down to write and heard the words, back to basics. Just go back to the basics Lindsay…write daily with your hand and pen on paper. That’s it. Don’t worry about the rest, the rest will take care of itself. Don’t think about your audience or grammar, write one word after another. Even if all that comes out is a string of five nonsensical words. If you would rather type, type. If you have only your phone, type in the notes. Just write. Or if writing isn’t happening, talk, out loud in the car, in the shower, just get what’s on your mind and in your heart, out. Or sing. Meet a friend for coffee. The particulars aren’t important. But giving voice to what’s inside is.

It’s diminishing the pressure to turn words into something profound or publishable. It’s about going back to writing as a spiritual practice, an exercise in mindfulness helping to free, open, and sort through experiences, thoughts, and feelings. Simply, writing for the sake of writing without worry about producing. It’s also about getting emotion out of my body and turning it into something like hope.

Summer is a perfect time for this. It reminds me that it’s okay to be unproductive, to take extra time, to not do much of anything but watch more TV, read, and to even relish being a bit bored should I be so lucky. Summer makes me want to rest. Like a bear hibernating in Winter. And if it was up to me, the inside of my house would feel like Winter in the Arctic because I like it cold.

Summer reminds me of my dad dressed in a white t-shirt that he wore under his button down at work all day, watching baseball in my parent’s bedroom with buzzing cicadas and croaking frogs outside. I loved hearing the crack of the bat against the ball and the flash of the blue light from the T.V. in the dark, air-conditioned room.

Summer to me is the beach, bubbles, fireflies, tomatoes, watermelon, peaches, corn on the cob, chicken salad, sun tea, deviled eggs, Franklin’s Tower by The Grateful Dead, thunderstorms, road trips, my mom on the beach, great books, and writing in a journal with a new set of colorful pens. It’s the ice cream man playing his somewhat menacing but nostalgic tune. It’s the late setting sun and spontaneity.

Summer sings, be slow, it’s too hot to be fast. Swim. Eat popsicles. Appreciate the trees, new blooms, birds, and memories. See friends.

It’s helpful to go back to the basics and to simplify things when life feels over or underwhelming. We aren’t supposed to have it all figured out. The magic is in the mystery. To start slow, get in the body, and in touch with how and what we’re feeling. To show up, trust our intuition, uncover, and then let whatever is there out of the body, turning it into the light that the world so desperately needs.

I was reminded of this recently while on a working retreat at my friend’s house in South Carolina. We went around the table and answered the question, how are you, really? We spoke candidly about what was working in our lives and what wasn’t. At first, I didn’t know how to answer and didn’t want to say a peep. As open as I am, vulnerability is still hard. Writing is easier. When it’s my turn to talk, often times, my heart races and heat rises to my neck and face. But if I open up little by little, slowly starting with how I feel in the moment, just like I do when writing, the layers peel back, the truth is revealed giving way to what is golden and light. Like sun streaming through sheer white curtains. I feel more comfortable, more confident. With more light, we can see our way in the dark.