“Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way” – E.L. Doctorow
This quote gives me hope. Hope that there is a way for me to “make my whole trip”, climb the mountain, eat the entire elephant, without needing to be acutely aware of doing so, or plan the whole thing. It makes me feel like I might be able to find my way, or that perhaps I already am.
Thinking about starting to write, especially for a potential audience, felt like an overwhelming prospect – not helped by my fanatical mind running off into grandiose fantasies about book signings, TV interviews and all the various places that could lead (which I would probably hate, incidentally). So the thought that I’m already on this road – that I don’t need to “start” – is incredibly relieving: I write in my journal everyday; I explore and communicate deeply meaningful topics with clients everyday (3-4 days a week, but y’know); I regularly capture my stream of thoughts in an attempt to better know and tame my incessant brain.
Even more liberating is the fact that, when it comes to writing, I don’t have a destination I need to get to – just a drive to engage with it and express something of myself.
“Process saves us from the poverty of our intentions” – Elizabeth King
I desperately need saving from my intentions. Which I think I’ve known intuitively for a long time. Unfortunately, this has often manifested as a complete avoidance of a task, because I can’t shut my brain off from all the different paths it leads to, which feels totally overwhelming. I know I need to call pest control right now if I’m going to see an end to this mouse problem, but it doesn’t feel as simple as picking up the phone and talking to a nice administrator; it means organising a time to be in, which means figuring out what to do with a barking dog when they’re here, waiting around for people who might never show up, having them in my home, the shame of them seeing the mess if I don’t tidy up, the effort of tidying up (TIDYING UP!!!) if I do, and all the things that won’t get done if I devote some time to this thing: training, writing, making my coffee table, doing my taxes. Yes – contacting pest control would make me incapable of also doing my taxes, that’s how it works.
So. Given how my brain works, the idea that my inability to confront things head on is not a total failure – that I don’t need to see beyond the headlights in order to get where I’m going – is beautifully refreshing for me. It makes me feel that putting the blinkers on to protect myself from the onslaught of “what ifs” and “what thens” might not be totally dysfunctional, but may actually help me arrive at some place valuable, maybe even better than where I would end up if I was able to plan out and execute the entire trip. It makes life feel possible, dare I say it manageable, if I just trust myself to move forwards and deal with what I can see in my headlights in each moment.
I’m not calling the pest guys though. I just can’t right now.
Other Thoughts 