Words of Wonder: Realigning with inspiration and motivation to keep going

How do we keep going in the face of doubt, struggle, despondency and frustration? When we feel like we're not getting anywhere, or we're not even sure where we're going on, what and to whom do we turn?

When it comes to writing, to self expression, to creativity of any kind, it can be useful to pause when on the brink of getting caught up in a whirlwind of negative thoughts, and remember our reasons, inspirations and motivations for why we do what we do - why it matters to speak our truth, to put our work into the world.

The words of others can serve as a humbling and uplifting corrective to the mind demons of cynicism and self-deprecation - the lows that it's natural to fall into (and important to have a healthy relationship with) in between the highs of being in a flow state.

Over the years, I've written down so many bits of advice and beautifully expressed calls to the art, craft and skilful pursuit to which I've devoted my life - that of communicating with care, curiosity and joyful enthusiasm.

I share them with you in this month's edition of Words of Wonder in the hope that they can amplify, remind or reaffirm your own commitment to this precious gift and practice of sharing our fruits with the world.

Knowing our own minds

Oliver Sacks' work, his humanising approach to his own, as well as that which he did with others as a neurologist documenting the journeys of people he tended to, has long been an inspiration to me. In his autobiography, On the Move, he captures perfectly, the primary value of writing as a means of figuring out the stuff of our own minds:

“The act of writing is itself enough; it serves to clarify my thoughts and feelings. The act of writing is an integral part of my mental life; ideas emerge, are shaped, in the act of writing. My journals are not written for others, nor do I usually look at them myself, but they are a special, indispensable form of talking to myself. It’s strange, the psychology of being a writer. But I suppose it’s better not to be merely facile — the blocks, the feelings of paralysis, the time when language itself seems dead, these all help me in the end, I think, because when the “quickenings” do come they are all the more energetic by contrast."

So often, we can get caught in the idea, loaded with external expectations and projections, that our input must deliver some kind of profound output. And it might. But it doesn't have to. And we get in our own way when we put this outward motivation first. Natalie Goldberg, who I've studied with and gratefully learnt a lot from, reminds us of the importance of reflective writing practice as one where we get to know our own minds - and of this being where the power of the process lies.

In her seminal work, Writing Down the Bones, she says:

"The more we understand the human mind, our basic writing tool, the better, the more secure we can be in our writing....watch and see how everything connects, how you contact your thoughts and lay them down on paper....Once you connect with your mind, you are who you are and you're free."

Making sense and rediscovering our wholeness

In the same book, and others, especially Old Friend From Far Away, she empowers, or rather re-empowers us, with the reminder that through writing, especially when it comes to personal essays and memoir, can be an incredible tool for reclaiming our sense of self:

"Many people who want to write are unconsciously seeking peace, a coming together, an acknowledging of our happiness or an examination of what is broken, hoping to embrace and bring our suffering to wholeness."

The writer Jamaica Kincaid makes the same point (the ones worth anything are worth repeating and can be felt more potently when heard and seen through multiple lenses):

"I'm not writing for anyone at all. I'm writing out of desperation. I felt compelled to write to make sense of it to myself - so I don't end up saying peculiar things like, 'I'm black and I'm proud.' I write so I don't end up as a set of slogans and cliches."

Revealing our shared humanity

One of the things I appreciate about writing communities, and am gladly reminded of and humbled by each time I facilitate groups, is the realisation that none of us are alone in what we feel, or struggle to feel. Writing can be, necessarily, a solitary experience. That's not the same as lonely, but when we're in the thick of whatever we're struggling with, we might feel intensely alone. JD Salinger provides a balm to this sense of isolation, emphasising the exchange that occurs through our words:

“Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.”

Bessel Van Der Kolk in The Body Keeps the Score makes a similar point, in terms of the power of skillfully expressed words to connect and reconnect us:

“Our capacity to destroy one another is matched by our capacity to heal one another. Restoring relationships and community is central to restoring wellbeing. Language gives us the power to change ourselves and others by communicating our experiences, helping us to define what we know, and finding a common sense of meaning.”

Fall, fail, rise up again

Imperfection and messiness are part of the process. If we don't face our inhibitions, limitations and fears, they will subtly and subconsciously rule us and potentially hold us back. That's why I so often encourage folks to let out the stuff we hold in shame or frustration - it is nearly always better out than in, as the acclaimed writer Ray Bradbury says:

“Whatever it is—whatever it is, do it! Sure there are going to be mistakes. Everything’s not going to be perfect. I’ve written thousands of words that no one will ever see. I had to write them in order to get rid of them. But then I’ve written a lot of other stuff too. So the good stuff stays, and the old stuff goes.”

And so, keep going. Embrace the imperfection, acknowledge the challenges, but don't get stuck in the mire. The lows of the process and the practice have much to teach us. And they will always pass, because everything does eventually. Onwards my friends, remember why you do what you do, and let that spur you on, moment to moment, page by page, word by word.