It is far from an original endeavor to write about having writer’s block. Or whatever one might choose to call that thing that keeps oneself from putting pen to paper then sending that paper out into the world.
But I don’t suppose there’s really a better way to break through a writer’s block than to simply write, and to write without too much regard for the quality of the final product.
I put a lot of pressure on myself when I write. It’s a process I deeply enjoy, and one I think I can rightfully call a passion. Writing makes me come alive, and Howard Thurman taught us that’s something the world desperately needs more of.
And yet—for me at least—the writer’s block so often comes in convincing myself that the world doesn’t need my words. That I have nothing particularly original, novel, or consequential to put out in the world.
And maybe, in one narrow sense, that’s true.
But I think in most every other sense, that’s a fairly useless line of logic to follow. It’s paralyzing, stultifying, self-sabotaging.
What if the words don’t come out how I want them? That might happen! It is certainly an occupational hazard. But it’s also not a tragedy.
What if somebody who I care about and admire disagrees with the words I publish? We have all survived far worse than a strong disagreement.
What if, in three years' time, I look back on what I published tonight and I think to myself, “What a foolish thing to say”? Well, fool’s gold still gleams.1
And besides—as my friend Joe recently reminded me—I am not my words. I cannot and never will be reduced to my words at any one point in time. Admittedly, I struggle deeply with overidentifying with my thoughts and feelings. And so I find Joe’s counsel so incredibly helpful. This truth—that I am not my words—gives me permission to hit “publish.” It puts words in their proper place—as valuable, powerful, sometimes beautiful, sometimes catastrophic little sounds—but it does not allow them to have more power over me or my neighbors than they should or otherwise could.
To quote Joe at length:
You are not your words. You are not your thoughts. You are just communicating what you are thinking and feeling in that moment. If you change your mind later, that doesn’t invalidate your writing, nor should it prevent you from publishing it just because you fear it might be “wrong” or you might change your mind.
In How The Light Gets In, Pat Schneider shares, “In my writing, my desire is for the flash of recognition, the image that I only partly glimpse, but recognize as a glimmer of something worth trying to capture in words on my page.” (p. 12)
Too often, I wait for some imaginary point ‘somewhere down the road’ where I anticipate that the image might come into full clarity. And in that waiting—which, to be certain, is not an expectant or curious waiting, but rather a forced and impatient one—I have already long missed the flash of recognition as it came whipping down the other side of the road at 80mph.
This here is my attempt to follow that “glimmer of something worth trying to capture” the moment it catches my eye. This here is my prayer, feeble and imperfect, beautiful and perfect, all because I chose to write these words and I chose to share them.
It’s time to take the pressure off and get over myself. Shake it off and click the pen open. I come alive in connecting with my neighbors, and I write to connect. I’m not so important that my words need dialing in with compass and caliper before I pass the paper off to my neighbor next door.
And thank God that’s the case!
The world needs all of our words. Mine, and yours too.
[Pause. Breathe… Publish!]
Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
-Teilhard de Chardin
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Lastly, if you’d like to contribute something to this conversation—a thought, a question, a piece of pushback—I’d welcome that. Go ahead and say something in the comments below!
That line is cheesy as hell, but I’m writing this in one go, so no take-backs!
Yessir. It’s is beyond time to resurrect the anecdotal essay. Now to see if it is possible to hint at what-can’t-be-uttered in a digital format. Godspeed.
Thanks for writing this, Randall. To echo what Ryan said below, I'm grateful to see my friend's words in this format, and for the chance to engage with them.
Funny enough, the thought I had when you mentioned the fear that "the world doesn't need my words" was to go in a different direction than where you ended up (a conclusion I do also agree with) which was to say, "of course the world doesn't need our words, it needs us." But then, further, in as much as our words embody who we are, and our unique stories and perspectives that only we can offer, it NEEDS our words. I love your conclusion that there is NO PRESSURE, only connection. But I would like to "yes, and" you and say, be bold in your words (written or other), because only you can tell the story of YOU. As Gerard Manley Hopkins said, "what I do is me: for that I came."