A pep talk. 

Do not underestimate the power of your writing practice. 

The way you describe the world is unique. You have a way of seeing, feeling, and thinking that is exquisitely specific. When you attune to the truest nature of what you know and use your intuition with your words, you poke a little hole in the fabric of your analytical thinking and create a portal that shows you something new. Something you didn’t know before. 

This might be something that surprises you about yourself. It might be about your life, things that have happened to you, and what they mean. You might understand something new about the world, your culture, and what you want to do next. You might discover a way to feel okay, to expand into even more joy, or be struck speechless by awe.

The stoics have a phrase they carry around with them like a talisman: memento mori. In other words, remember that we will die one day! It’s worth it for you to use this time you have to pursue something meaningful and enjoyable. It does not matter if “they” get it. What do “they” know about the meaning of your life?

Your practice is all your own, and when you keep at it throughout your life, you’ll see that sometimes it’s all lit up and sparkles with flow, and sometimes it’s not lit up at all, but feels thick and grindy. You will write as you age and change and go through Valleys of Weirdness and Deserts of Doubt and Foggy Marinas of Grief — and your writing practice will map you through all of it. 

This is how you belong to your own life. 

By putting yourself into words, you are creating your own story. You get to make your own metaphors and meaning. Be reckless with your own self-trust. When you practice for a while, you begin to see how trustworthy you actually are. That your thoughts are interesting, that your insights are valuable.

You are an excellent steward of your own life force.

When you start seeking external opinions, when your confusion begins to spin like a washing machine and you’re in a lather about your next move, when you find yourself asking your friends, “What should I do?” this is probably the time for you to come back to your centre. Drink a big glass of water. Get a good night of sleep. Eat a nourishing meal. And come back to your writing practice in all of your confusion. 

You will not know what to write at first, and this is perfectly fine. Start by writing, “I don't know what to write first.” Then maybe describe a few things that are around you – the green Subaru parked outside, the chipped mug with the flowers on it, your eyeglasses case with the snap that makes it tricky to close. In time you will find more of yourself in the marks you make on the page, and your breathing will change. Notice that: write it down, too. Why not? This is your practice.

Your writing is there for you as soon as you open up to it. When you ask it for help, it will answer you. It will take your hand and lead you through the hole you poked in the fabric, and bring you into the other world, the one where you feel centred and grounded and you can see your next step clearly. It might be only one tiny step, but you feel clear and right about it. From there, you begin to feel energy in the doing again. You have moved into writing without knowing, trusting your partner in this adventure – your writing practice.

Remember who you are. Let your writing practice remind you.