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On reflective writing: How expression for its own sake, free of the need for validation, can be more than enough
Whichever way you look at it, the world is full of people clamouring for attention – if we want to add something meaningful, interesting and insightful, that moves and provokes readers in a way that is fresh and illuminating, it’s worth taking a step back and spending time with our thoughts. Inspiration and emulation definitely have their place, but at some point, we have to stop reading and start writing – thinking – for ourselves.
Why write? Who cares?
“Why write? Because we cannot simply live.” So says the inimitable Patti Smith, one of my absolute favourite writers and thinkers in her response to the Penguin series of books on Why I Write. It's a question I've been pondering lately, often do, to consider the intention, the purpose, the worth and the motivation for doing what I do, especially when I don't feel like doing it, or doubt the point of it. I write for many reasons, personally and professionally speaking. Primarily, for the stimulating process and the life-affirming practice of finding the sense in things.
Yielding to change: What happens when we stop trying so hard
Have we been programmed to miss (take) ease out of mental exhaustion? To assume that boredom is a problem, with its cultural connotations of what we think we experience as tedium but reconsidered, might simply be a wordless, effortless gap into which we might rest if we drop the labels and expectations of how things, we, "should" be? Are we missing the chance to let go of all that burdens us by feeling and feeding the weight of our expectation, instead of allowing some lightening of the load?
Breakdowns and breakthroughs: Coming back to my body
The first time that I truly felt the pounding of my heart, a rhythm so alarming because of the silence into which its loudness fell, I was convinced I was on the verge of dying. It was the final hour of the 90-minute group sit that had started at 4.30am on day eight of my first ten-day Vipassana meditation retreat.
Moving to the country: Do I belong here?
I've been contemplating my roots again. Where I come from and how I got here, geographically and in terms of who I have become, am becoming, as a person. Prompted by the move to the country and the purchase of a plot of land amidst the rolling green hills of the English countryside. I've been contemplating the practice, the meaning and the experience of reclamation. The principle of taking back what was taken away. Not necessarily this particular piece of land but the fact of land dispossession and the importance of dismantling ideas of who owns what, where belongs to which group, and all that divisive discourse.
No plans, more potential
Starting over
"In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, in the expert's mind there are few." There's good reason why this line from Shunryu Suzuki Roshi's teachings in the book, 'Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind', is so famous and often quoted. It contains a world of richness and the sense is immediately clear.
Playing with words: Making sense of what we mean
I’ve been troubling over the word settle. The good, the bad and the ugly connotations. The original meaning, my meaning, and the complex tangle of the commonly understood and culturally contested idea of what it means to settle – in life, on land, for the sake of resolve or the intent to impose in attitude or physical presence. Because words matter, and mine is a vocation that calls upon them.
Drifting and resurfacing: Getting back on track after we lose our way
The most important thing
What matters most? What's the most important thing right now, right here, that you can do, that will shape how you are, with yourself and with others? Knowing that everything matters, in the sense of the unavoidable chain of cause and consequence, the truth of actions and reactions, what's the most important thing ?
On having difficult conversations, and being better rather than doing more
Why do we yield to a torrent of mental anguish and work-based strain before we ask for help? What makes us believe that we have to hold an unbearable and impossible load alone? When we know that the unspoken expectation to "soldier on" serves the folks at the top of the proverbial layer cake and definitely not us, why do we do it? And how can we stop?
All useful questions to consider, and I encourage you to reflect on your own answers, but for the most part, I'd say they're not the primary focus when it comes to moving on skillfully, because a) we know the answers already (cultural conditioning, capitalism, social pressure, systemic inequality, etc), and yet we carry on regardless, which leads me to b) the realm of "why" can lead us to conceptualising, excusing, ruminating, lamenting and bemoaning. Whereas the more constructive and change-making approach is to ask: what now, what do I/we need to do differently, how can I/we help to make things better?
On doing hard things & feeling our feelings
I love second hand books. I love all books in fact. But there's something uniquely special about a book that's been leafed through, pondered over and passed along. A sense of which, if you're lucky, comes through from the marginalia and love notes within the folds.
These are the words on the inside cover of my pre-loved copy of Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche's The Joy of Living: "Dear Zach, If it's hard....do it! All the best, Wyan". My 11-year-old niece and I were sat reading our separate books in the garden recently when she asked me what my book was about. She noticed the inscription, which sparked a conversation about doing things that challenge us, and how navigating life's undulations does indeed, like the subtitle suggests, unlock the secret and science of happiness.
Getting clear on your needs & writing as a release
Clarifying what we need can help us to treat ourselves and others with greater care and attention. For me, writing is part of that process, of listening deeply. When I write, so much that comes out is garbage. And that's part of the process. A little glimmer or two of sense emerges from the sifting, by emptying out the waste matter the sense is easier to see.
Are you sure that what you're telling yourself is really true?
Whenever we get carried away with our inner monologue, whether out of dreaded or hopeful anticipation, or the constant replay of conversations or events already gone by, we can veer towards a version of reality that is more draining on our mind and nervous system than it needs to be. The late great Zen master, poet, activist and writer Thich Nhat Hanh encouraged practitioners to ask ourselves in any moment like this, "are you sure?". In other words, check, are you sure this is true, might you be minimising or maximising the story, is the storyline you're telling helpful or necessary? Might there be something else going on? What is really happening and how can you face it mindfully?
The limits of language
Words are as limited and limiting as they are expansive and profound. They can hurt. Or they can heal. Depending on the who and the how of their use. Everyone has something to say about everything - but does it really need to be said? Thoughts on considering whether to keep your mouth shut or speak up.
Leading from a place of insight and hope
It takes a lot to lead well: as well as the operational load of enabling people and processes, there’s the need to inspire and encourage employees to step up when they might not feel ready. It becomes an even weightier task in the face of uncontrollable extraneous circumstances – say, in the face of a global health pandemic that has thrown everything into seeming disarray, adding the management of radical change and anxiety to the leadership mix. As a leader, how do you deal with it?
Eyes wide shut: Are we seeing things clearly, or shutting ourselves off from reality?
Way back when I first started meditating when I was 17, it was candle gazing (trataka) that I was drawn to. For a long time, that was how I practiced, eyes wide open, focusing on the flickering flame, bringing deliberate attention back to what was in front of me whenever thoughts or distractions drew me away. At some point, I learned to meditate with eyes closed. Whichever way we choose to go about things, it is always wise to exercise some practical discernment and ask ourselves, why, what's the intention of my practice, how will it serve the way in which I engage with the world?
What's the rush?
"Ahsta, ahsta!" Punjabi for "slowly, slowly!". Words my parents used to, and still, say to me. When I drop something because I've not quite quelled the habit of needless haste. When I forget there's a cup of tea by my feet as I practically sprint to attention and leap out of the moment to head and do whatever else. When I bump into something and hit my elbow, head, knee, because my wavering mind is half elsewhere. “What's the rush?" They'll ask. What indeed.
Ways of seeing
There are two ways of seeing: through a critical, judgemental lens that pours a dispiriting and mobilising grey wash over what is really in front of you; or with an open mind that embraces the unknown, and a willingness to drop the biases, fears and preconceptions in favour of connecting with what's true. The latter may well mean coming up close with the reality of your flawed thinking, stumbling blocks, doubts and the very preconceptions that limit you. But it's far more honest, because in the exposure lies the illumination, from which comes the capacity to see the binds that restrict your head and heart. In clear sight lies potential for transformation, for a shift in perspective, a change of heart. See the grey without letting it dull your view.