Every step on the path is necessary
In writing and in life, nothing evolves without being a work in progress
A new friend recently told me that she thinks I’m holding back in my writing. She prefers my weirder, more poetic stuff, which she says has more freedom and aliveness in it. (Mind you, she’s a poet herself, so I guess she would say that.) When she reads my more practical or think-piecey essays she can feel how hard I’ve labored to get the words just right. She thinks I should loosen up.
She’s probably right. And I wish it were that easy.
Writing practical material definitely feels safer and more familiar to me, which is not to say it comes fast or easy. I am a publisher of prescriptive nonfiction books that dispense advice, and before that I was a journalist with an arts and lifestyle focus. I’ve written or edited thousands of how-to articles, product reviews, and lists of tips and tricks over the years, so my mental muscle memory knows exactly how to build essays that read like magazine articles and sidebars. It’s a methodical, intellectual process more than an intuitive, artistic one.
I like that kind of writing just fine. (Plus, it’s popular with readers—it seems none of us can resist a top ten list, myself included.) But it doesn’t thrill me like a strange, imagistic piece like this one, or this one, does. These essays and poems are idiosyncratic oddballs. They’re not for everyone. Chances are you don’t “get” them or like them. But like my poet friend, I happen to love them the most.
I am less sure of myself in the deep end of the creative writing pool. As a novice, it’s hard to gauge whether I’m any good at it, or know how to improve. I’ve never taken a poetry class, never written a fiction story (at least, not since high school), and it’s only recently that I started reading more literary memoirs. The artistic freedom and uniqueness of style that I see in writers like Ross Gay, Jami Attenberg, and Melissa Febos intimidates and inspires me. Reading them makes me want to play in their space.
When you’re new to publicly sharing work of your own creation, it’s easy to feel pressure to pick a schtick and stick to it. To “arrive” ready to deliver a solid, consistent product of a particular type. But as a late-blooming artist who is still discovering and settling into her truest voice, I am rejecting that pressure. This Substack isn’t a performance space; it’s a playground, a laboratory. A place to dance between the comfort of control and the thrill of unpredictable discovery.
When I’m trying to decide what to write, my only rule is: Does this piece feel necessary; does writing it bring me a sense of satisfaction? Satisfaction can show up in a bunch of ways. Writing a well composed essay feels satisfying in a grounded way, like drawing a garden map or putting clean dishes away. The more experimental pieces give me a different kind of satisfaction; a soaring feeling that something magical is moving through me and altering my chemistry in beneficial ways that I don’t need to rationally understand. So, at least for now, I think I need both of these kinds of writing. Maybe I’ll always need both.
I hope (and expect!) that as I continue to practice, my writing will gradually become freer, less labored, more skillful and also more boldly expressive and distinctive. The only way to get there is to go forward from where I am now.
There is so much grace in the humility of creative surrender. I love knowing that I can find a sense of security in openness to curiosity, rather than in trying to be an expert who has it all figured out.
“In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s there are few.”
― Zen master Shunryu Suzuki
As creatives, we want to always be evolving. Over time, anyone who devotes time and attention to their writing will develop their own stylistic range. But even masters of the craft have a growth edge. By consistently moving into that zone, giving our well-honed skills over to fluid experimentation, we can keep the magical energy of the beginner alive in our own practice.
Because my creativity is so tightly woven into my spiritual growth, my friend’s observations got me thinking about how I also want to be new to each moment as a human being. To find more freedom and new possibilities. To loosen up.
Where am I holding back—or showing up with too tight a grip on control—in my relationships? In my confidence, in my ambition, my emotional self-management? Where have I lost touch with the humility and grace of the beginner?
I’ve been on a conscious journey of personal growth for a long time and I am grateful to have broken a lot of my old dysfunctional habits. And boy, I had a lot of them. I made bad decisions. Spouted points of view that were ignorant, arrogant, unenlightened, even harmful. I had maladaptive coping mechanisms that made things worse while seeking to make them better: Shutting down, blowing up, walling off, self-medicating, projecting stuff onto other people, putting up so many ego-saving false fronts and thinking I had everyone fooled, like a child playing peek-a-boo between their fingers.
I’m able now—most of the time, not always—to look back on my former self with tons of compassion and patience. I wouldn’t want to backslide to that place, but I can’t hate or resent that version of myself. I see the innocence of my own ignorance.
Once I see my own innocence and forgive my own ignorance, it is a tiny step to seeing that innocence and forgiving that ignorance in everyone.
It can be frustrating to deal with other people’s unenlightened attitudes or bad behavior. Maybe they’re clinging to their addictions, or perpetuating self-destructive patterns, or they’re in denial of something that’s plainly obvious to everyone around them.
It’s too easy to be scornful. They’re so immature! We learned that lesson years ago; catch up, already!
But it doesn’t make sense or help anyone to indulge in judgmental outrage. There is a way to unhook ourselves from the trap of thinking, “they should know better”.
Think back to the time in your life when you, too, were defensive, angry, dysfunctional, and in denial about everything. Would hostility and impatience have helped you to move forward in your thinking? Would it have felt like an enlightened response? Of course not.
We fiercely guard our right to make our own mistakes and evolve according to our own timeline. I have come to see this as one of the most profound spiritual rights. We are in charge of our own destiny, of fixing our sights on the targets of our own choosing, and moving toward those targets as imperfectly as we must, at our own pace.
I really do believe that we’re all doing the best we can, even if our best isn’t nearly good enough for those around us. No one could have sped up my growth by resenting me or judging me for being where I was and doing my necessary dumb shit. So why would I judge other people for their bone-headed, self-defeating behavior?
I’m not saying we should condone atrocities or stick around for abuse. I’m talking about the way I hold other humans in my heart and mind. What if I can look at each person I meet as a younger, less healed version of the person they are in the process of becoming? Because that is true of every single one of us.
It would be comically ironic to suggest I have no more blind spots left. (Hey, at least none that I know of!) But even those blind spots, the habits and patterns I’m still acting out unconsciously, are not something to be ashamed of or to judge in myself, but something to approach with compassion and curiosity.
Can I look at the version of me I am today as a younger, less healed version of the person I am in the process of becoming?
We are all on our own timeline and we are all stuck until we’re not. We are all in the dark until we see the light. We are all holding back until we are ready to let go.
Some reminders for a more peaceful writing practice and life
The writing I am doing now is a necessary step in a perfectly orchestrated journey that I don’t fully understand. The writer I am becoming needs me to work from the level of skill, inspiration and insight that I have today.
The person in front of me is taking a necessary step in a perfectly orchestrated journey that I don’t have to approve of or understand. They are where they are so they can get to where they’re going.
To be sure footed on my path, I do not need to be perfect, fully healed, or an expert. All I need to do is keep moving toward what feels necessary and satisfying. It’s better to be an inconsistent experimenter than to remain stuck and shut down.
And actually, we are never really stuck, because even years of apparent inertia are sometimes necessary to our growth. Lots of important stuff is happening under the surface.
I don’t know everything. I will never know everything. What a relief! If something doesn’t make sense to me, that doesn’t mean it makes no sense. I release myself from the pressure to be, know, and see everything in the universe. I am not the conductor of this symphony; I am here to play my part and enjoy the music.
Maggie - this piece moved me quite a bit. And your poetic side captivated me. I find and witness such freedom in writing - that is what pulls me into a space like this. Like you, I love that Substack goes against the typical performance based algorithms of this world we live in. I am new to publicly sharing my writing and your newsletters and podcast are both so inspiring and welcoming. The creative surrender you describe in this piece really landed with me. Thanks ✨✨
And I hope you continue to pen both - practical and poetic. Keep playing in the deep end of the creative pool. You belong there, too.