On Writing and Living...
Okay, here goes…
I just read “Bird by Bird” by Anne Lamott. On its surface, it is a book about writing. But really, it is a book about living. She is a little too freaky religious for me overall, but she is a good writer and I like so much of her outlook on life and her expression of it. With respect to writing, she says to try to write at least, I think it’s 300 words each day. Without counting the words of something already written, I have no idea how much that is, so I’m just gonna try to write for at least 15 minutes each day. Or at least most days. Here goes today’s effort, which is really cheating as I’m mostly culling quotes from her book that I like a lot…
I want to be sure I know where to find these little gems because they are well worth looking over again and again.
Here is a poem in her book that I love since I often have these same feelings of paranoia, like everyone is talking about me or ganging up on me or like they all know something that I don’t or they know the very worst parts of me and the disastrous fate I will suffer because of my shameful and inexcusable thoughts and deeds..
It’s always comforting to me to realize that other people, and maybe even most other people have these same thoughts that I have – these same thoughts that have me convinced that I am certifiably crazy. So I guess we’re either all crazy together or none of us are crazy. Either way, I find it comforting. This poem is by Phillip Lopate, who I’ve never heard of before. It goes a little something like this… (actually, this is how it goes exactly):
We who are
your closest friends
feel the time
has come to tell you
that every Thursday
we have been meeting
as a group,
to devise ways
to keep you
in perpetual uncertainty
frustration
discontent and
torture
by neither loving you
as much as you want
nor cutting you adrift.
Your analyst is
in on it,
plus your boyfriend
and your ex-husband;
and we have pledged
to disappoint you
as long as you need us.
In announcing our
association
we realize we have
placed in your hands
a possible antidote
against uncertainty
indeed against ourselves.
But since Thursday nights
have brought us
to a community
of purpose
rare in itself
with you as
the natural center,
we feel hopeful you
will continue to make unreasonable
demands for affection
if not as a consequence
of your disastrous personality
then for the good of the collective.
I love this poem.
Here are some other passages in the book that I like a ton and should re-read on a regular basis.
“To be engrossed by something outside ourselves is a powerful antidote for the rational mind, the mind that so frequently has its head up its own ass – seeing things in such a narrow and darkly narcissistic way that it presents a colo-rectal theology, offering hope to no one.”
Here’s another idea she presents in the book about remembering how, or perhaps learning for the first time, to trust your gut. This really resonates with me.
“You get your confidence and intuition back by trusting yourself, by being militantly on your own side. You need to trust yourself. … Don’t look at your feet to see if you are doing it right. Just dance. You get your intuition back when you make space for it, when you stop the chattering of the rational mind. The rational mind doesn’t nurture you. You assume that it gives you the truth, because the rational mind is the golden calf that this culture worships, but this is not true. Rationality squeezes out much that is rich and juicy and fascinating. Sometimes intuition needs coaxing, because intuition is a little shy. But if you try not to crowd it, intuition often wafts up from the soul or subconscious, and then becomes a tiny fitful little flame. It will be blown out by too much compulsion and manic attention, but will burn quietly when watched with gentle concentration. So try to calm down, get quiet, breathe, and listen.”
I think that’s what I need to do most of all – calm down, get quiet, breathe, and listen…
Here’s another good one:
“You can’t get to …[the truth] by sitting in a field smiling beatifically, avoiding your anger and damage and grief. Your anger and damage and grief are the way to the truth. We don’t have much truth to express [or experience] unless we have gone into those rooms and closets and woods and abysses that we were told not to go in to. When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in, then we will finally be able to [be ourselves] and stay in the present moment.”
This one is geared toward writing, but applies to living too, as does most of this book:
“Try to write in a directly emotional way, instead of being too subtle or oblique. Don’t be afraid of your material or your past. Be afraid of wasting any more time obsessing about how you look and how people see you. Be afraid of not getting your writing done. If something inside you is real, we will probably find it interesting, and it will probably be universal. So you must risk placing real emotion at the center of your work. Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Don’t worry about appearing sentimental. Worry about being unavailable; worry about being absent or fraudulent. Risk being unliked. Tell the truth as you understand it. If you’re a writer, you have a moral obligation to do this. And it is a revolutionary act – truth is always subversive.”
I don’t consider myself a writer. I just like to write. But I think we all have a moral obligation to be true to ourselves and to risk vulnerability by venturing straight into the emotional center of things, even though it’s scary as hell.
This one might be my very favorite. I need to read it over and over and over…:
“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keepyou cramped and insane your whole life.”
I just read “Bird by Bird” by Anne Lamott. On its surface, it is a book about writing. But really, it is a book about living. She is a little too freaky religious for me overall, but she is a good writer and I like so much of her outlook on life and her expression of it. With respect to writing, she says to try to write at least, I think it’s 300 words each day. Without counting the words of something already written, I have no idea how much that is, so I’m just gonna try to write for at least 15 minutes each day. Or at least most days. Here goes today’s effort, which is really cheating as I’m mostly culling quotes from her book that I like a lot…
I want to be sure I know where to find these little gems because they are well worth looking over again and again.
Here is a poem in her book that I love since I often have these same feelings of paranoia, like everyone is talking about me or ganging up on me or like they all know something that I don’t or they know the very worst parts of me and the disastrous fate I will suffer because of my shameful and inexcusable thoughts and deeds..
It’s always comforting to me to realize that other people, and maybe even most other people have these same thoughts that I have – these same thoughts that have me convinced that I am certifiably crazy. So I guess we’re either all crazy together or none of us are crazy. Either way, I find it comforting. This poem is by Phillip Lopate, who I’ve never heard of before. It goes a little something like this… (actually, this is how it goes exactly):
We who are
your closest friends
feel the time
has come to tell you
that every Thursday
we have been meeting
as a group,
to devise ways
to keep you
in perpetual uncertainty
frustration
discontent and
torture
by neither loving you
as much as you want
nor cutting you adrift.
Your analyst is
in on it,
plus your boyfriend
and your ex-husband;
and we have pledged
to disappoint you
as long as you need us.
In announcing our
association
we realize we have
placed in your hands
a possible antidote
against uncertainty
indeed against ourselves.
But since Thursday nights
have brought us
to a community
of purpose
rare in itself
with you as
the natural center,
we feel hopeful you
will continue to make unreasonable
demands for affection
if not as a consequence
of your disastrous personality
then for the good of the collective.
I love this poem.
Here are some other passages in the book that I like a ton and should re-read on a regular basis.
“To be engrossed by something outside ourselves is a powerful antidote for the rational mind, the mind that so frequently has its head up its own ass – seeing things in such a narrow and darkly narcissistic way that it presents a colo-rectal theology, offering hope to no one.”
Here’s another idea she presents in the book about remembering how, or perhaps learning for the first time, to trust your gut. This really resonates with me.
“You get your confidence and intuition back by trusting yourself, by being militantly on your own side. You need to trust yourself. … Don’t look at your feet to see if you are doing it right. Just dance. You get your intuition back when you make space for it, when you stop the chattering of the rational mind. The rational mind doesn’t nurture you. You assume that it gives you the truth, because the rational mind is the golden calf that this culture worships, but this is not true. Rationality squeezes out much that is rich and juicy and fascinating. Sometimes intuition needs coaxing, because intuition is a little shy. But if you try not to crowd it, intuition often wafts up from the soul or subconscious, and then becomes a tiny fitful little flame. It will be blown out by too much compulsion and manic attention, but will burn quietly when watched with gentle concentration. So try to calm down, get quiet, breathe, and listen.”
I think that’s what I need to do most of all – calm down, get quiet, breathe, and listen…
Here’s another good one:
“You can’t get to …[the truth] by sitting in a field smiling beatifically, avoiding your anger and damage and grief. Your anger and damage and grief are the way to the truth. We don’t have much truth to express [or experience] unless we have gone into those rooms and closets and woods and abysses that we were told not to go in to. When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in, then we will finally be able to [be ourselves] and stay in the present moment.”
This one is geared toward writing, but applies to living too, as does most of this book:
“Try to write in a directly emotional way, instead of being too subtle or oblique. Don’t be afraid of your material or your past. Be afraid of wasting any more time obsessing about how you look and how people see you. Be afraid of not getting your writing done. If something inside you is real, we will probably find it interesting, and it will probably be universal. So you must risk placing real emotion at the center of your work. Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Don’t worry about appearing sentimental. Worry about being unavailable; worry about being absent or fraudulent. Risk being unliked. Tell the truth as you understand it. If you’re a writer, you have a moral obligation to do this. And it is a revolutionary act – truth is always subversive.”
I don’t consider myself a writer. I just like to write. But I think we all have a moral obligation to be true to ourselves and to risk vulnerability by venturing straight into the emotional center of things, even though it’s scary as hell.
This one might be my very favorite. I need to read it over and over and over…:
“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keepyou cramped and insane your whole life.”
posted by Me at 1/14/2007 12:44:00 PM
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