Hi friends,
I explored a paradox in last week’s letter: Commitment reduces our choices, but it propels us to move forward with what we already have.
My friend Mary replied, “A commitment does not have to be gritting teeth and hanging on.” She said a helpful image for her was a garden—where seeds grow into flowers and trees. “Growing beautifully like a mustard seed,” she wrote.
Her reply reminds me of an important lesson I recently discovered.
I had a misconception when I first started writing. I thought writing was all about sitting at the desk: If I stared at a blank page long enough, the output would follow.
One Saturday morning earlier this year, I drew a blank on what to write. I decided to apply brute force. After struggling for ninety minutes, I had five incoherent paragraphs that made no sense.
Frustrated, I wanted to double down and “commit” myself until I finished the piece, but I had a full list of to-dos. Reluctantly, I left home, went to Berkeley Bowl (my local grocery store), and got an oil change for the car. I had dinner and went to basketball in the evening.
When I returned to the desk the following day, I felt refreshed. Observations from my errands helped me write a short article I was happy with.
I learned that writing itself isn’t difficult, but figuring out what to write is. Paradoxically, the best writing ideas come from non-writing. If I am at a loss for words, it doesn’t mean I fail; it means I need more raw material. When that happens, changing activities is wise.
Writing is like gardening: it needs many seeds. A sentence is a small idea, and an essay is an attempt [1] to string multiple ideas together in a new combination. Fortunately, the source of inspiration is endless and can come from the least expected places.
Insights can be in the form of knowledge, but the most valuable ones are emotional—something I feel. It can be awe, surprise, and resonance. Other times, it’s sadness, loss, or anger. I collect these observations by documenting them in my journal or recording a digital note on my phone. It’s often unclear what these insights are for, but whenever I play with an idea, I sow a seed.
I have tended my “garden” this way in the last few months. It has transformed my writing process.
I no longer force myself to write when I feel stuck. Instead, I go through my growing collection of notes like a gardener would inspect his crops, looking for fruits ready for harvest. Interestingly, the seedlings that initially looked promising often don’t grow as expected, while others sprout beyond my imagination.
The gardening approach has made writing much more enjoyable.
One of my favorite biblical passages is from the Book of Ecclesiastes (I shared it with you a year ago). Here are the two most relevant lines:
In everything, there is a season… A time to plant, a time to reap.
This quote relates to the idea I explored two weeks ago: There is a time to everything. While I can’t force a seed to grow, I can plant more of them. The more seeds in the garden, the more likely some will become fruitful [2].
A commitment doesn’t always require pouring blood and tears; a softer approach is often possible. When I catch myself muscling through a challenge with a clenched jaw, I ask: Is there a more effortless way to fulfill this commitment? If something feels unnecessarily hard, how can I approach it differently?
Is there an opportunity to tenderly plant a seed instead?
If we consistently water the seeds, some will still remain dormant, but many will grow. Since staring or yelling at them won’t make a difference, we may as well do something fun while we wait.
Time does its magic anyway.
Notes:
[1] “Essay” is one of my favorite words in the English language. Originating from the French word essayer, it means to “try” or to “attempt.” When I write an essay, I often remind myself the effort is only an attempt—nothing more.
[2] The best part about “gardening” publicly is that the fruits are widely available. If you see an interesting idea, you can cultivate it and make it your own. Great ideas are free for all and multiply at no cost.