The more I write, the more I realize it’s not about writing.
When I first started writing earlier this year, I’d choose a topic and develop the main ideas. I’d stick to these ideas and work on an essay for days.
Despite multiple revisions, the writing didn’t flow. It didn’t feel right. After looking at same file over and over again, I was confused: what the heck am I even saying?
I was frustrated. I had worked diligently but still had nothing to show.
What was the problem?
Trying too hard.
Trying too hard to execute on the preconceived ideas. To produce something. To control the outcome. To demonstrate progress. To prove I can do it.
The other day I went on a walk and saw a little girl play catch with her father in the neighborhood. She was immersed in the moment. Was the next throw going to a fast or a curve ball? It didn’t matter. Would she be able to catch the ball? She didn’t seem concerned, either. The joy simply comes from accepting what is next with curiosity.
Then it struck me. If the problem is trying too hard, then isn’t the answer not trying too hard — in other words, play?
So I start to relax. I let go of the idea that I’m the master of my writing. I start to ask my pen to be my travel guide as if I am in a new city.
“I am visiting and don’t know anything. Take me somewhere interesting — and maybe eat something delicious along the way.”
Then the magic happens. Words in new combinations reveal in front of my eyes. As I finish this very sentence, I don’t know what’s coming next. But now I’m okay with it. Because I learned that all I need is to accept the journey that my pen — or my fingers on the keyboard — will take me on. One step at a time.
To play. To discover. To embrace the unknown and the unknowable.
What a tremendous relief to know that the more fun and effortless path is also the better way to go.