The Good Word

I am sitting here with a desire to write, but I find that I am not sure what to write.

I love the practice of my daily writing. The connection. That specific feeling of tapping into something that is both deeper and more expansive than my own self. It doesn't feel like "thinking it up." It feels like something is desiring to be made known through me, and I am just the one sitting at the keyboard.

And, really, it has become a sacred time, this morning writing. Not an obligation. Not a checkbox on a list. It’s a treat. A delight. It’s the thing I miss when the world gets too loud or the schedule gets too tight.

But I wonder—why?

No one is making me do this. There is no report to provide. No one is checking to see if I’ve "accomplished" the task. The five people who ‘like’ it on social media won’t really miss it, will they?

I could easily be doing something else. I could sit on the patio and just watch the view. I could go for a walk, or a run, or ride a horse. There are a thousand other more productive things I could be doing with this hour, and yet, I choose this.

The thing is, I haven’t really stopped to ask why until now. I’ve just let it become my habit. My custom. It’s as routine as breakfast or brushing my teeth.

And yet, it is also something more.

I am realizing, there is a longing, if I stop long enough to feel it. A sense of desiring connection—to myself, yes, but also to whatever is beyond the "me" I know. And then there is the sharing of it—the connection to the people who will eventually receive it.

I think of Mr. Ulander, my high school English teacher. He used to say you didn’t know what you thought until you wrote it down. Maybe that’s it. Maybe this is just my way of figuring out what matters, what I’m curious about, what I actually care about.

But even that feels too small.

This practice has become a relationship. A relationship with the thing that wants to be expressed, to the good word, and a relationship with the people who will receive that good word.

Martha Beck says creativity is the antidote to anxiety. That the creative brain and the anxious brain can’t occupy the same space at the same time. So the act of creation actually pushes out anxiety. The act of creation is the nourishment itself. Being in the flow. Paying attention. Being present.

Sometimes I am surprised by what comes up when I sit down to write. It is as though connections I hadn't seen wait for the chance to be heard. Some days I have a clear intention; other days I have no idea. But there is always that element of surprise. What will this day bring?

I wonder now—what would it be like to approach life itself that way? What will this day bring? Not, what do I have to do, or what do I need to accomplish, but what will this day bring?

What would it be like to approach each day as though it were waiting to share something that could only be expressed through you? Through your unique way of moving in the world? A good word that longs to be made manifest in the world.

What if life isn't a series of things to be done, but a thing, something, wanting and waiting to be expressed? Through you?