My 95-year-old father-in-law, like so many people I know, wanted to write a book—that is, until he learned just how hard it’d be to get it into readers’ hands.
“Tom, think how satisfying it’d be to gather your ideas and passions in one place. Your grandkids would thoroughly appreciate it.”
No go. As is the case for most people, writing for himself or for family seems pointless. Before leaving this world, Tom wants to make his mark. If publishing isn’t possible, writing isn’t worth it.
I wish Tom could hear the testimonials of writers in my Gifts of Writing course. When I ask participants to share a brief description of a gift they’ve received from writing, no one mentions public recognition. Instead they tell about gifts hidden from the public sphere:
- Sometimes in writing it is as if the pen is a step ahead of me and what comes out is not a translation of what is in my head but an evolution, as if some kind of alchemy takes place between the written words, intention, and the heart.
- Through writing, I’ve been able to see the invisible dynamics at work in my relationships. By remembering emotional detail and writing out scenes of conflict, I’ve been able to detect the buried values at play and the unresolved questions that can’t yet be answered. My writing has made me more patient with uncertainty.
- Writing has taught me to listen with more care and compassion.
- The gift of writing for me is the freedom to be myself. The practice of daily writing helps me be more grounded in who I am as I move throughout the world.
- Writing allows me to tend to my insatiable curiosity.
- Writing helps me see things more clearly and shifts my perspective. It offers me a chance to both zoom in and explore my deepest truths, and to zoom out and grapple with the great big unanswerable questions. Writing returns me to a state of openness, wonder and play when my mind wants to take things too seriously. It helps me hold the heavy and the light, and to know they are part of the beautiful whole.
- I’ve received more authenticity, increased self-compassion, a shift from anxiety to gentleness, more patience, and acceptance of others.
Obviously—this newsletter being a case in point—I like an audience. Using the written word to entertain or educate or accompany readers is gratifying. But when writing helps us grow in wisdom, compassion, or our capacity to be present; when writing becomes a sustaining, transformational practice, worthy in its own right, we thrive as human beings and our writing flourishes. What I want for Tom—and for you, and for every writer I encounter—is precisely this: a vibrant practice, abundant in its gifts. It’s in easy reach. We just have to begin.
–Elizabeth
Photo by Javardh on Unsplash
Interested in sustaining the spiritual dimension of your writing practice? Join the Gifts of Writing microcourse followed by The Eye of the Heart online community. I’d love to see you there!
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