I make no secret of the fact that I’ve been under the care of a psychiatrist for more than 20 years. I suffered from depression and anxiety. I don’t any longer, thanks to being under the care of a psychiatrist for more than 20 years. In those 20+ years, I’ve said two things on numerous occasions: (1) Writing is as close as I’ll ever get to meditation. (2) Writing has saved me more times than I can count.
In last Wednesday’s writing workshop, Finding Your Voice, joined as always by my stalwart cohorts —Yvonne Jones, Laura Staley, Maribel Cardez, and Tom Dietzler — I wasn’t thinking about any of that. I was more interested in making sure everyone was comfortable with our fiction-writing project. I expected the conversation would entail the creation of characters, the development of story arcs, the patience required when we encounter periodic writer’s blocks (which aren’t blocks at all but reminders that creativity-on-demand can be an unreasonable expectation). As is so often the case, my expectations were completely wrong.
Rather, one of our members, who’s been wrestling with some difficult relationship issues and has never written fiction before now, shared that the process has been something of a rebirth, a productive distraction from otherwise troubling emotions, a liberation of sorts. It was testimony quite familiar to me. The rest of us listened intently, sharing the revelatory celebration.
I tell myself to listen with affection to anyone who talks to me. This person is showing me his soul. It may be a little dry and meager and full of grinding talk just now, but soon he will begin to think. He will show his true self; he will be wonderfully alive. (Karl Menninger)
Someone who was familiar with my cycling once asked me, “How do you ride 100 miles on a bike?”
I said, “After 99 miles, don’t stop.”
Likewise, listening and trust will take you farther than you might imagine.
