Last October I set out to write every weekday for the entire month.
My original purpose was to cultivate a regular writing rhythm and to simply practice the craft with the hopes of becoming better at it.
I removed any and all pressure to write well. I told myself I didn’t even need to consider my readers on the other end. I wrote purely for my own heart. I wrote only what I wanted to read and needed to flesh out through words.
You could say I became more selfish, insensitive, or a worse writer after that month. After all, any writing group I’ve ever been a part of stresses over and over again that the best writers understand the importance of writing for their ideal reader and target audience.
Strangely enough, by the end of those thirty days, I found the opposite to be true. It seemed the more I let go of the writer-ly rules, the more my true voice came out from under the rock. My life took on new significance. Everywhere I turned were signposts pointing towards a sacred, spiraling adventure for my seeking soul.
Turns out, I had become complacent and out of practice not only with writing, but in receiving the transcendent gift of my entire life.
Instead of fearing what the figurative someone who was going to read my words might think, I spilled my heart and tears onto paper without apology or need to make sense or be understood.
With every day that passed, I started to remember the purpose of why I write. The real reason I continue to weave words and express myself through broken sentences and imperfect metaphors all these years.
I don’t write to pass on information, wisdom, or lessons learned from the trenches. I don’t write to give or get answers or declare my opinions. I write to unravel the mystery of the incarnation.
My soul makes connections and collides with a world outside itself. I join in the glorious exchange happening all around me- the word becoming flesh and the flesh becoming words. Around and around it goes. The rhythm never stops, but we always have a choice whether we’ll join in or not.
Go ahead, no one’s hunched over your shoulder, pressuring you to perform. You are free to listen, to seek out the song of the incarnation humming all around you and then to embody it, in whichever way that delights your soul.