The Experience of Writing

This was a rough weekend. A busy weekend. A weekend where not everything went my way, and those things that did go my way took a route I did not expect. It was exhausting and exasperating, a weekend where it feels like every part of my existence took a piece of me with it (even literally, in the case of my platelet donation). These kinds of stretches can leave me feeling depleted in more way than just blood products, and sometimes I need to charge up in more ways than one. It's very much a, "I need a weekend to recover from the weekend" situation. So I did some writing.

Now, I am sure many of my regular readers knew that was coming. Writing is my go-to move for when I reset my life or just need some kind of break from everything else. However, this time it was a special kind of writing. This wasn't about creating some story, processing some feelings into a poem or a narrative, or pushing words across a page. Frankly, it wasn't even about words, or the act of creation. It was about the distinct experience of writing words to paper.

As you might have noticed, today's piece was not titled, "The Writing Experience." That would be more succinct and to the point, but that's not the point I was aiming for. This piece is about experiencing something very simple and isolated. This is about being in the moment of writing, and taking in all the details of what happens during the process.

First - this was about writing, so I did not use my laptop. I placed a pencil to paper and wrote words manually. Often when we create, we overlook the creating part; it's quite a shame that we miss it. We write our story so quickly that we don't appreciate the pencil lead rubbing against the paper and that gentle friction as the graphite leaves its marks in just the right manner for others to understand it. I felt the way this wooden pencil (yes, I went old-school with a real wooden pencil) rubbed against my fingertips, pressing into the familiar grooves left by years of writing. The coarseness of the wood creates a familiar tingle, its edges rough enough to connect you to it but leave you safe from a splinter.

Oh, and that sound. You jot word after word across the sheet, but that scratching noise sounds like a whispered conversation between pencil and paper, as if it is dictating your words in its quiet, hushed tones. It is the level of creation that happens between the lines, an intimate connection of that pencil lead to one point in space that moves across the sheet. As I write faster, the noise grows in intensity. It sounds invigorating, excited. Creation builds upon creation, with the steady whisper of pencil on paper continuing all through the process.

Did I write anything great? No - and that's okay. What I did was focus myself into the most intimate part of the writing process; something grossly overlooked, and let it become my world. For that period of writing, the world wasn't blood donations, football games, or how to throw out my old TV. The world was my fingertips pushing one pencil against paper. I could've used my laptop and studied that familiar chatter of the keyboard, or even done voice dictation. However, The pencil seemed like the right conduit to really experience my writing. And within that moment, I could free up my mental resources and sort out all the problems and anxieties. A very simple meditation to clear one's head.

Now, I actually have some writing to do. However, I am in a much better headspace to do it.