Whoa. I’ve just had perhaps the most Can’t See The Forest For The Trees moment of my life, if it proves to be true.
I’m back to baby-stepping my way through Natalie Goldberg’s book Writing Down The Bones — Freeing The Writer Within, which is a collection of thought-chapters about the process of writing. This part really hit home, in around the last third of her chapter titled Obsessions, which starts off explaining that we should pay attention to our obsessions because they always find a way, consciously or subconsciously, into our thoughts and art.
She continues: “I often wonder if all the writers who are alcoholics drink a lot because they aren’t writing or are having trouble writing. It’s not because they are writers that they are drinking, but because they are writers who are not writing.”
I mean… holy crap, what an original way of looking at that: You’re meant to do art, and if you don’t do it, that obsessive drive directs you to other acts.
And if you think about it, repeated acts become habits.
And then repeated habits become a lifestyle.
I’m sincerely wondering if this is part of my decades-long issues with sugar and snacking so much — because I’ve loved writing since I could put two sentences together, but very rarely ever felt happy with how much writing I’m getting done — and I’m now wondering what would happen if I conscientiously adjusted my habits and defaults to do more writing to address that obsession instead of looking for satisfaction from a hit of dopamine elsewhere.
Goldberg goes on: “There is freedom in being a writer and writing. It is fulfilling your function. I used to think freedom meant doing whatever you want. It means knowing who you are, what you are supposed to be doing on this earth, and then simply doing it. It is not getting sidetracked […]
“Katagiri Roshi says: ‘Poor artists. They suffer very much. They finish a masterpiece and they are not satisfied. They want to go on and do another.’ Yes, but it’s better to go on and do another if you have the urge than to start drinking and become an alcoholic or eat a pound of good fudge and get fat.
So perhaps not all obsessions are bad. An obsession for peace is good. But then be peaceful. Don’t just think about it. An obsession for writing is good. But then write. Don’t let it get twisted into drinking. An obsession for chocolate is not good. I know. It’s unhealthy and doesn’t help the world the way peace and writing do.”
I haven’t touched that book since reading that bit.
It needs to percolate for a while.
But reading that chapter and the thunder-strike it hit my brain with may explain why, after far too long, I subsequently went out for an old favourite indulgence and got more writing implements: Something/anything to get myself into writing more, to satisfy that specific need, which distractions and life’s busyness have drawn me away from. So much so that I’m not addressing that the obsession energy is still very much there, and that it has perhaps morphed toward other, unhealthy habits (nay, lifestyle) instead.
An important key to all of this is that it isn’t saying you should blame others or your situation for your distraction. On the contrary, it’s telling you that you alone have the ability and power to find your uniquely creative obsession and, most importantly, to act on it.
Let’s do this.