Responding to one of my more emotional stories, a reader wrote in: “I wonder what kind of stability and peace brings out such simplistic profound writing.”
I was grateful for the comment, but I told her that, actually, most of the time, it works the other way around: It’s the writing giving me a bit more stability and peace.
I’m not a zen guru who walks around emanating peace—at least not most of the time. I get angry, frustrated, confused, and flustered. I get worried, anxious, and frightened.
But then I sit down to write. I think about the story, the reader, and which word to put where. I stop thinking of myself for a bit, and by the time I’m done, a little bit of that anger, frustration, or fear has subsided. I feel a tad more settled. Grounded. Calmer. And I’m ready to start my day.
Sure, every now and then, I’m in a blissful state before I start typing. I’ve managed to carve out some space and send a ray of light into the universe. But without me writing whenever I feel the opposite of ecstatic, I’d never get to that place.
We see a pattern and think that X precedes Y, but maybe it works the other way around. Swap cause and effect. Does it still make sense? Sparks can travel in any direction—and so most connections go both ways.
