Hey there
The past week only feels like it's been about three days, I delayed this letter because I was away last week but this Friday has snuck up on me.
Finishing the first draft of the "book" earlier this week felt amazing – it's by no means finished but having that solid base to work from means that I'm so much closer to putting it out in the world. It's exhilarating but nerve-wracking at the same time, it's the largest single piece of work I've ever put together at around 20,000 words. Yes, the Write365 project itself (upon which the book draws its inspiration) was over 110,000 words but that was made up of individual fragments, presented separately over the course of a year. As I go through the editing process I may include more passages lifted directly from those daily notes, more indications of exactly where my head was at during that time.
One particular comment I received during the Write365 project has stuck with me ever since, guided me:
"Above all, write for the love of it."
That single sentence reminded me why I chose to put up a "closed until further notice" sign, switch off the lights and lock the door to my blog back in 2013 – why I chose daily writing via the project. It reminded me why I have published content on the Internet for years without ever trying to monetise it. It reminded me why I like to put words together in a way that is hopefully entertaining, interesting or thought-provoking. Especially the latter.
It is purely for the love of it.
I didn't love what I was doing for a while but still wanted to write, knew I had to write, so changed the format and the purpose so that I could love it again. That's the key! It's the key to writing, to playing an instrument, to anything: if you love it and enjoy what you are doing then that makes life all seem worth it. The love of it is stronger than the trials and hardships, if you truly love what you are doing then, no matter how hard you have to try or how long you have to practice, it isn't work. That's not to say it isn't hard; writing can be one of the most difficult things you can do, one of the most frustrating, but it can also be one of the most satisfying – truly a labour of love.
For years I've called myself a writer but had ever-present imposter syndrome. Does blogging really count? Does adding a newsletter? What does being a writer mean? Does it require publication or payment, or can it simply be someone who writes? I suppose when It's Only Words is finally shared with the world then I will be able to suppress the imposter syndrome to a degree.
Make something
I was quite down on Cal Newport's Digital Minimalism in the last letter but, since completing it, feel that he managed to redeem himself with the last section of the book: actual practical tips on improving your relationship with digital devices/news/social media, some of which I implemented myself years ago.
An episode of Jay Springett's podcast "301 - Permanently Moved" Create Something (Every week) instantly took me back to one of Newport's suggestions: make or fix something every week. By Newport's standards, however, Jay's accomplishment doesn't count on the grounds that it is not an analogue pursuit, according to Newport, you should be learning new physical skills:
"Though there is some pride to be gained in learning a new computer program, or figuring out a complicated new gadget, most of us already spend enough time moving symbols around on screens. The leisure we're tackling here is meant to tap into our strong instinct for manipulating objects in the physical world."
While I feel that digital work is perfectly valid and qualifies as "making something" I can see the point Newport is making. I think Venkatesh Rao expresses it perfectly over at Ribbonfarm:
There seems to be some sort of mutual inhibition function between tinkering with ideas with words and tinkering with stuff with atoms. Digital bits, as in programming, are somewhere in between.
While tinkering, you're thinking a lot of mostly nonverbal thoughts.
While working with physical objects, especially when making or fixing something, your mind is attuned to what the body is doing, focused in a way that precludes expansive thought. There is something about the direct connection between mind and body under these circumstances that transcends thought, it is more instinctive and visceral rather than conscious:
The literal Fingerspitzengefühl – finger-tips feeling – is more complex and less available to ensnare with words. And if you force it, either the words will suffer, or the skill will.
There is still inherent value in knowledge work, in acts of digital creation such as writing even though using pen and paper is considered a far superior method which gives the brain more of a workout akin to that above. Typing is considered more of a memory-based act, the automatic, repetitive striking of keys rather than the tactile, connected process of guiding a pen to create shapes while feeling the paper beneath your hand. Still, this is where I consider myself lucky in never learning to touch type – typing is not an automatic process for me, I have to consciously consider which keys I need to press, where my fingers need to be. I just don't have the muscle memory to allow me to remove that part of the process from my mind. It forces me to slow down in a similar way to writing by hand and, while it may sometimes feel like a good idea to get more proficient, I hope I never lose that even if it makes me less efficient.
Reading
Having finished Digital Minimalism I've started reading The Anitidote by Oliver Burkeman in which he asks "if 'positive thinking' and relentless optimism aren't the solution to the happiness dilemma, but part of the problem?" The book is a counterpoint to the plethora of self-help tomes and systems so prevalent in modern society.
I knew almost nothing about the book before buying it or, more accurately, putting it on my wish list and having it bought for me as a present. Something must have drawn me to it, however, as it relates concepts from Stoicism and Buddhism in the discussion on happiness. I hope to have more to say on it in the next letter as I get further into the book.
And that's it...
As I've mentioned to a couple of people via email this week, I've been considering my 'spiritual path' recently, if you can call it that, and feel that some kind of communion of Zen and Stoicism seems to be the best way forward for me. I have let myself drift for far too many years and, as I approach 50, feel the need to anchor myself to something or, maybe, finding something within myself that grounds me is a more accurate way of putting it. I've been trying to get myself back into more of a learning mindset as life itself is a lesson and we're never done.
We'll see how this pans out.
Until next time, keep well.
Colin.
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