One thing I’ve struggled most with running London Writers' Salon is publicly documenting the journey. Writing about the highs, the struggles, the milestones, the lessons1.
I’m so good at doing the work.
I suck at sharing the work. Documenting the journey.
Yet I know that sharing the journey can help me crystalize what I’m learning, think more clearly about what we’re building, connect more deeply with the people we aim to serve – and can be helpful for others embarking on a similar journey.
I imagine many of us are like this. Why do we hold back?
Here’s why I do:
1. "It’s a waste of time." Carving out time for sharing the journey feels like the absolute last thing you should be doing as a founder. There are a thousand other projects and tasks that feel more urgent and important.
2. "It’s so noisy." Everybody is sharing their lives publicly these days. I don’t want to add to the noise.
3. "Who cares?" I don’t live a remarkable life. Anything I might share is trite, silly, not meaningful, maybe even stupid or wrong.
4. "I don’t have the answer." Shouldn’t I have an answer to something if I’m going to write about it? Because we’re constantly trying new things and experimenting, I often have no idea what I’m doing.
I’m not saying any of these statements are true. But that’s the voice of Resistance talking.2
Here’s the beautiful thing about writing these thoughts down, writing anything down: once you’ve committed an idea or thought to ink or the screen, you can examine it. Really look at it. Your thoughts morph into lines, letters, objects. Objects to be questioned. Writing, like meditation, provides a helpful separation — psychological distance3 — between person and thought. You realize they are not necessarily one and the same.
This is one reason why Julia Cameron’s Morning Pages are so powerful for people, and why I’ve been doing them almost every morning4 for the last 10 years.
Writing down your thoughts opens the door for a 3rd voice to enter the room: a higher mind of sorts. A more compassionate, omniscient third-person who sees both the person and the thought, and can offer another perspective. Dare I say, wisdom.
Author Elizabeth Gilbert has a practice of writing letters to herself: From Fear, from Unconditional Love, from Enchantment, from “The Principal’s Office” granting us permission to do the thing we’re holding ourselves back from doing.
Inspired by Liz, I thought I’d write a similar letter, but from Wisdom. What might Wisdom have to teach me about my four objections above?
Here’s what Wisdom said:
“It’s a waste of time.” Wisdom says: Writing, which is the practice of thinking deeply and clearly, might be the most important thing you can do for your growth - personally and for your business.
“It’s so noisy.” Wisdom says: What a wonderful conscientious thought! But you’re thinking too much about being judged. Having experiences and not sharing or documenting, or at least reflecting on them, is like inhaling with no exhale. In sharing, we exhale. Our exhale might be another’s inhale. You never know who might be reading. You never know who you might be helping.
“Who cares?” Wisdom says: Don’t confuse the quantity of people who might get value from something you write with its quality of value. The masses aren’t the metric. Just 1 person needs to find it valuable (again, even if that 1 person is you.)
“I don’t have the answer.” Wisdom says: You don’t need the answer, you just need to care enough to seek it out. Share your journey of discovery. Share what you have learned along the way. The paradox is that only in trying to articulate an answer will you end up discovering one.
I can’t say for sure where this voice of wisdom comes from. Maybe like my alien friend Bashar, I’m channeling it from parts unknown.
But when I trust wisdom is there somewhere - inside, around, all about – and if only I invite it in and let it speak, it shows up.
As I return to writing, I realize that much of my public writing feels like this. I may start writing as a doubting, confused me - but when I get to the precipice of a piece, ripe for sharing, it feels like a larger, wiser me has emerged.
In the end, maybe these are all just pep talk letters to myself.
And by sharing, maybe they’re letters to you too.
Other Things:
Thanks to everyone for the kind comments and notes back on last week’s post. Publishing that felt like a big step forward - “the doorstep mile” that Alastair Humphreys writes about. I do feel like I’m entering a season of more writing and sharing. Excited to see what unfolds.
I’m heading back to London next week for London Book Fair. We’re running a journaling session at The Writers’ Summit, hosting a panel with Emma Gannon, Rosie Kellett on the main stage of the fest – AND – running Nite Writes: A Writing Party. Come join!
We just published episode #133 of the LWS podcast with Michael Dean of Essay Architecture, where we discuss his work uncovering the hidden structures and patterns within great essays. Listen on Apple, Spotify, or elsewhere.
We’ve also just announced our March lineup of events, interviews and workshops at London Writers' Salon - including sessions with authors Hanna Thomas Uose, Steve Almond, and Jono Hey, non-fiction book coach Brannan Sirratt, literary agent Allison Helligers, and lots more. Publishing this every month always feels like a treat.
The irony of running a writing community and struggling to write is not lost on me…but hey, empathy for the writer’s struggle helps me serve this community better.
h/t Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art
Psychological distancing is our ability to “step back and without an immediate response, survey the environment, and reflect on the course of action instead of being dominated by immediate simulation.” What is psychological distance?
‘The paradox is that only in trying to articulate an answer will you end up discovering one.’ I like that very much. Hadn’t thought of it like that before.
Who cares? I do. Thanks for sharing this post. You wrote this for me ....and i'm sure a million others in the world.