I’m nibbling my way through a book by Dani Shapiro entitled, Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life. Shapiro has multiple published books in several genres. This makes her what I would consider a successful writer. She offers a list of potential distractions one might give in to when it is time to write, and then she states the following:

My second reaction was this: Oh no! It’s never going to get any easier. Ahhhh.

I recently made the decision to quit my job after this semester and really commit to writing. The first couple weeks of my current semester are slower before the papers start rolling in, so I’ve had a bit of time to myself and have been working on writing again. Part of me is aware I’m testing the waters a bit. What would it be like if I didn’t have a job and my kids left for school or daycare in the morning and I had three hours or so. I should sit and write. This is what it will be like. That’s when the resistance arrives.

When Shapiro admits it never gets easier, I’m facing the question deep in my being: Can I do this hard work every day (reality check: more days than not) if it stays that hard forever? Correction. Not “if.” Can I do this hard work every day because it will stay that hard? Do I have that kind of resilience? Can I make peace with that level of discomfort?

Shapiro then goes on to make a fascinating connection between her experience with writing and her experience with meditation.

“When I sit down to meditate, I feel much the same way I do when I sit down to write: resistant, fidgety, anxious, eager, cranky, despairing, hopeful, my mind jammed so full of ideas, my heart so full of feelings that is seems impossible to contain them. And yet…if I do just sit there without checking the clock, without answering the ringing phone, without jumping up to make a note of an all-important task, then slowly the random thoughts pinging around my mind begin to settle. If I allow myself, I begin to see more clearly what’s going on. Like a snow globe, that flurry of white floats down” (11).

This connection between writing and meditation seems new and brilliant to me. It’s probably something other writers have considered before. And the connection doesn’t have to be with writing. It could be with whatever task or attempt at creativity or job you are having to stare down and face on a regular basis.

My go-to form of mediation is centering prayer. I won’t take time to fully explain that now (perhaps in another post). But a distilled version of centering prayer that can be used more on the go is the welcoming prayer. This is how my version goes:

The beginning invites me to gently become aware of my body and my interior state.

For instance, right now I am noticing that my legs are crossed and my feet are touching the floor, but not face-down as usual. The ball of one foot is on the ground with the rest of my foot raised. The other is turned over at an angle, tucked behind and upside down. My shoulders are tense. There’s a furrow in my brow.

Once I notice these things, I take a deep a breath.

Then come the words, spoken slow, steady and un-rushed:

Welcome, welcome, welcome.
I welcome everything that comes to me in this moment because I know it is for my healing.
I welcome all thoughts, feelings, emotions, persons, situations, and conditions.
I let go of my desire for security.
I let go of my desire for approval.
I let go of my desire for control.
I let go of my desire to change any situation, condition, person, or myself.
I open to the love and presence of God and His healing action and grace within.

This prayer is counterintuitive. Welcome something I think is negative? But it teaches me to make peace with what is. Now I’m pondering what would happen if I opened my writing sessions with the welcoming prayer. Can’t every stray anxious thought about my writing be encapsulated in my desire for security, approval, or control? I think as writers, we often talk about these negative critical voices in our heads that stand in the way of the work we need to do. But I also think we are told to try and silence them. Shut them up. Stop paying attention to them. That sounds great. I don’t know about you, but I often find it doesn’t work. It might even be like when you tell someone not to think about pink elephants and now all you can think about is pink elephants. Sorry for that.

What if instead of resisting these negative thoughts about my inadequacy, or my fear of being an imposter, or my concern over what my mother might think if I write the sentence that is actually swimming around in my head—what if I just welcomed those thoughts? What if I took time to acknowledge them. Hello. You’re here. I see you. You are a part of my reality. What if I embraced that? Then what would happen?

Shapiro writes, “During the time devoted to your writing, think of the surges of energy coursing through your body as waves. They will come, they will crash over you, and then they will go. You’ll still be sitting there. Nothing terrible will have happened. Try not to run from the wave” (12).

This sounds a lot like the welcoming prayer to me. I think I’m going to try it. In a way, I’m trying it now. I sat down this morning and would’ve probably preferred to be writing this many words on my novel rather than this blog post. So technically speaking, this blog post could be considered a type of procrastination from my other writing projects and goals. But is it? At least it’s something. It’s writing. And now I’m wondering if it’s a type of welcoming prayer. These are the thoughts swirling around in my head and I’m taking time to acknowledge them. Welcome them. Sort them out and let them settle.

I’m sure once I’m finished I’ll face another round of sitting in my chair and deciding whether or not to face another wave. Blog post done. Now will I write something else? Here comes more resistance. Can I ride the wave?

I’d like to try.