For as long as I can remember, my best work has come from writing longhand. There’s something almost ritualistic about it — something that feels like I’ve tapped into an ethereal connection with my muses and their creative source.
I suppose its also just more familiar to me, and maybe a bit nostalgic too. I started writing well before we had so many quick and easy digital options… and the blank white page is less intimidating than the blank white screen.
This particular practice has gotten harder to maintain over the years, compliments of aching hips (I can’t sit for extended periods of time) and a pinched nerve somewhere in my arm or shoulder that radiates down into my hand.
As a result, this sacred writing ritual of mine is often done in stages, in between breaks to stretch out my body and allow the feeling to return to my fingers. In fact, I’m writing this particular stream standing in my kitchen, a mug of vanilla-flavored coffee close by for support.
I find it a little ironic, because its this same aging process that’s given me the gift of depth and understanding that I don’t always find in my writings from years ago. That’s not to toot my own horn or take anything away from Younger Me…
The passion was always there, as was the sense of something profoundly larger than my personal bubble. I just didn’t have the years to comprehend just how deep it all goes.
And I think that’s on purpose…
I think the Universe gives us that reprieve in the early years, so that we’re not overwhelmed by the gravity of our existence. We can just embrace the wonderment of it all instead, and ponder the endless possibilities that lie ahead.
I think that’s why Younger Me had the passion she did… her hero journey had just begun. There was no lifetime of experience to inform her otherwise.
I see some of that shifting in the younger generations today. And while the passion for change and discovery and adventure still definitely exists, there’s also a rigidness to them that I don’t remember having.
Maybe it IS the gravity of our existence weighing down on them. Maybe the wonderment is overshadowed by the endless bombardment of advertising and politics and war and human failings that are now streamed 24/7.
And maybe we should do something about that.
I’m not suggesting we kick all of our “modern living” to the curb… just the habits and behaviors that no longer serve our greater good. Just the pieces that clearly aren’t working, regardless of how easy and automatic they might be.
Maybe we tell our politicians to get off Twitter for example, and start communicating with each other again in some form other than snarky posts and name-calling, so that they can finally — actually — do some of the good stuff they’ve been promising us for years.
Maybe we stop shouting at each other and into the void, and start making a difference where it matters first… at home and in our communities.
Maybe we make phone calls and write letters (I know, it’s very old-school, isn’t it?) when we need our leaders to listen, and maybe we help our children learn how to engage and connect and process hard emotions by remembering how to do it ourselves.
While we’re remembering, perhaps we can relearn what it is to be fully OF this world and this planet — not just in it — and maybe we can use that newfound awareness to slow down this path of self-annihilation we seem so determined to ride out.
Maybe we can help our youth overcome the separation that’s killing their spirit by healing our own…
And maybe — just maybe — we find our own passion again in the process.