A Full Life

A client of mine’s husband shared recently that he had watched a YouTube video that explained how to write a book in two weeks. He knew his wife was trying to write a book and that it wasn’t going as effortlessly as she would like. “Just watch the video,” he told her. “The guy shows you how to do it. Maybe you can get it done already.” In his defense, he was trying to help. He had also never tried to write a book—or a poem, or a play, for that matter. Nor, as far as I know, had he ever painted a picture or composed a song. I’m sure he could do any of those things if he really wanted to, but he hadn’t, and experience is always our greatest teacher

Which is exactly why I would not recommend that video to anyone who wanted to write a novel or a memoir or a guide to finding your life’s calling after forty. We don’t write books simply to finish them. We write them to learn how to write them, to learn why we’re writing them, and eventually to learn when they’re completed. We write them because of how good it feels to get connected to that stream of creative thought from which all books are born, a stream that is always available but not always so easily found. In short, we write them to write them, never to get them done already.

Except even the most disciplined writer can find himself daydreaming of how fabulous his life might be when he gets that book done. I am just such a writer. I can never pinpoint exactly why my life will be better. Certainly not because of the money, though it’s always nice. Nor because of any attention I’ll receive, as a writer’s inherent isolation remains largely intact even after publication. Rather, it’s just the notion that somewhere out there in the future, out beyond the knowable horizon, there awaits some better version of my life, a version whose only missing piece is whatever I haven’t finished.

It’s an attractive fantasy. For a moment the idea of something better lifts my spirits, relieves some weight I didn’t realize I’d been carrying. Very quickly, however, I start thinking, “I just need to get this done and then I’ll be happy.” Now, I’m unhappy. Now, where I am is less than where I’ll be, and I never for one moment want my life to be less. I always want it to be full. Strange then that to create something that will fill the world a little more when it’s done always fills me completely in the making, brings me back to the fullness from which everything comes.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Fearless Writing: How to Create Boldly and Write With Confidence.
You can find William at: williamkenower.com