Dependable

Most of the writers I work with as students or clients are dependable people. If my class starts at 9:30 or our appointment at 2:00, I can count on them to be there on time. This is no great challenge for them. They’re usually all adults who’ve held jobs that required them to start work at a certain time, who’ve caught plains and had dinner dates. They’ve learned what it takes to be somewhere when they say they will, that they can promise on Sunday where they’ll be on Thursday, even though they don’t really know on Sunday exactly what that Thursday will hold for them.

Yet these same dependable grownups often work with me because they do not write as often as they want to. When they actually get writing, when they find themselves at their desk and forget about the world and its clocks and appointments and dirty dishes, they enjoy the experience of sinking into the story they’re telling. In fact, for many of them it’s as good an experience as they know. They love it, love feeling connected to something that is both them and more than them, love the discovery, love how alive they feel both while they write and immediately after.

But if that story were a friend, these writers would seem unreliable companions. They’d arrive full of apology for why they missed their last three dates, explaining about how family had come to town, or the dog needed walking, or their son was sick. It’s always something because, in truth, there’s always something else you could be doing. This is as true for jobs as it is for writing. They don’t have to go to their job. They could stay home. They might get fired, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t stay home and paint the living room.

The difference between a story and actual companion, of course, is that a story isn’t another person, and that’s usually the problem. A dependable person says, “Circumstances don’t determine whether I show up – I do.” These writers have taught themselves to show up for other people, for bosses and lovers and children and friends. Writing asks us to show up for ourselves.

No one will be disappointed in you if you don’t write, nor will anyone greet you with a hug when you arrive at your desk. That you enjoy the experience must be enough of a reason to show up. Except hasn’t that always been the real reason you’ve shown up for anything? Wasn’t the job and dinner dates and even the kid’s soccer game really for you? Hasn’t your happiness always mattered more than anything else? All writing asks of us is to admit what has always been true.

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