If you knew you’d always feel unsatisfied with what you write, would you still let satisfaction play a role in your writing process?
If you knew your writing would always be criticized by others, no matter how good it is, would you still let their criticism determine whether you should publish?
If you’d take the fear that stops you the most and rob it of its power, would you write and publish more?
Must your writing get read?
Or is it important to write, just because?
Must you win the races you run?
Or is it important to run, just because?
Must you get recognition for showing loyalty and love?
Or is it important to show loyalty and love, just because?
Just because it aligns with the person you want to be, and the principles to which you want to adhere?
Language helps us describe the world we perceive. Yet in doing so, it closes our eyes, our ears, our touch, and our heart to the parts of the world we don’t have words for.
Every language is a lens on a felt reality within and around us – both clarifying and categorizing the world, and limiting it by the words it has available.
Learning more languages gives you new lenses – and a richer sense of reality.
But just like the structure of our ears limit the sounds we can hear, and the structure of our eyes limit colors we can see, the structure of any language somehow limits our felt experience of the world.
How do we re-access memories, emotions, hidden away in a long-forgotten language?
How do we re-learn to listen to the voices of the wordless world speaking to our animal self… the voices that once upon a time, before verbal language emerged, were all we had?
there’s an eternal song
drowned out by the confines of my mother tongue
a wordless melody that once made sense
until our brain started blurring it with a lens
narrowing it down
neglecting its nuances through verbs and nounswith all its might language wants us to abide
Lukas Van Vyve
but the wordless world it tries to hide
will forever be inside
Before you can master the art of writing, you must master the art of showing up.
Because this journey you’re embarking on isn’t just about writing.
It’s about creating a powerful, resilient identity that will support you for years to come.
Every day in which I write, I build my body of work.
As I build my body of work, I also build a hierarchy of quality.
Because every day, my writing will be slightly better or worse than the day before.
That means that the more I write, comparatively, the more good writing I’ll do.
It also means that the more I write, comparatively, the more bad writing I do.
Both are necessary.
Good writing, to feel progress.
Bad writing, to know what good writing looks and feels like in the first place.
It’s all part of the process.
The outcome is not the book.
The outcome is not the marathon.
The outcome is not the successful business.
The outcome is not even the daily habit you form, even though they’re the stepping stones you need.
The outcome is the embodiment of the changes we’ve internalized, the growth we’ve experienced, and the evolution we’ve undergone, allowing us to say, “This is what I now stand for. This is what I believe is possible.”
The outcome is the identity.
Maybe it’s less about “What do I want to achieve?” and more about “What do I want to believe?”
That’s it. Now write.
(Where else are you overcomplicating things to avoid getting started? More importantly: why are you avoiding getting started?)
