Writing the Next Thing

It's Tuesday morning. We had a real, summer thunder storm last night and it made me so happy. Pounding rain on a tin roof feels like home in every way. I'm typing on a gorgeous, new laptop that does what I ask it to do and doesn't incite thoughts of violence in my brain. And I'm thinking about growth.

Lately, I've been fighting the urge to delete the majority of my blog posts and maybe even burn some journals. Why? Because on good days, my old writing makes me cringe. On bad days, it makes me consider living the rest of my days as a hermit in the wilderness. It's so bad! (I can already hear my grandma saying this isn't true. But while grandmas are the most lovely and supportive humans, they are also the most biased. They think anything their granddaughter writes could be a NYT best seller. But their granddaughter knows better so we will carry on now.) 

Several months ago, I asked my mom if she had a copy of something I wrote in high school. She did. (Bless the moms who search for long lost memorabilia on behalf of daughters.) I was hoping to use it for a talk I was giving. I read about three sentences and texted my mom in despair. Because, when I wrote it, I genuinely thought it was good. I poured my whole soul into that piece. But twelve years later, I threw it in the trash so fast you would have thought it was about to combust. I was crushed by the realization that someday I will look back on the writing I'm doing now and feel the same way. Thirty-nine year old Geneva will read this blog post and think, "Why did I let the world read something so unpolished? Why did I use such a cliché phrase there? Why did I think this was any good??" So maybe I should just delete it now to save myself the embarrassment later. Maybe I'll quit writing all together because I'll never be as good as I want to be. 

About a mile and a half into a recent run, all I wanted to do was quit. The goal of home looked so far away. In that moment, I had the thought, "Don't look where you're going. Notice where you are. Look how far you've already come." This idea goes against all the motivational, goal setting advice we hear on every corner. We are taught that progress is made by looking forward and keeping our eyes on the goal, not by looking back. And I think, as a general rule, that advice is correct. But that night, the opposite perspective was what powered me through that run. I tuned into the present. The sound of the birds, the texture of the old fence posts, and the wind on my face took my mind off my burning lungs and screaming legs. I thought about all the steps I had already taken and knew I could take the one in front of me. 

I think this perspective might apply to writing as well. No, I'm not where I would like to be. But focusing solely on the goal is overwhelming and paralyzing. Perhaps, its a better idea to notice where I am and how far I've come. My writing has greatly improved since high school. The only reason for this is that I never quit. I kept writing through the bad stuff. I've put in a lot of words. I can put in a few more. I'm twenty-eight years old. I'm a mother, a wife, a daughter. I'm working through edits for my first book. I'm writing what I know to be true. Ten years from now, different things will be true and I will write about those. The goal of writing better things will always be out there, shimmering in the distance. But I can only be where I am. I can only write the next thing. The growth will take care of itself.