The Art of Paying Attention and Writing

The little one is napping while the oldest is at camp. So with dire urgency and the rare commodity of moments of alone, I grab my laptop, an icy can of lime La Croix, and make myself comfortable in the sun’s warmth. The lid of my laptop creaks open, I create a new Google Doc and watch the cursor. Blink, blink, blink, over and over. Silence. As I wait and hope for some inspiration to burst from my fingertips, I take a breath and allow myself to notice.  

I feel the sun's blaze heat my dark brown hair but feel goosebumps rise on my arms as the breeze shifts. I inhale the perfume of freshly cut grass while tasting bubbles dance across my tongue from the sips of La Croix. The birds tweet out their melodies with a background tune of beeping construction vehicles, and subtle radio tunes waft over the summer air from the neighbor’s yard. I am so grateful to be alive. As I proceed to savor the tranquil minute I reflect on how the act of simply paying attention is an art itself. And how noticing beauty in daily life can bring satisfaction.

My attention returns to the blinking cursor, make a new tab and type into Google, writer's block. Article after article, I find reminders that the best way to beat the block is to be active. It is better to write one sentence or even a terrible first draft than writing nothing. Sit down and get to work. Even without inspiration, as Nike would say, Just Do It.

Recently I read wise words from Stephanie Duncan Smith, "You don't have to start strong. You just have to start...You already have everything you need: the library of your life is open to you always." So here I find myself in the margins of work and parenting, often trying to jot down an idea while sitting in the kid's playroom trying to avoid being climbed over, or typing paragraphs in the fringe hours. 

In a moment of weakness, in a time void of inspiration, I wonder if my skills are simply mediocre and worthless of effort. Why is writing even so important to me? Why take the bits of time that I do have to myself to agonize over the written word? But writing is important. There is so much value and timeless worth. 

Throughout my lifetime I’ve practiced many art mediums, but writing has been one that I always return to, especially since becoming a mother. It keeps drawing me back in, creating a deep urgency to record for memory's sake. Life happens quickly, everything is constantly happening and evolving. Big things or little things, despite whatever it may be, without documentation, it is all too soon forgotten. Writing for me is to create stones of remembrance.

Words can have profound emotional effects. When I reread my own words, I find tokens of God's faithfulness and provide a gentle nudge toward gratitude, and also a reminder of how important it is to pay attention. The written word is a lasting souvenir of the past when we are prone to forget. The words will be here forever, so when I am gone, my boys can remember me, my beliefs, my thoughts, details from their childhood, and much more.

Additionally, an abundance of beauty emerges from the written word. When shared in an open space, writing creates a sacred place to connect with others, allowing them to know they're not alone in their experience. Allowing for that divine me too encounter.

Writing is never easy, but here is to honor the 398 fragmented and half-baked ideas that over time I've punched into the notes app on my phone. Everything beautiful starts from something small. So here is to practice, discipline, and taking notice of life's details. Even in the margins, I will continue to write on.