Why do we write?

And a small digression about playing 8th grade basketball

Why do we write? I ask myself this question a lot and I think most writers do. Writing is a healing practice, a spiritual practice, a mindfulness practice, and a learning practice. Someone said I don’t know what I think until I write it. I feel like every well-known writer has said something about why we write. At least, judging by all the inspirational quotes on Instagram and Pinterest, it seems like every writer has said something about it.

To me, that proves that we’re all a bit flabbergasted by why we write. There’s still a decent amount of confusion around why we would encourage people to write when so much has already been said, so many stories already covered. You could easily make the argument—and people do—that every story has already been written. At the end of the day, there’s only so many stories. About 6, the experts say.

And yet, here we are, toiling away.

I want you to write. I want you to write even though it’s hard, especially when it’s hard. I want you to write because creativity is important for your mental health. I want you to write because it’s fun.

But I think the real question isn’t so much about why people should write. I think it’s a question why some people are driven to write, why some people are hounded by the stories in their heads. Why we sit for hours on end to write a story that hurts us, that brings us plenty of rejection and fear and strife.

And I don’t just mean the writing is hard in an Ernest Hemingway “sit down and bleed” type of way. The mechanisms of it are hard, too. The other day a friend told me they lost 1500 words. When they opened their Word doc, the words were just gone. Poof! Vanished into the ether of tech glitches.

Why write when it’s occasionally a matter of torment?

I want you to write because that story on your heart and in your head is not there by accident. Because if you have a story you want to tell, you should! Sometimes the stories in our head help other people: they can share inspiration and how-to suceed and proof that if one person can survive so can the rest of us.

Some stories help ourselves. The story I wrote during undergrad proved to my I could write. It’s not very good and I doubt it will ever see the light of day, but it meant that I could write a whole novel and weave storylines together and bring them to a somewhat satisfying conclusion. I could write novels and here was the proof.

I’m not sure I’m really getting to the heart of this question though. Why do I write? Some people, I think, write from a place of hubris and ego, thinking they have all this knowledge and wisdom to share. So it goes, I guess. There’s definitely been a voice in my head that has accused myself of that — and perhaps that voice, refusing to be rid of completely, has moved its focus to accuse others of writing from hubris. There’s always more work to be done, isn’t there?

That voice is wrong though. I don’t write from ego or hubris. I’ve come to realize I write from a place of humility. I’ve tried to do other things, really I have! And yet, I always end up back here, not because of ego but because of surrender.

There have been plenty of times in my life when I’ve wanted to just give up writing, let it fade into my past like a youthful folly, an old dream, a child’s dream — like my desire to play in the WNBA. Hang with me here. I didn’t give up my dream of playing in the WNBA because the odds were stacked against me (though they were). I gave up that dream because I don’t like basketball that much.

Thinking back on these memories now, I can’t believe it took all the effort it did to realize I don’t like basketball. Seems like that should’ve been an easy thing to ask myself if I actually enjoyed playing basketball but that question never once occurred to me. After getting cut from the school basketball team in 7th grade, I tried out again in 8th grade, mainly because other people told me I should (Michael Jordan was cut from his middle school team, too, you know!). People told me I shouldn’t give up. I shouldn’t let one setback get me down! People said getting cut would make me stronger, better, hungrier and ultimately the disappointment from getting cut was a rite of passage to greatness.

I realize now that a lot of my toughest limiting beliefs can be seen in that story: the belief that suffering is not only good but necessary. Suffering is the path to greatness. Suffering is required for scrappy success, and scrappy success—the success after being beaten and bruised—was the most admirable type of success.

Well, I tried out again and made the team. It took about 10 minutes of my first practice to realize I’d made a huge mistake. It turned out that I actually didn’t like basketball that much, I wasn’t that good at it once I wasn’t twice the size of my peers, and I missed having afternoons off. But of course, I wasn’t allowed to quit so I persevered, miserable and counting down the days until the season was over.

I wish I could say I learned something from that experience, but obviously I didn’t, as the rest of my life will contend.

So anyway! Let’s circle back to the point. I tried out for basketball in 8th grade because of hubris. I didn’t want to be beaten by the disappointment of 7th grade and, worse than that, I didn’t want anyone else to see me as beaten. My ego didn’t want to let the dream of playing basketball go. My ego saw myself as an athletic prodigy and wouldn’t let the vision go, despite all the evidence to the contrary. But my ego was wrong and I had to suffer through several miserable months as payment to the ego’s mistake. When the season finally ended and I was able to wash my hands of that dream, I moved on, feeling lighter and very relieved.

I’ve tried to consign my desire to write to the dream graveyard where I buried my love of basketball. Some days it would be nice to let it go, to be content in whatever corporate role paid the most. It would be simpler. But no matter how many other paths I try to take, I have ended up back here, focused on writing and trying to make it work. And by work I mean, writing that’s read by others and pays me enough money to live well.

When I’ve made decisions based on hubris, I’ve almost always realized the mistake quickly and moved on with a sense of freedom. Not so when I’ve tried to walk away from writing.

Every path I take away from writing is just a circle. I end up, once again, cracking open my own chest and saying “Here you go. Have it all. Take it. I cannot keep these words inside.” Even though the path is strange and unpredictable and somewhat like living in the void, my very nature brings me back here again, to the place where I write, pouring out whatever story lives on the edge of my tongue.

I realize now it’s not hubris at all that brings me back here. It isn’t dreams of riches or fame or a Joan Didion-esque career, though I confess to all of those. It’s simply the fact that I can do nothing else. Whatever else I try to do will lose it’s shine, will lose it’s momentum. I’ll be moseying right along in whatever not-writing path I’ve chosen and then WHAM. I suddenly can’t move at all, the path ahead feeling like death. So fine! I’ve accepted that this is my path after all and I finally understand myself a bit better.

Humility brings me to write because I have to accept that this is not what I do, it is who I am. It’s not a matter of talent or riches or slouching towards Bethlehem. It’s an acceptance of my nature, of my essence, of what my soul is made of to borrow a phrase. It’s a humble yes, a prostrate yes. At times, even a cold and broken hallelujah.

The way of the writer isn’t easy, as writers know. But it is ours and to deny that is hubris. I don’t write because of ego. I don’t write because I think I have something to say. Just the opposite! The reason I haven’t written more in the year of this Substack is because I so often accuse myself of having nothing to say. I write because I am. Because I must.

At least now I have figured out that it isn’t my job to have something to say. It is only my job to share what I know and if anything worthwhile comes out of that, it’s because I’m a channel allowing something worthwhile to come through me.

A friend who paints portals, who was never a visual person before the portals, prays “move my little self aside” before painting. That’s the energy I bring to my writing: moving my little self aside and letting words of love, of guidance, of whatever flow through me. I don’t know how or why but I know it’s important for me to write and for me to help other people write. I don’t think it is for me to know anymore than it is for me to know the steps we take when we die. I will know what I need to know when I need to know it.

I don’t think every writer needs to write for the reasons I write. That would be weird and impossible. There are as many reasons to write as their are writers, i.e. infinite. The limit does not exist. But I hope for whatever reason you write, you will write. When the words are on your tongue or your fingertips you let them flow through you and think little about what will happen to them after. Let them flow and enjoy the miracle.

A picture from a trip to the Botanical Gardens in DC because why not?

In case you’ve ever wondered what I do in addition to writing this Substack and a few books I’ve made available on Kindle, I also coach writers through writing their stories. Every book on your bookshelf was written with an entire team, so why should we be any different? Everyone needs help and everyone needs a fresh set of eyes. If you want to learn more about what I do, you can schedule a free consult here. I love talking with people about their work so there’s no pressure to sign up for anything more until you’re absolutely ready.

I also have some resources available for purchase on my online store. You can check those out here. They’re a good option if you aren’t quite ready to commit to working with me one on one.