But I got distracted by Twitter and one tweet linked to a blog post, which led me to another, which had me reading a chapter out of Donald Miller's new book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, and I am suddenly remembering how much I love words and the way they play off one another, like smiles between friends around a bountiful dinner table with wine and candles and empty plates.
I love being reminded that I love to write. Because I have this other blog post saved that I've been working on for several days now and it feels too contrived because it is. I've tried too hard to write something meaningful rather than just writing because I love the dance of the letters.
If I had an antique typewriter, I would type these words on it, and there would be mistakes and misspellings and big blotches of crap, just like in real life. But the words would also be more real because of the typewriter, because of the lack of a "delete" button, because I wouldn't have a chance to fix them, but I would have space to apologize for messing up.
Sometimes that's just what I need-- space to mess up.
My best friend is one of those who is okay with mess ups. And I realized while I was driving yesterday that I've never felt the need to edit myself for him. Sometimes I hesitate in my words because I want to get them just right, but I don't leave parts out. Isn't that the best kind of honesty? The unedited, ink blotted, messy, real honesty? Not even when we first met and we kayaked around the lake, not even then did I think I had to change my answers to say what he wanted to hear me say. I can't think of any words to explain the gratitude that wells up inside me when I think about that.
3 comments:
"My best friend is one of those who is okay with mess ups. And I realized while I was driving yesterday that I've never felt the need to edit myself for him. Sometimes I hesitate in my words because I want to get them just right, but I don't leave parts out. Isn't that the best kind of honesty? The unedited, ink blotted, messy, real honesty? Not even when we first met and we kayaked around the lake, not even then did I think I had to change my answers to say what he wanted to hear me say. I can't think of any words to explain the gratitude that wells up inside me when I think about that."
I wish I could pray like that.
i can remember reading a poem by elizabeth bishop named "at the fishhouses" in which she writes in that very same no deleting, no censoring, no editing manner. she wades through a bunch of crap, before she finally arrives at the fishhouses. and then it's.. oh man, it's glorious. somehow, all the boring and weird and uncomfortable stuff leading up to it is informed on by the fishhouses and you appreciate her process. you also appreciate her not cutting out that process from the poem once she finally gets somehwere.
you know.. you wouldn't want to cut out the "shit" from your own writing or your own life; it's what led you to beauty -- and often, it is the beauty.
love your words, hope. it inspires me!
i totally messed that up. i meant to say once she got AWAY from the fishhouses. as in.. worked through them to see where they were taking her. see what happens when you don't edit?? ;)
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