It's quite something to speak into the cosmos an intention to add a daily practice of writing as my Lenten spiritual discipline. So far, I'm crushing being sub-par in terms of practicing what I declared. I'm not a fan of mediocrity and admitting aloud (and to myself) that I'm falling squarely into that category when I'm the one who named the commitment is hard. Remembering that it's about progress not perfection is my new mantra, but it still leaves me feeling inadequate and slack.
What's so hard about holding fast to something I know gives me life and keeps me grounded?
Is it the tyrannical to-do lists that always wait for me to return to them in the morning? Is it my drive to finish allthethings allatonce? Whatever the reason, there's something that holds me back from closing my door, turning off noise, and entering into sacred territory where I am alone with my thoughts and feelings in the presence of my Creator.
It's after 9pm - if this is the discipline I've chosen for these 40 days, I'm deciding now that I must schedule time for it earlier in the day. This (and the morning walk I often promise myself I'll take tomorrow) is how I intend to make this practice more regular - perhaps even to make it stick.
I'm subscribed to 3 writers' blogs who offer me a prompt once a week. I thought they would help me make this practice of writing regular. Ironically, though not surprising, those emails are still unread in my inbox - signs that "I'll do it later" clearly doesn't work for me. I realize now where our daughter gets her pet phrase of "in just a moment" - I'm modeling it quite well.
Tonight, I'm resetting my intention - it is about progress over perfection after all. I will walk AND write tomorrow morning...at least, I'll try. Walking the dog after work seems a fair plan too. I started this practice on the day I received ashes on my forehead to remind me of my own mortality. Turns out the to-do lists will one day be put on permanent hold, and I'm reminded I tend to give them too much power. But my words will remain - perhaps to pile up and gather dust themselves, or maybe...just maybe...they'll one day be a balm to my children as they grow old.
I don't mean to wax on morbidly, but Ash Wednesday marked the beginning of this journey - appropriately so, I suppose. I'm dusting off these writing muscles that keep me sane in the midst of chaos. God knows sanity in the world of 2025 feels like a pipe dream so leaning into muscle memory as a pathway out of chaos gives me hope.
I may have only written words twice in the last seven days, but it has felt really good both times. The first writing feels too raw to share so I'm cocooning those words until they're ready to reveal their metamorphosized selves. Tonight, however, I'm releasing these cobbled together thoughts as a practice of accountability to myself and to this art. May tomorrow hold more wonder and awe and clarity, and may this practice become a thin space of dancing with the Spirit.
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