Finding Joy In The Process

Opt for the road trip

Sometimes, I get so busy trying to get where I’m going that I forget to live the life in between. Like that summer in college when my buddy and I drove from the bootheel of Louisiana to northern California in my mom’s minivan.

Would the coast have tasted so sweet if we hadn’t gotten lost in Houston? Would the air have had the same soul-quenching flavor if we hadn’t stopped in Carlsbad Caverns and inhaled the bat poop on the cave walls? Would the sight of the Lake Tahoe coed dorms nestled into aspen trees have sent us into convulsive fits of relief if we hadn’t slept in cheap rooms with no locks, a revolver locked and loaded at our heads in New Mexico?

Imagine you are sitting around a campfire on your dying day. You have one shot to tell your story. The whole world is wrapped up in blankets at your feet, bright-eyed, hungry. Your story has the potential to save lives. What do you think will leave a more significant impact: a bullet list of achievements? Or a parable of how you took a risk, forgot how to read a map, almost killed your copilot, and found your footing in the land of living giants named Sequoias.

Here’s a quote by Phillip Roth:

Nothing bad can ever happen to a writer. Everything is material.

I wish we could remove the sticky label from the cold-cut writing sandwich that says “for writers only.” Writing is an easy, accessible, and, most of all, FREE therapy for processing life. Emotions. Old shit. New shit. Wanna Be shit. Oops shit. Its a way to sink our teeth into meat. Savor the salt on the tip of the tongue. Divine nourishment from every sticky morsel. Writing forces us to pay attention. Stay the fuck awake. Taking a pen to sensation or experience allows us to capture the sacredness in the ordinary and the miracle in the mundane. It can be as simple as opening a notebook and starting with “Right now, I feel…”

It doesn’t have to be complicated, productive, or official to be helping.

Life is trying to teach us. If we hop on a plane to everywhere we go, we miss out on the grit of ground zero. Swapping spit with our people. Mixing tears into tinctures that help others heal.

An artist is simply someone who pays attention. I’ve heard it said that an artist is someone who goes through life saying, “Don’t erase me.” I love this. It makes me want to cry at the same time.

Write it down. Take notes. Light a candle. Make everyday life your canvas. Turn making coffee into a ritual. Roll down the window. Close your eyes. Put your hand to your heart. And for the love of god, breathe.

Decide what story you’re going to tell.

Tell it.