For the first half of my writing life I wasn't that into it. I did it because I had the option to write creatively (verses academically) about what I was learning at MOBOC, the Open School I went to for 6th and 7th grade in LA. Occasionally, I enjoyed it purely as an act of love, a sublime way to escape and broaden my own company, until I was encouraged by others (bless them) and I started thinking about it, doing it writerly, doing it literarily, doing it in hopes of someday doing it for money. And all of those external things, of course, had their place and time.
It wasn't until I was miserable in grad school at the U of Minnesota for my MFA, that I found my true self again, on (and consequently off) the page. I happened across Brenda Ueland's "If You Want to Write" and every word she wrote was for me: write your truth. Write like you, not like them. Don't bother with competition or perfection. Write because it feels good. Write because you hunger for your own stories, the comfort and caress of your own words and rhythms. This was exactly what I needed to hear in grad school, where I'd lost my way. Of course this coincided with my first of thousands (and counting) of yoga classes and the two went together well for me at the time. And the rest is history.
Today I find myself more grateful than ever for my writing practice, both alone and together with you. In this always insisting world of to dos, trying to keep up with who I "think" I am, who I "was," to stay present, is challenging to live up to in a body unexpectedly slowed by neuropathy, pain and limitations I foolishly reserved for my much much much later years. Though I often attribute all good things to my yoga practice, the thing that pulled me out of hell and back into life, the thing I relied on for 20 years to keep me sane, I often neglect my writing practice in that attribution. But now that I am currently limited to only a few poses, it's enough: I'm not falling apart. I can still write myself all over the place: in body, out of body, through body, toward body and when I need to, away from body.
Like breathing, I can write myself back here, now, to this tired, life times walked, overstretched body, and realize it's all okay.
