A close friend of mine, who also happens to be a writer, sent me the following message:
Casey,
Have you ever felt stuck with your words? Like you aren’t able to express what you want? It’s a scary feeling because words are the lens through which I express my innermost feelings. I just feel like there’s a massive wall blocking me from doing that right now. Maybe because I’m not sure of my feelings and I haven’t given myself the space to observe and understand them.
Below is my response.
Hi beautiful,
Of course I’ve felt stuck with my words. That’s WHY we write—to get unstuck. I’ve felt the same way with music: what if I never write another song again? What if I can never find that connection, that spontaneous inspiration again? Then I go over my past writings, my journal entries, notebooks and songs, and I realize that there’s always been a kind of uneasy stuck feeling that I’ve had to push through. That blocked feeling is just as crucial to the creative process as the feeling when things flow effortlessly; when it’s suddenly beyond your control and you can just let go and let this rush of expression flood out of you. In eastern terms, it's the yin and the yang: one is dependent upon the other.
There are times when I write and I feel like it's not authentic; I feel I’m just repeating things that I’ve written and said over and over again. So I write about that, that feeling of futility. I explore it, I swear and I stress and I run in circles. And then after a while (maybe 1k words, maybe 10k, doesn't matter), I start to warm up and suddenly I’m open again and I realize that I haven’t been repeating myself after all—I’ve just been finding different ways to explore and articulate the unknown, which is ultimately what all writing is.
There’s been times during my yoga practice when I’ve gotten on the mat and I think, “Fuck, I’ll never get back to where I used to be.” I’m too stiff, too old, too in-my-head, etc. And then maybe 40 minutes into class, or maybe even the NEXT class I take, I fall back into the groove. It’s practicing when I don’t want to, when I feel out of it, that gives me a well-rounded perspective on my practice. That's where the depth comes from. Sitting down and writing when you have inspiration is convenient, but it doesn’t necessarily make you a writer. How do you write when you feel you simply lack the conviction or the confidence or the energy?
To me, writing is emotional excavation, a kind of personal archeology. Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m digging for, but I just keep going, because I know that eventually, I’ll find something that will bring me closer to the understanding that I seek, the insight that will help me on my way. Michelangelo said “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” Sometimes I can’t see the angel—I can’t see anything. But I'm certain, I feel that somewhere in the void of the universe, the void of my unconsciousness, there’s something there. I know I have to keep going, and the sooner I can let go of any expectations, the sooner I can fall back into the flow again.
Good actors and writers and artists, even when they're not at their personal best, are still great, because they've trained through all kinds of mental and emotional conditions. Sometimes just going through the motions, if you've practiced enough, is enough. Most times, no one but you will notice the difference. You've conditioned yourself to maintain a certain personal standard that, even if it feels mediocre or not genuine by your standards, far surpasses many who are trying at their fullest capacity.
Write out your fear, your stuck feeling, how you think you feel; let yourself warm up. Give yourself the space to feel lost, scared, blocked. Let yourself overthink. Write fast. Practice letting go of expectation. Trust that it’s all part of the process. You’ll see the angel.
Love,
Casey