Writing As A Meditation
MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS GUEST BLOG
By: Bethany Grey
I remember the night I fell in love with storytelling: reclined on a plush La-Z-boy, elbows deep in a box of Cheez-its, captivated by the suburban lives of Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper - the young lovers on the sitcom, The Wonder Years.
Long touted as a “mindless” hobby, television viewing is ridiculed for stealing time from seemingly more “productive” activities, but for me, television was the gate-way to a world of fiction. To made up lands of teenage drama and problems far greater than my own. The Wonder Years was my escape.
As credits rolled after the season finale, I felt a loss. What would I do without Kevin? The squirrely boy who each episode taught me a little more about myself. Who helped shape the adult I’d become?
The next day, I decided to create my own escape. I began to write.
My first fictional stories were rough. Terrible, even. I cringe reading them now: poor grammar, choppy narratives, laundry lists of character descriptions (“His lips were like Kool-aide, with chocolate brown hair and knobby knees taller than a giraffe’s!”). They were sappy tales of star-crossed lovers kept apart by nosey parents, and secret societies for magical outcasts forced to hide their gifts.
But, the quality didn’t matter. I was writing, and if I was writing, I was content. Unknowingly, I tapped into a sacred space.
Writers are not alone. Painters, woodworkers, joggers, yogis, seamstresses or tailors, chefs...they all can find joy in their craft. Have you ever been so enthralled with a project that time seemingly flies? There you have it. You’ve found a slice of zen.
For me, that pivotal moment is reached when distractions vanish, and sentences form that perfectly express what I want to say, making me think, “Damn, that’s good.”
That is why I write.
Sure, those fleeting moments are likely followed by self-doubt and criticism – an ego needs to stay in check – but they give the oomph to soldier on. To continue writing crap and fluff that can be edited into literature capable of drawing tears. And believe me, there is loads of crap before a gem can be polished.
After hours turned into days, and days turned into years, I began to realize something: writing is more than a hobby. It is a necessity. A method of self-preservation, where I can attempt to rationalize the ups and downs of daily life. Writing is good for my mental health. It is my meditation, by bringing my state of consciousness to the present. It seems counterintuitive that reflecting on past situations to concoct stories can achieve this feat, but that’s precisely what it does. Let me explain:
Past experiences, especially negative ones, determine our interpretations of current events, and therefore the actions we take in response. Eventually, behavior patterns form. Some patterns are good. We may avoid certain situations that begin to resemble previously worrisome ones, like saying ‘no’ to a second date with a guy addicted to his phone; or seeking comfort in the familiar, like a warm bowl of chicken soup. But when our interpretations begin to constrain possibility, anxiety forms. If we dwell on a hurtful past and expect the future to only produce the worst-case scenario, we dig ourselves into a hole, and the light peeking through slowly narrows. Hope dims.
“The flight could be delayed again, then I’d miss the bus, then I’d spend all day at the airport, it’d be a waste of money, I’ll be hungry, vacation will be ruined…”
Sure, maybe the flight was delayed last time, but does that mean it will happen again? And what if it does? Maybe a better mode of transportation will be discovered, or a friendly stranger will give advice. When we learn from the past, but can also let it go, the light widens. Our worlds are filled with potential.
Like anyone, I’ve had my fair share of struggles. Family illness, death of loved ones, a difficult break-up, an unfulfilling job, the need for more but not being able to define what “more” is. Life can suck sometimes. I began to pull away from family, and at rock bottom, completely devalued my worth. Nothing was as I imagined it’d be. I’ve felt lost, stuck, hopeless, and worst of all, trapped. Through writing, I discovered that the savior I was waiting for, was me.
After my thoughts are recorded in a writing session, my past is released. I accept it. I am then fully immersed in the present moment with a clearer view of my surroundings, and a deeper appreciation for the life I’ve been gifted. I’ve learned to forego expectations, and embrace what is before me, exactly as it is.
This November, my first novel, All That We Encounter, will be published by the Ann Arbor District Library’s Fifth Avenue Press. When the opportunity comes to feel the pages on my fingertips, I will be lost on finding the words to express my emotions. It is an accomplishment I’ve worked years to achieve. But, despite the excitement, I know this is not why I started the journey, and it is not why I will continue. I write for a greater purpose. Even if no eyes beyond my own read my words, writing will remain my meditation. My sanctuary.
Bethany Grey is a clinical dietitian, whose articles on nutrition-focused topics are published in Women’s Running and Food & Nutrition Magazine. She is based in Ann Arbor, Michigan where her love for creative writing flourishes within a supportive community. She lives with her patient husband, Bryan, who never questions her countless hours spent at coffee shops and libraries, and a sweet Shiba-Inu puppy with a heart of gold.
Her first novel, the mystical family-saga, All That We Encounter, is to be published in November 2019 by the Fifth Avenue Press. She’s an old soul with an affinity for strong matriarchs and spiritual quests. For now, you can view her adventures and stay up-to-date with her latest writings by following her on social media: Twitter: @BthnyGrey and Instagram: bthnygrey