I hope you all get well as quickly as possible! Love to Becca, losing a member of the family is so hard. As to why we write - I'm 100% sure I write because I need to hear it. Sometimes the voice that comes out in the writing is very helpful to the normal spinning voice in my head.
All this is very beautifully said, Katie. Thank you for writing it.
And what you've done here - and in your newsletter generally - is a perfect illustration of the power of finding a way to write straight through the middle of these things, to see what might be at the other end.
As (Everyday Woo) Katie says, that senselessness is horrifying. It's the hardest thing to deal with when something terrible happens, making it feel impossible to understand. (It's what I struggled the most with a few years back, during a rough period of tragedy in my family.) Why them? Why me? In what kind of world can this happen? And then it's a short hop from "everything appears to be either senseless or Evil" to "we have no control over anything that matters" & then "we're all doomed".
But maybe in this case, writing, like actual therapy, is a process of going from that crushing certainty into something more open to reframing in ways we haven't thought of. Writing becoming an act of saying "well, there are lots of ways to think about this, and maybe some of them can give me a little more strength to move forward - even if it's just to help make sure it's less likely to happen again, to me or anyone else."
And as Solnit says, giving ourselves to the future - which is a thing that is never yet known, despite our worst super-certain-feeling fears. Maybe, since we're imaginative animals and we spend a lot of our time in the realm of What Might Happen (usually in the form of worrying), what's to stop us also imagining what might go *right*, and try to act accordingly, so we're ready if it does happen?
All this is really hard stuff to process, at least for me. I don't think I could actually *think* it. My thoughts would get too jumbled, especially after coffee. But writing it out? It certainly helps - although you've done a better job writing this post than I've ever done when I've tried to untangle my own struggles with hope. (My own newsletter's certainly an act of self-therapy, but it's pretty indirect.) And reading the work of my favourite writers too (Solnit's one of them) helps a ton...
Writing can move the needle away from the dread of 'knowing' everything is screwed. That certainly feels like one answer?
This is so beautiful, Katie, thank you. Moving few my first few months after my husband's death last year, writing has been an absolute lifeline, in the form of journaling in the first instance. Even now, looking back at my first thoughts on the screen and page, I am so glad I captured them, in real time. I love your shout out to writers who've inspired and uplifted you too. Thank you for sharing your big, warm heart.
Thank you so much for finding the energy and time to write this. I’ve felt this a lot lately and have struggled to materially formulate these immaterial feelings … grateful that you shared this so we all feel less alone. Hope you feel better soon!
As I write this, I am sick too. Hope we both feel better soon! I appreciate your words and your honesty about your struggles. My writing is similar in some ways, and writing is so therapeutic for me that I published an article on Medium titled “The Best Thing I’ve Done for my Mental Health is Write Online.” I journal every morning, too.
Even when I write about topics that make me mad, or scared about the future, I feel better. Writing forces my monkey mind to focus on writing instead of my fears, grief, or anger.
I hope you all get well as quickly as possible! Love to Becca, losing a member of the family is so hard. As to why we write - I'm 100% sure I write because I need to hear it. Sometimes the voice that comes out in the writing is very helpful to the normal spinning voice in my head.
All this is very beautifully said, Katie. Thank you for writing it.
And what you've done here - and in your newsletter generally - is a perfect illustration of the power of finding a way to write straight through the middle of these things, to see what might be at the other end.
As (Everyday Woo) Katie says, that senselessness is horrifying. It's the hardest thing to deal with when something terrible happens, making it feel impossible to understand. (It's what I struggled the most with a few years back, during a rough period of tragedy in my family.) Why them? Why me? In what kind of world can this happen? And then it's a short hop from "everything appears to be either senseless or Evil" to "we have no control over anything that matters" & then "we're all doomed".
But maybe in this case, writing, like actual therapy, is a process of going from that crushing certainty into something more open to reframing in ways we haven't thought of. Writing becoming an act of saying "well, there are lots of ways to think about this, and maybe some of them can give me a little more strength to move forward - even if it's just to help make sure it's less likely to happen again, to me or anyone else."
And as Solnit says, giving ourselves to the future - which is a thing that is never yet known, despite our worst super-certain-feeling fears. Maybe, since we're imaginative animals and we spend a lot of our time in the realm of What Might Happen (usually in the form of worrying), what's to stop us also imagining what might go *right*, and try to act accordingly, so we're ready if it does happen?
All this is really hard stuff to process, at least for me. I don't think I could actually *think* it. My thoughts would get too jumbled, especially after coffee. But writing it out? It certainly helps - although you've done a better job writing this post than I've ever done when I've tried to untangle my own struggles with hope. (My own newsletter's certainly an act of self-therapy, but it's pretty indirect.) And reading the work of my favourite writers too (Solnit's one of them) helps a ton...
Writing can move the needle away from the dread of 'knowing' everything is screwed. That certainly feels like one answer?
I love this, Katie--the last line especially. Something *does* have to come out of all of this. Your writing reminds me of that every week. <3
This is so beautiful, Katie, thank you. Moving few my first few months after my husband's death last year, writing has been an absolute lifeline, in the form of journaling in the first instance. Even now, looking back at my first thoughts on the screen and page, I am so glad I captured them, in real time. I love your shout out to writers who've inspired and uplifted you too. Thank you for sharing your big, warm heart.
Thank you so much for finding the energy and time to write this. I’ve felt this a lot lately and have struggled to materially formulate these immaterial feelings … grateful that you shared this so we all feel less alone. Hope you feel better soon!
As I write this, I am sick too. Hope we both feel better soon! I appreciate your words and your honesty about your struggles. My writing is similar in some ways, and writing is so therapeutic for me that I published an article on Medium titled “The Best Thing I’ve Done for my Mental Health is Write Online.” I journal every morning, too.
Even when I write about topics that make me mad, or scared about the future, I feel better. Writing forces my monkey mind to focus on writing instead of my fears, grief, or anger.