I'm afraid.
I'm afraid of doing this, of putting thoughts into words and words onto pages.
There are two sides to this fear.
The first is personal – fear of failure, fear of success, fear of upsetting people because I want to please and be liked – fear that I'll get it wrong in a way that will hurt me. Perhaps you share this fear.
You might say that I should overcome this fear – put this fear 'in my back pocket' – and maybe this is proof of me doing just that.
But there is the other side of this fear...
I'm afraid that what I'm writing will be wrong in a way that might hurt others, that this is unavoidable, and that it's therefore better to just keep listening and talking.
Let me explain that a bit:
I heard a story recently of an indigenous elder who was being interviewed by a man from the USA about solutions to climate change. The elder was sharing wisdom that resonated strongly with the American. So strongly that the American wanted to take that wisdom and share it, to solve the problems he was facing. So he asked the elder where this wisdom was written down, to which the elder, bemused, replied "Oh I never write anything down – it would be wrong".
Writing it down would be wrong.
What did he mean by this? A couple of things, it seems:
Written words cannot be accurate because words are too limited a vehicle for describing the full breadth and depth of complex reality; a reality that is dynamic and nonlinear, where words on a page are fixed and linear. Better to keep the attempt to navigate that reality ‘alive’ collectively, in relationship, so that it can stay responsive, adaptive and emergent – accurate in the moment, or as accurate as possible.
The wisdom the elder carries is not 'theirs', it is ancestral intelligence that has been evolving and emerging for thousands of years; so they are in no position to put their pen and name to it. To 'claim' it and 'capture' it like this would diminish it, undermine it, harm it, cheapen it, and dishonour the generations who enriched it. It would be like removing key ingredients from a broth.
How does this resonate with you?
I hear a warning that writing things down can lead to harm because when things get 'stuck' they become unwell. The universe is always moving, always changing, always emerging and flowing; when we get in the way of that, it hurts. Many of us in Western Educated Industrialised Rich Democratic (W.E.I.R.D) cultures mistakenly believe that we can control this moving energy, that we can fix it in place. This hurts us, and many others.
You might say that writing is an expression of this delusion – capturing wisdom in words to control it and fix it in place on the page. Capturing it harms the wisdom by diminishing it, and harms the reader by stopping that wisdom being responsive, accurate, as though it were some final product, rather than a temporary window on something that is continuing to emerge. Therefore writing to convey wisdom is harmful and we shouldn't do it.
But you might also say that, given the right conditions, words on a page can be like pollen on a flower – not stuck, but held temporarily, waiting to be picked up and moved about in service of flourishing. The words on our pages might not be moving, but the words in and between our minds might.
The question is whether we are in those 'right conditions' now...
Which leads me to the elder's second point, and the worry that a ‘modern’ culture of building personal brands, incentivised to accumulate attention, accolades and wealth, cannot possibly be the ‘right’ conditions. In this culture, rather than pollen on a flower, words are honey in a jar waiting to be consumed or stored away.
A culture of capture and control, seeking individual gain, cannot support ‘live’ collective wisdom. Pollen is moving, honey is stuck.
And yet here I am, writing...why?
One simple answer is: because my friends asked me to. I have the privilege of speaking regularly with fascinating, caring, thoughtful people. Many of these people have encouraged me to record the things that I say in our conversations, which they find interesting or helpful.
These are not 'my things', they emerge in the moment, blooming from the rich soil of our conversation. But perhaps ‘writing them up’ might aid our emerging understanding, as a mechanism for processing – ‘writing as thinking’ – and also for discharging, for 'putting down' ideas as a way to declutter and create space for clarity.
Are my friends like the American, asking for something living to be captured in a way that might harm it? Or would writing down our emerging thoughts help them bloom?
For now, to honour those relationships, I am keen to explore the potential for blooming.
The question that remains is whether any writing I do can be generative for anyone else outside of those relationships.
An obvious question then: so much of what emerges in conversation is also fed by all the words that I (and my conversation friends) have read over the years. Words stuck on pages from writers who we love, respect, admire – most of whom we are not in conversation with. Are those writers’ words wrong?
Does the potential for the writing to contribute to a blooming collective intelligence outweigh the risk of harm posed by the form and the culture?
I don't know the answer to that question. I don't know how much to heed this second side of my fear. Perhaps it is all just an expression of the first side I mentioned. Perhaps I am worrying about all of this so that you won't judge what I write. Perhaps I am saying all of this so that you will like me.
I don't know yet, so my writing comes with a health warning: anything you read is probably wrong.
But it also comes with a promise: I will always write in service to life and relationship, so that my friends and I can try to keep wisdom ‘alive’ – to keep the meaning moving, the pollen flowing, and the broth richly brewed.
As another Indigenous Elder put it: ‘let us continue to continue’.
This piece has been published in a reader from Beyond Storytelling: Hear & Now, alongside pieces from Alma Quiroga, Rebecca Solnit, Marianne Schapmanns, Ielde Vermeir, Jeffer London et al.
All we have is trust. Its a great place to start, to question the very validity of this mode of expression and foregrounds your humility in entering into the space.
A walk round the cemetery shows how long written words last, even if they are chiseled in stone.
I agree wholeheartedly- and have a similar early post on my page. I avoided writing for so long that the thoughts were too crowded in my head. I found that this place, which I won’t monetize or brand with my name, gives me the freedom to express emergent thoughts. Glad you are here.