Continued from Oct.1: Good Living

I ended yesterday's post with a quote of my own, "Good writing comes from good living." In my case this is true. When I’m not living well then my writing spells it out--stale sentences, cliche word choices, and insights that sound all too familiar. I find myself frustrated with the process of putting thoughts into words, instead of swept away by the magic of rhyme, alliteration, and metaphor.

But what do I mean by “good living?” What does it consist of? I’ve been mulling this around in my brain, and reflecting on the strangeness of my truth: good living doesn’t usually FEEL good in the moment. Quite the opposite. Good living often feels PAINFUL, SCARY, OUT OF CONTROL IN EVERY WAY when I am living it. I shall explain.

A common theme I find when I reflect on the most profound times of “goodness” in my life is this: suffering. Also this: surprise. And of course… the ways I fought like dynamite to PROTECT AND DEFEND myself from what later became—you got it—GOODNESS.

For example, there are circumstances that I would not have prayed for in a zillion years, like that day I displaced a vertebrae in my spine, and fractured another one below it.
There are surprises that felt like curses, like the unplanned pregnancy of my first-born son. His heart is now a well of mercy so deep I am constantly catching my breath and wondering how it is that he can forgive me the way he does--how I ever got so lucky as to be his mother.

Conversely, I’m reminded of times of comfort, happiness, and predictability, and struggling to remember anything REALLY GREAT in them. I find that those periods of good and plenty aren’t impressively memorable. Maybe it’s just me, and I’m a drama junkie, or I struggle from emotional-historical amnesia. You can believe that if you need to, if I’m MAKING YOU UNCOMFORTABLE.

I believe something so much bigger is at work, and it has EVERYTHING to do with...

(to be continued tomorrow)