Step away from the keyboard/mic
In which I do neither of those things
Hi, hi!
Following my last post I had some lovely messages from folks who felt similarly about creating, or not, for the sake of it. I’m so surprised, and so glad, that my musings about the creative lull I’m in right now resonated with so many of you. The reason I write, often, is to know that I’m not alone in how I’m feeling—so thank you for reaching out.
I’m still quite happily not creating and enjoying freedom from the sense of obligation I’ve felt in the past to say something. There have been so many times recently that I’ve started writing something I thought I should write before groaning loudly and going, “WHO CARES?” [insert loud raspberry sound] Who cares what I think?
Honestly, I’d rather listen right now. There are times for talking and times for listening, and I’m a big believer that in times of horrifying atrocity like these, the people who are affected, and the people who are informed about what is happening to those people, are whom we should be listening to. That’s not to say, obviously, that those of us who aren’t directly impacted shouldn’t speak out against social and political injustice and use the privilege of our insulation from these atrocities to be supportive and to provide tangible aid; but knowing how to do that in a meaningful way comes from listening and paying attention. I’m of the opinion that too many voices just amounts to noise, at the risk of drowning out those who actually have something to say. Right now I’d rather amplify those voices than add my own to the din.
Because everyone and their follower has a platform these days, it’s easy to think that we must say something because our audience. No. Be quiet. Respectfully, we’re not that important. There are very few things I’m authorised to speak on, except, I don’t know, what it feels like to be me in this world, and I’d argue that goes for most of us. So maybe let’s unburden ourselves of that pressure and do that most uncomfortable thing of getting quiet and acknowledging our relative insignificance instead.
What I said last week seems to have landed with a bunch of you so I’m going to share something that I listened to this week, as articulated so much better than me by
in a conversation with Glennon and Amanda Doyle and Abby Wambach. It was so good I’ve listened to it at least twice.Here are a couple of excerpts that I transcribed bc I love ya:
Glennon Doyle: How do you decide what you're going to opinionate about? And what in the world do we do about a whole demand that we speak about every single thing?
Roxane Gay: These days, and really, it's been this way for the past few years, I'm only going to engage critically with something if I care about it, if I'm interested, if I feel qualified, and if I feel like I have something unique to say about it. I'm not going to ever really be the only person saying something because that's just not the way it works. But I do think I articulate the world in a way that no one else can and I believe that about everyone. And so I just have to care and it's really hard to resist the call to opine on everything and to weigh in on everything. I'm not going to speak on things I'm not an expert about. I'm not talking about caring about atrocity or things like that, but I am talking about not speaking inexpertly where expertise is absolutely required. And also, if you're speaking up on everything, then are you really saying anything at all? I just don't think you are. And I always ask people when they asked me, you know, why haven't you said something about X, Y or Z? I actually ask, why do you want me to? What do you need from me, specifically, about this topic that compels you to reach out to me and ask me? What are you looking for? And a lot of times people are looking for validation that they are thinking the right things, that their opinions are valid. And I get that, and I think that is one of the reasons that we read cultural criticism. But sometimes you have to make those decisions for yourself. You have to figure out where you stand. And then maybe you look to others to see, is there something I haven't considered? Is there something I have to add to the conversation? But this idea that we're just here to tell people how to think—I'm actually not really telling you how or what to think. I'm just telling you what I think and how I arrived at that conclusion. And what you might take from all of that for yourself.
Ms Gay also talked about feeling creatively stuck and actively holding back the products of her creativity by choosing what not to share.
Roxane Gay: I've clearly written a lot over the past several years, but it's not coming the way it's supposed to, the way it normally does. And it is not that my writing process has changed. It's just there's this overwhelming sense of foreboding, like that no matter what it is, it's not going to be good enough, and this is going to be the last book I ever write. And so I'm trying to unravel it all, just learn to quiet some of that, but it's a process.
Amanda Doyle: Is the question then whether it's worth it to you? Are you counting costs to be like, If I do X, I know that Y will happen. Is it worth it to me to do X?
Roxane Gay: Sometimes, but not for writing itself. I would write if there was no one ever... I love writing. I've always loved it and I would do it whether or not there was an audience or interest in my work, for sure... I've held back two essays in the past two weeks where I just have decided it's not worth it. Because it doesn't matter what I do, it doesn't matter what I say—it's going to be wrong. And knowing that, that's where the costs outweigh the benefits. And I've only done that once, one other time in my career. And so it's weird, and I don't like it, but at the same time, I know that once in a while we do have to protect ourselves from ourselves.
Glennon Doyle added something that I think is really, really important to acknowledge for those of us who feel so compelled to speak up right now but frankly can’t muster up the mettle:
Glennon Doyle: And there are times when we're in better mental strength times than others. I feel like that's something that is lost often. It's like you're not always ready to go into battle. If there are times in the year where I'm like, alright, I'm in a good place in my cycle, or like, I don't know what, but I'm ready to go. But there are times you don't have the strength to go in.
There’s a great German word, Weltschmerz, which literally translates to “world pain” and means “a mood of weariness or sadness about life arising from the acute awareness of evil and suffering”. This hits some of us harder than others and I know a lot of people who have spent the past month or so trying to pick themselves up off the floor. These people cannot watch the news, let alone advocate. I, personally, have been having nightmares for a month a half—and I’m not even on social media anymore. If you’re like me, the horror will find its way in.
This—not knowing what to say—is what I have to talk to you about right now. Because, truly, I have nothing else that might be interesting. What am I going to tell you about? How I’m sitting here with a chocolate chip cookie drinking a cup of rooibos-cardamom-rose chai out of my very favourite mug? About how I went to the market today and it kinda snowed, and then I had lunch with a great friend, and then tomorrow I’m having brunch with more great friends? About how I walked up the stairs to my cozy apartment earlier with my arms piled so high with parcels that I couldn’t see, like a cute scene from a rom-com featuring an adorable, klutzy heroine? IT ME. I’M THE ADORABLE KLUTZY HEROINE OF MY ROM-COM LIFE.
I heard once (I think it was
who said it) that the thing about memoir is that nobody wants to hear about how great things are going for someone. Our writing has to offer perspective to be valuable, and the best perspective (in my experience) comes from adversity and loss. Have I had awful things happen to me that I have been profoundly changed by that I could tell you about? Yes—but frankly, I don’t really want to think about them right now. And not to be a dick, but my life is going pretty great: I’m self-sufficient and content, I have great friends and love in my life, and the other day I was so excited to come home to my cats that I ran up the stairs.The hardest thing in my life right now, to be honest, is just being me. There are days (this week for example) where my neurodivergent brain just goes to town. Man, I am exhausting. I’ve spent the last six months reckoning with my autism now that I can see it for what it is. Before I knew, these episodes would send me into a deep, dark spiral; it’s hard not to panic and feel doomed when you feel like your (incredibly complex) brain is driving. But now when I feel my nervous system take a little joyride around Bananas Town, I’m like, “Oh, there’s that autism. LOL, that guy.” It’s not easy—but also, nothing is wrong. I’m fine, and I have a perfectly happy life; I just have extra dials I need to fiddle with on a regular basis to help everything run smoothly, and it doesn’t always. This is definitely something I’ll have more interesting (I hope) stuff to say about, but I’m still figuring it all out. And that takes time, and I’m taking as much as I need.
If I told you about the other stuff that’s consuming my mind, the stuff I’m trying to shut out, it would sound like: THE HORROR. THE HORROR. THE HORROR. That is not interesting, nor is it useful. And that’s the truth of it: I am not useful at this time. I am quite powerless and my impotence on a macro-humanitarian level is devastating. So I’m going to leave you with something a dear and extremely smart Lebanese friend, who has witnessed his own share of awful, told me once:
“Best we can do is love and be loved, live a good life, laugh and be kind to others.
And fuck, regularly… I think more sex helps everyone.”
Love you love you love you,
My Sunday sermon 💕