Humble Persistence

Cheryl Strayed Told Me You Gotta Show Up

I cringed, scribbling in my journal, judging the words I was dumping on my page. This is…not great…I thought, wincing.

It was the first full day of Cheryl Strayed’s writing workshop, Wild Awakenings, at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, New York. I was low key struggling. I had done this workshop a few months before, but didn’t anticipate being in my head this second go round. I knew that she’d be sharing the same info, the same prompts, the same stories, but I was all of a sudden second guessing myself. My writing was jumbled and uninspired.

Me to me when my writing wasn’t stunning or special ugh

The last time I attended Wild Awakenings was in May. I was alone in my office on a Zoom call with a few hundred people while the workshop streamed live. There was zero pressure, I was just doing it for fun, and ideas and writing flowed like a steady stream. I was vibing! I was in my pjs! I was eating my snacks at my house! But now? I felt my heart leap into my throat everytime someone asked what I do for a living and I replied with, “I’m a freelance writer”. I all of a sudden felt nervous claiming that as part of my identity. Sharing that writing is my career made me simultaneously feel both confident and like a total fraud. I’m proud of the strides I’ve taken in my writing career since the beginning of the year, but I also felt like an imposter scribbling nonsense on the page. Ah, the writer’s life. Its unwavering conviction or spiraling into complete self-loathing amirite?

As Cheryl shared her wisdom on writing, the workshop was broken up with prompts and time to write. I felt a bit like I was cheating on an exam every time she shared a new set of prompts because I knew what they were ahead of time, thanks to the Zoom class in May. I then argued with myself in my mind about what to write about. The prompts invited us to go quite deep, and ya know, sometimes you just wanna write content for the girlies and not dive into the depths of your soul, ya know? But as I shared in my last post, I have a creative idea that likes to show up time and time again, and it’s quite persistent. And you guessed it, as Cheryl shared prompt after prompt, this idea wouldn’t let me go and my resistance showed up big time.

I’ve learned that my resistance is a petulant child. She’s a little girl with tear stained cheeks who crosses her arms, stomps her foot, and firmly shakes her head no. She wails—cries—I don't want to do this kind of work! I don’t want to write about this! I don’t want to be sad! I don’t want to sound stupid! I don’t want to do this! Screaming. Crying. Perfect storm.

For a majority of the workshop, I humored my resistance. I gave her a squeeze and patted her head and told her we don’t have to write about the thing that REALLY wants to be written because it’s a little scary and we’re just not ready right now and that’s ok. She wiped her face and sat in the corner until the next set of prompts were shared and it was the same process over and over. 

And my writing continued to be fine. Just fine. 

…but being “just fine” grated my nerves.

Hmph. 

Maybe I should just chalk this weekend up to a nice few October days in upstate New York. 

I was relieved to find out we didn’t have a night writing session that day, and we were done at 5pm. I had the evening to relax and recharge—which I was desperate for. The day before I had spent 6 hours in the car and had a terrible night’s sleep, so I was very ready for a shower and an early night. Which was exactly what I did.

The next morning I woke up feeling refreshed. I slept with the windows open and it was a chilly 44 degrees when I blinked my eyes open. I welcomed the morning air with deep breaths and extended arms overhead—a cat stretching her spine. The autumn leaves were falling like pieces into place as I surprisingly found myself revisiting the creative idea I was fighting so hard against all weekend. Perhaps it was the solid 8 hours of sleep that made me approach my inner little girl with her beet red face. It was as if I sat down with her and explained that this creative idea is not going away, and maybe it’s not as scary as we think it is. And maybe there’s a new way we can play around with it, one that doesn’t feel so ominous. Which is exactly what ended up happening. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about this idea. The seed was planted, and I caught myself daydreaming as Cheryl chatted away on the last session of the workshop. I felt a pull in the pit of my stomach to leave early. I had heard Cheryl’s wisdom—again, this was my second time doing the workshop, plus I knew we would get a recording of it— but I still felt like a bit of a rebel leaving early. I ran into a new friend outside of the building where Cheryl was teaching, and she must have sensed my slightly frazzled demeanor and pointed me to a chair in the middle of a grassy field. “That chair is great. It’s a good place to meditate and just take a moment for yourself. Do what you need to do!” 

I ended up taking her suggestion and sat in the Adirondack chair drenched in morning sunlight. I dumped a very loose outline of a new project in my journal. The hum of the creative idea I resisted the entire weekend pulsed through my whole body. For the first time since I had arrived, I felt satisfied. This is why I was here. This exact moment. I closed my eyes and made a gratitude list in my mind. Thank you Cheryl, thank you Omega, thank you new friends I met, thank you yoga, thank you beautiful weather, thank you creativity, thank you writing gods, thank you thank you thank you. 

I then walked to my car, and drove home. 

One of the first things Cheryl talked about in this workshop is humble persistence. She says that writing well is a mix of craft, courage and consciousness, but perhaps most importantly, consistency. We must show up to the page (or screen) again and again and again. Even when things get rough. Especially when things get rough. 

My weekend at Omega, in the grand scheme of things, was very short. But I learned a valuable lesson on the magic of showing up. I never would have left the workshop entirely because my writing felt uninspired, of course. But wrestling with resistance and taking the time to practice a bit of self-care in the form of a shower and a good night’s rest did wonders for my writing, as well as my spirit. It wasn’t until I stopped pushing away the thing that wanted to be written, that I started to feel like I was back in my creative flow. Unpacking it now, I realize this sounds incredibly obvious. Of course you should write the thing that wants to be written! But sometimes it’s not that easy. I dunno about you, but sometimes the thing that wants to be written requires a tremendous amount of courage and bravery. And sometimes, very simply, you just don’t have the spoons. 

This weekend, I learned that that’s ok. I don’t regret patting resistance on the head and obliging her temporarily. I was exhausted. My body was weary from two weekends of travel in a row. My head was still swimming with writing assignments for work. Of course my writing here was a little rough! I was feeling a little rough. But instead of being hard on myself, or throwing the towel in, I’m glad I was able to give myself a slow evening of self-care. All of a sudden—I had the energy to tackle my resistance head on. And what I found wasn’t scary, it was the opposite in fact. It was thrilling. There’s nothing like the beginnings of a new creative project. 

So I’m sharing the wisdom I learned from Cheryl Strayed with you today. Our stories unfortunately don’t write themselves. Commitment is simply deciding to write. It’s up to us to make promises to ourselves and our writing—and making good on our intentions. Showing up doesn’t have to mean every day, or even every week. Showing up can be whatever works for you, as long as you stick with the promise you make and stay true to yourself. It’s our job to simply show up again and again. And again. And again.

The magic of humble persistence. 

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