Sounds of the Sea, Marieloes Reek, painter. The Netherlands. Contact information.
Marieloes says, “The head...the glance, the mouth and the expression together afford a revealing view into our inner selves.”
I write this blog to collect and explore relating experiences. I begin when I see, hear, remember, or read something. Today it’s a letter written by a father to his teenage son.
I
found it on Maria Popova’s blog post. She highlights Sherwood Anderson’s letter (taken from
Posterity Letters of Great Americans to Their Children) to his
seventeen-year-old son to show an example of a parent supporting a child's “quest to find
one’s purpose and live the creative life boldly.” Popova reminds us that this work is “neither simple nor easy, especially for a young person trying to make sense of
the world and his place in it.”
Anderson’s
suggestions are not just for a teenage son. This one, “Write not to make
salable pictures, write to save yourself,” makes sense to
me. I show up here without any thought
of result. Wait. Let me be more honest. I practice showing up here to write without
those kinds of thoughts.
I
also want to practice making things with my hands, specifically drawing. Old
beliefs sometimes get in the way of my self-discipline. I realize I’m held back
by a belief that I need a degree or specific training to be able to draw. Lessons
and training help, but I don’t need a degree to write or draw. I can do
whatever I put my heart, willingness, and energy to.
Anderson encourages his
son and me when he writes:
“Learn
to draw. Try to make your hand so unconsciously adept that it will put down
what you feel without your having to think about it.
Then
you can think of the thing before you.
It’s
what you feel about it, what it means to you.
Draw,
draw hundreds of things.
There
is no special trick about writing or painting either. I wrote constantly for 15
years before I produced anything with any solidity to it.
You won't arrive, it's an endless search.”
I
talk to my friend Cindy. She’s a textile artist, someone who sews hours every
day and a person I openly share my thoughts and feelings.
Cindy
says, “Do you know about the ten thousand hour rule? I’ve been stewing about
this idea of skills and how you get them. I’ve always been troubled by ‘innate
talent.’ This book I’m reading (Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell) has me thinking. He writes about keys to mastery—they are opportunity and
practice!”
Ours is a phone conversation since she lives in another state. I
imagine her holding Gladwell's book as she reads, “Practice isn’t the thing you
do once you’re good. It’s the thing you do that makes you good. Ten thousand
hours of practice makes perfect.” Cindy says, “Do you know how many hours that is?” And
then I hear laughter.
In
Ann Lamott’s book Bird by Bird she tells a childhood story about her father’s encouragement when she struggles
to write a book report about birds. “Just take it bird by bird,” he says. Bird by
bird! She says it's an instruction that remains with her today.
My husband writes. He shares his practice, “Sit down and write every day for an hour, even if you don't feel like it.” I watch him accept whatever words flow from his fingertips onto
the page.
I know what to do.
Ten
thousand hours. Bird by bird. Draw, draw, hundreds of drawings. Write, write, whatever flows whether you feel like it or not. You won't arrive, it's an endless search. Practice. It’s the journey not the destination. Which puts
me in familiar ground. My meditation practice works exactly like this.
Notes
Sherwood Anderson was an American novelist and short story writer. His most enduring work is the
short story sequence Winesburg, Ohio.
Writers he influenced include Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, John
Steinbeck, and Thomas Wolfe.
Dorie McCullough Lawson wrote Prosperity Letters of Great Americans to Their Children. NPR interviewed her in 2004. Listen or download the interview here.
Dorie McCullough Lawson wrote Prosperity Letters of Great Americans to Their Children. NPR interviewed her in 2004. Listen or download the interview here.
