I once had a co-worker who decided that before he continued reading anything modern, he needed to catch up on all the ancient classics in order. Starting with Gilgamesh, Beowulf, The Iliad, The Odyssey, etc. Of course, these are challenging reads and he was spending years determinedly mired in a single volume.
It reminded me of my high school friend who had loads of blank journals but refused to start writing about the present until she caught up from where she’d left off—somewhere back in elementary school. And so the journals remained blank and although she had an uncanny memory, it’s safe to say she has forgotten much of those unrecorded high school years. (For more blank journal reverie, see When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams.)
Of course, this all strikes me as perfectionism. The enemy of good. As in, done is better than good. Resettling from summer trips and broken routines, it seems incredible that not too long ago, I was writing every day! Drawing every day! Walking every day! (these, plus reading every day, a vastly easier habit to keep through all life’s convulsions, constitute my touchtones for mental well-being).
When I think of all the work I have to do to revise this terrible first draft I have on my hands, I deflate. I don’t even call it a first draft; it’s more like a negative 3rd draft. And yet, as always, I’ll just need to start where I am. That’s actually the title of one of my favorite self-help books: Start Where You Are by Pema Chodron. The first paragraph of that book literally reconfigured my world-view:
We already have everything we need. There is no need for self-improvement. All these trips that we lay on ourselves—the heavy-duty fearing that we’re bad and hoping that we’re good, the identities that we so dearly cling to, the rage, the jealousy and the addictions of all kinds—never touch our basic wealth. They are like clouds that temporarily block the sun. But all the time our warmth and brilliance are right here. This is who we really are. We are one blink of an eye away from being fully awake.
The first time I read that, I closed the book and didn’t revisit it for a year. I wasn’t ready to handle the reorientation. Sometimes freedom can feel very disturbing.
My younger sister has recently taken up reading after a 7-year hiatus. Urged by a convincing TikTok, she started with Glennon Doyle’s Untamed. Then checked out Love Warrior, then Dutch House, then Midnight Library. I showed her Goodreads (find me there! I love to see what people are reading!) and although she liked the concept of tracking her reading, seeing how “behind” she was overwhelmed her. But there is no behind, I tell her. You simply start where you are. Because if you go back all the way to Gilgamesh, you might never get beyond him.
So my sister reads another book. And I sit down another day to write, using Neil Gaiman’s brilliant strategy (you can sit here and write or you can sit here and do nothing, but you can’t sit here and do anything else).
Cheers,
Lacy
P.S. I actually feel like I’ve lately caught up on the classics via listening to Stephen Fry’s delightful book Troy: the Greek Myths Reimagined, where he tells the story infused with dialogue and humor and intelligibility. The other day, someone on television mentioned Agamemnon and I was like: I know who that is! I get that reference!! It made me feel very smart. And now I’ve queued up the other two books in Fry’s series to further my education.
P.P.S. I’m very much a novice at drawing but it brings me such raw joy. Joining Sarah Dyer’s Patreon has hugely guided my dabblings. Here’s a timed drawing I did on a live zoom with her that I’m oddly proud of:
P.P.P.S. I in no way mean to discourage reading The Epic of Gilgamesh. I once took an online Harvard course on World Literature that motivated me to read it and guided me through brilliantly. Cheers to free courses from famous colleges!