Modeling the Writer's Way
Centering our own writing helps others center theirs.
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TODAY'S NEWSLETTER
Yoga isn’t a competition. It’s a practice. I know. I know.
Whatever goes on on the mat next to mine—every pose, every grunt, every bead of sweat—is none of my business.
But if yoga were a competition, Alan would win.
Alan and I have been practicing yoga next to each other at our hot yoga studio roughly twice a week for the past two years. He is a machine: totally and completely ripped, so clearly in tune with his body. One night, I looked over at his mat thinking he was holding a forearm plank, but then I noticed his legs were fully above him. Until that moment, I wasn’t aware that a forearm handstand was a thing any human body was capable of doing. I’m lucky if I can get a full bind in extended side angle.
It’s a practice, not a competition.
It’s not a competition, but a practice.
Of course. I know. I know. And when I notice what Alan is doing, I don’t feel competitive. I feel inspired.
One of the things I adore most about Alan, though, has nothing to do with his incredible flexibility and strength. It’s the fact that, the entire time he is on his mat, he is smiling. Not a passive little grin, but a full-on smile with teeth. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it.
Another thing I adore about him: he always wants to practice next to me. As in, if he gets to class before I do, he’ll set his towel on the wood floor beside his mat, gingerly saving me a spot.
At first, the gesture stunned me. Because why would a yoga superstar like Alan want to practice beside a normie like me?
A few months ago, I went fishing for the reason. After savasana, and after our final om, we were wiping down our sweat-covered mats. I told him, “Alan, I love practicing next to you, and I appreciate that you don’t hate practicing next to me.”
“How could I hate practicing next to you?” he asked. Then, he said, “I love your breath."
My breath? I thought. I asked, “What do you mean?”
“You always remind me to breathe,” he said.
This was the moment when I learned that I am a loud breather. I think it’s because I once heard a yoga teacher describe ujjayi—that constriction at the back of the throat when we breathe—as “the sound of a churning sea.” I liked the visual: an entire ocean crashing in my throat and nose and chest. All those waves. All those crests and troughs.
Just like Alan doesn’t realize he’s smiling, I didn’t notice how deeply I was breathing. All I know is: I love that the breath is the whole point of yoga. Unlike meditation, where stillness is the move, in yoga, we connect breath with movement. They’re dance partners. When they’re in sync, everything opens up.
Alan inspires me to deepen my poses. And I, apparently, inspire him to deepen his breath. We, too, are sort of dance partners.
I move through the world so often thinking I have little to offer. And then a shining star like Alan comes along and saves a spot for me in a crowded hot yoga studio, even in the resolution hellscape known as JANUARY. And twice a week, I get a front-row seat to Alan’s graceful acrobatics and bright smile.
All because I breathe the way I breathe.
Last week, I had a meeting with one of my clients, who’s a prominent writer and literary figure. I’ve been helping her with her social platforms and newsletter for the past six months. Last week, I shared with her that I left social media and am only using Substack as a newsletter hosting service, no longer utilizing functions like Notes and Chat. I felt nervous sharing this: I really enjoy working for her and worried that my movement away from platforms would put me out of a job.
Instead, she perked up. She was curious. She had questions. She, too, was tired of the endless grasp for audience growth.
At the end of the call, she decided to hit pause on the work we were doing together for a few months, but not because she felt I was no longer relevant to her after leaving social media. She wanted to pause in order to rethink her own use of the platforms.
She was claiming space to consider leaving, too.
“I think of you as a cultural bellwether,” she told me. “I see you as a leading indicator,” she went on, “not a lagging one.” Compliment of the century. Total affirmation of the hard work I’ve been doing to re-align.
She heard the sound of my breath. Her response was to take a moment to listen for her own.
When we’re in alignment with ourselves, in touch with every breath, other people notice.
Last week, I interviewed Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, for The Creative Independent. (More on this soon, because wow wow wow, I can’t believe I got to talk to such a legend.) During our conversation, Cameron reminded me of the importance of doing our own work in order to help others with theirs.
Doing so, Cameron told me, allows us to give from a practice standpoint rather than a theoretical standpoint. It enables us to model the craft.
Doing our own thing can be the thing that is most helpful to others. By writing, by making art, you are showing others that it is an absolutely okay thing to claim space for their own work. This is especially important to keep in mind during These Times™️. The changes unfolding in the United States could make our writing time harder to come by, harder to have the energy for when we finally do find it.
But when you do claim space for your writing, it gives others permission to do the same. You remind them to re-align. You remind them to breathe.
Here are three things I’ve been reading and loving lately.
1) this essay about perseverance in writing, via Electric Literature. This sentence in particular shook me:
“I’ve simply learned that I am in trouble when I pursue something I do not need as if I need it.”
In leaving social media and initiating a long-term spending ban on certain items, I have been reckoning with questions of enoughness. How much of an audience is enough? How much money? And this essay really grapples with the question: how much success in our writing lives is enough?
2) The Art of Frugal Hedonism by Annie Raser-Rowland and Adam Grubb. File under: things I’m reading because of my spending ban. This book shines a light on life’s simple pleasures in a way that feels both fresh and scrumptious. One of the best cases of financial reframing I’ve ever read.
3) Matilda by Roald Dahl, read by the inimitable Kate Winslet. Matilda is one of my favorite movies, and I recently realized in horror that I’ve never read the book! I’ve been putting the audiobook on while drawing on my iPad, a nourishing practice I’ve returned to since leaving social media.
COMING SOON (AND A SURVEY!)
Later this month, I will host a week of early morning writing sessions for paid subscribers of this newsletter. Details coming soon!
Paid subscribers also get 10% off all of my classes and workshops. I’m currently in the planning stages of new offerings and would love your input ↴
ONE LAST THING
Your girl is the face of the Jacksonville Public Library’s Jax Stacks Reading Challenge!
If you’re here in the Bold New City of the South, read along with me. First, you’ll need a library card: you can get one for free here.
"I move through the world so often thinking I have little to offer." Holy cow! The message from your class students (like me in your recent "Grow Your Books" workshop) doesn't seem to be getting through to you. Your work with us is not only improving the books we are writing; your approach and feedback is making us better writers. If it weren't for you, I would have given up on my book long ago. You have helped me believe in it and in myself, even when I had to change direction on it recently. Thank you, Hurley!
LOOK AT YOU! Those curls! Those glasses! That Katie Cotugno book!
But also, look at you directing the flow of your own energies and learning how to circulate them to support not only your own writing, but also the creative work in your community. How glad I am to be part of that community! How excited I am to see what the future holds for you!
Give my deepest affections to the Bold New City of the South.