As I work on my book this summer, I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to write—what it means, that is, to sit with one's own mind long enough to encounter both its abundance and its emptiness. It's been an onerous few writing weeks of learning to let go of parts of the book that are not working—work that suddenly became liberating when I realized I could just lean ito the parts I like ad stop worryig about, or even including, the parts I didn't. Still, there is a this profound sense of heavy lifting and real uncertainty when you are at the point of a book where meaning has not yet taken shape.
Still, there is a this profound sense of heavy lifting and real uncertainty when you are at the point of a book where meaning has not yet taken shape. It's a place I find really painful to inhabit , and yet, paradoxically, I know I often need to go through it to get to real insight.