Don't Try Something New

I discovered an old notebook last week.

I found it in my blue memory box. The box was covered in a thick layer of dust, and I had to resist the strong urge to blow that dust off like they do in the movies.

Sitting on the floor with my notebook, I opened a random page and found lots of scribbly handwriting in blue ink. I had used the notebook for practicing Object Writing.

Every morning, I would set a timer to 10 minutes and choose a random object to describe in as much detail as possible through my senses:

Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, body, and motion.

(The body sense is like the feeling of your stomach rumbling of hunger, and the motion sense is like dancing through a room trying to avoid bumping into others.)

If you write only through your senses – if you “show don’t tell” – your readers make your writing about themselves.

You describe old trees swaying in the wind and filling the forest like a cathedral with their fruity smell, with the same wind tickling your face and stroking your hair, and tiny birds chirping merrily above your head.

When you describe it like this, it’s like you're there.

I’ve written my last entry in October 2021, almost one and a half year ago. After that, I had stopped.

Sitting on the floor with my notebook, I found this to be exceptionally sad. I remember being overwhelmingly happy during the writing sessions, and some of the writing I found was just delightful.

I’m now doing the exercise again. This type of writing gives me so much pleasure that it’s one of the highlights of my day. And I get to do it first thing in the morning!

Sometimes it’s not about trying something new.

It could likewise be about rediscovering something precious from the past.

This is an excerpt of a post on Mental Garden, a regular newsletter designed to help you become a better human through guided introspections. Read the full post and sign up now.