Hello, writers!
I’m back from my writing retreat in Venice, which went spectacularly. The people who came were amazing, and together, we inspired the lids off each other. The tops of our souls were opened up, we looked inside each other, and we came away better for the seeing and hearing and writing we’d done. We’d write all morning and get lost in the Venice calli all afternoon and evening. The weather was perfect. Our pens were fresh and new. Our pages turned from blank to scribbled-upon. The water rose and fell and rose again, as our hearts did the same.
It was my first time leading a retreat.
I’ve done a lot of teaching, so I had that to rely on, but this was my first time being The Organizer (let’s not talk about the $11,000 wire transfer that was lost for three weeks before it was found, holy helen in a handbasin. My hair is whiter now).
And I loved every single minute of it.
Since then, though, I’ve done another writing retreat. Okay, the second one was just for one person, but she can be kind of a whiner, so I’m glad she enjoyed it. That retreat—of course—was for me. Seven days in Venice, mostly by myself, to rest, to write, and to wander. I wanted to fill the well. And boy, howdy, did I.
I got two book ideas out of it, and I filled a whole notebook. I wandered when and where I felt like it. I took notes on everything from the noise inside of my cluttered mind to the sound of the seagulls arguing over the fish market.
And every night, I’d look out the windows of my wee apartment onto the Grand Canal and think, “How did this happen to me?”
Luck, luck, nothing but luck, one voice answered me.
Hard work, another one said.
The truth is somewhere in the middle.
I’ve worked my ass off. And I’ve gotten really lucky in many, many ways.
But the one thing I know that’s been one of the biggest helps to me is this: You never feel like doing your heart’s work. (Okay, sometimes you do, but those times are very rare and can be relied on exactly as much as you rely on your Uncle Earl to not spit off the porch.)
I just watched a great TED talk on this, and the speaker says exactly what I’ve felt so many times:
We get in ruts because they’re comfortable. Auto-pilot is our default setting and it feels good. Doing something new/different is really hard.
And if you wait to feel like writing?
You won’t write.
You just won’t.
No one feels like writing. It’s hard almost every single time we sit down to do it. This very letter, in fact, I started this morning and gave up ten minutes into it. I walked the dogs, I recorded a podcast, and I took a nap before I made myself get back here to finish it.
You will not get what you want unless you make yourself move toward it.
The funny thing is, this applies to almost everything that’s outside our routine.
There was nothing I wanted more in the whole world than to lead a writing retreat in Venice. I would say it’s up there with those bucket-list items you don’t really think will ever happen to you, like sleeping in one of those clear-ceilinged hotels under the Northern Lights.
But I didn’t want to get on the plane to go. (When I was on the plane, however, I was nothing but excited.) I was overwhelmed thinking about how much work it would be. (When I was working, it was energizing, not exhausting.)
That first night, when I set out the prosecco and strawberries at our get-to-know-you meeting, I had to keep my knees locked to keep from running away. (When we were all chatting, of course, it was exciting and fun.)
I did not want to walk into our meeting room that first morning. (When we were writing together, of course, it was wonderful.)
I couldn’t wait until I felt like doing any of these things. I had to make myself. And the rewards were above anything I could have imagined.
I can’t wait until I feel like writing a book to write one. I have to make myself work, daily. Like the speaker says in TED talk linked above, we have five seconds to make that choice. Feel the impulse, move toward it within five seconds, or you’re going to slip back into your status quo.
Watch the video linked above, and see if it sparks anything for you.
When you’re done, you can watch my video-podcast of the latest How Do You Write episode, which I shot from the Venice apartment, in which I was still giddy even though I was in my last hour of being in my favorite city.
This Monday morning? Maybe don’t hit snooze on your alarm clock, or your life. Make yourself. See what happens.
Love and prosecco,
xo, Rachael