War and Peace

When I was in middle school, I’d sometimes find myself sitting in math class with a sheet of long division in front of me. I was the sort of boy who wanted to get good grades and generally receive his teacher’s approval. There was no question as to whether I was going to complete the math problems before the end of class; and there was also no question that I wanted to get every problem right, though inevitably I’d miss a few.

This did not mean, however, that I wanted to do the math problems – by which I mean, given a choice between long division and playing football or watching television or listening music, I’d choose any of the latter every time. There was nothing in me other than a desire to do what I believed I was supposed to that was drawn to this work. But if you’re going to do something, then you can’t fight it. School definitely taught me that. Everything goes better when you drop whatever resistance you have to doing it. And it turns out, doing a lot of long division isn’t such a horrible way to spend thirty minutes if you aren’t wishing you were doing something else the entire time.

It's also important to notice what you would have rather done instead. It’s easy to fall into the habit of living your whole life forever wishing for something better, feeling within you the ember of desire and telling yourself that that’s all you’ll ever get, that you can’t hope for more, that you need to be realistic, that you shouldn’t take chances. Here is where a sheet of long division can help you as well. All our fear, all our supposed reasons for not writing the book we want to write or leaving the job we never enjoyed, is just resistance. We can resist even what we want.

I have found that dropping my resistance to spending a Saturday afternoon doing my taxes or a Tuesday morning finishing a book proposal always delivers the same feeling of relief. The fight is exhausting. If you want to write, then there’s no fighting allowed. There’s always a little relief every time I finish a sentence that belongs in my story. You’d think after all the sentences I’ve written, the fight would be over once and for all. Apparently not. Peace or war remain a choice I must make again and again, a contest I’m living in which surrender always means victory.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com