When I notice a message or admonition in at least three places, I pay attention. If there is a fourth place that comes to the fore, then I must share it with you, because it must be important, right? This particular nugget of wisdom was touted by two of my favorite writers, a character in one of my favorite new television series, and was reinforced by a billboard that has been up by highway I-20 heading into South Carolina since before the pandemic started. Is that enough variety and credibility for you?
The gist of it is this. If you want to keep doing what you do in here, then you are going to have to spend some time out there. What do I mean by this?
Are you a writer of prose, poetry, blogposts or biweekly newspaper columns? It is tempting to think that if you sit in a quiet space, an office perhaps, or an alcove in your home, or at a tiny table in the neighborhood Starbucks that the next great American novel will spill forth from your computer keyboard or the next personal essay for the New York Times will miraculously craft itself from the space between your ears. Not so, Sportsfans. (That’s your first clue as to one of the writers that said this in their own writings that charged others with getting out into the world and experiencing things, which then could become fodder for their yellow legal pad prose creations.) If you want to write things that people want to read, then you have to experience life, feel things, lose things, be hurt, be deliriously happy, fall in love, or be fired from your fifth job. People get that. They read what you write and they say, yeah, yeah, he gets me. He understands my life. He has been there. You cannot sit in silence, in solitude, in your own pious serenity, and write things that move people. It’s near impossible.
The first writer I have loved to read, Pat Conroy, he of The Prince of Tides fame, said this in his Conroy at 70 celebration at USC-Beaufort when he was just months shy of his death from pancreatic cancer. He said that his time out amongst the people, his beloved fans, his friends, his family (dysfunctional as they surely were) were the times that he loved the most, the thing that he loved the most about “my writing life”. He went out and solicited thousands of personal stories from people he knew and people he had just met, and he relished hearing the tales, drinking them in, digesting them, then using them to fuel the ideas that lead to The Boo, Beach Music, and My Losing Season. My other long time favorite writer, Stephen King, used his observations about what makes us terrified to craft works such as The Shining, Christine, The Stand , and It. Having visited one of the hotels in Colorado that was used as one of the settings for the Overlook Hotel, driven old cars and read about John Wayne Gacy, I get how he could draw me into a novel with mundane places, circus clowns and events, and then scare the pants off me. Real life is scary. Real horror writers like King make it terrifying. But they do not do it in a vacuum. King got out there, talked with people, took walks and paid attention.
Do you cook? Do you create casseroles that smell delicious or desserts that make others come back for thirds, not seconds? Do all of your recipes come from your own head? Highly doubtful. One of the Danish chefs in an episode of The Bear on Hulu said that getting out there and taking some knocks made him a better culinary artist. He could not create in his kitchen without having experienced life, failed many times and tried many variations on dishes that became masterpieces.
Do you like outdoor sports? Do you race cars, fly airplanes, run cross country races, or ride your bicycle across Holland between acres and acres of brightly colored tulips? (Yes, we did, in April of this year, and it was glorious!) Now, I used to really enjoy Microsoft Flight Simulator in my youth, but you would not want me to pilot your flight to San Diego. You might be able to learn everything about racing cars and professional ovals from YouTube and fancy yourself a driver. Like the South Carolina billboard that I have driven by hundreds of times touts, you must get out there and shoot some clay pigeons, bring down some targets and get good at shooting flying targets, something that it is impossible to do by reading about it.
I have posted this column before, but I thought I would revisit it. Why and how does it fit in to what my patients taught me? They have always been very good barometers of what is going on in the world around them. Even those with the worst, most paralyzing anxiety or the most egregious psychotic symptoms can usually read a room. The problem? They don’t like to enter that room. Many of my patients do not like to visit with family, go to the grocery store or attend a birthday party. They do not go out to the movies. They do not socialize at all, preferring to stay at home, sometimes literally doing nothing but sitting in a chair staring at the four walls. I have often found this hard to believe, but I have heard it from too many people too many times to think that it is not true. One of my patients who suffered from debilitating panic attacks summed it up quite nicely in the waning days of the COVID-19 pandemic. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” she said, a wan smile on her face. “I don’t mind the pandemic, having to isolate, staying at home by myself, wearing a mask, any of it.” “Why not,” I asked, genuinely curious. “Because,” she said, looking up at me, “now all of you know exactly how I feel every day of my life.”
We lost something during the pandemic, and I fear that it persists to this day. We lost our spontaneity, our drive to try new things and re-discover old things that once brought us joy. I fear that it is much easier for us to X-Box than to experience. It is easier for us to channel surf than surf a real wave. It is easier for us to Door Dash than it is to dash next door to meet our neighbors and chat. We sorely need to make music and write poetry and cook wonderful dinners and make wonderful charcoal sketches, but once again, I will tell you the gist of it.
If you want to keep doing what you do in here, you are going to have to spend some time out there.