& Sit Down & Write This

21 November 2013
1:51 pm

T. —

I’ve had a great day so far. My good mood extended into this morning, and I met up with a friend for a writing session. We’re both working on projects, and as you know, it’s great to write with company. We worked for 2 hours this morning and set up two more sessions. I couldn’t believe that I wrote two new poems, and revised a few more in such a short span of time. I’m feeling so productive.

Hanging up laundry, washing the dishes, then heading out to have coffee in the afternoon with another friend. I’m looking forward to keeping the good vibes. I was thinking this morning how can I talk about what’s not working, when so much is working so well? Then I remembered there are two sides to every transition: the new habits that fulfil us, and the older ones that gave us limits.

What didn’t work:

Wasting time. Worry. Carrying too much of old habits. Forgetting that things change. Resisting new movement. Laziness, worry, regret. Misunderstanding, dishonesty. Not having the conversation because it intimidates me. Being afraid without a damn good reason. Not trying. Giving up.

Do you know the Valtari Mystery Film Experiment Sigur Ros conducted? It’s pretty phenomenal, and I haven’t even watched them all yet.


I meant to finish this before I left for afternoon coffee, but it slipped through. I hope what you say is right: that even though these letters don’t greet the morning, they might at least be better, a little fuller than the consigned letters that sigh and shy away from anything of depth or immense honesty.

I can honestly say, I feel alive. And things are getting done. And I’m just letting them be what they are. Which feels pretty spectacular.

I want to share this poem, for the day, for my coffee companions, for my deep friends who know me best, of whom you are one. But I’ll just link to it instead of sharing it here, because there’s no way the formatting would come out right, which is part of its charm.

What to do…

take a walk, then,/across this town. It’s a pleasure/to meet one certain person you’ve been counting on/to take your measure/who will smile, & love you, sweetly, at your leisure./And if/she turns your head around/like any other man,/go home/and make yourself a sandwich/of toasted bread, & ham/with butter/lots of it/& have a diet cola,

& sit down
& write this,
                        because you can.

Reminds me, too, of my favorite Dunn:

You who are one of them, say that I loved
my companions most of all.
In all sincerity, say they provided
a better way to be alone.

A Postmortem Guide, Stephen Dunn

What a wonderful way to live and be loved.

Good morning-ish,


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