In my Introduction to Theological Reflection class, we were given a semester-long assignment, called a "focal practice." First, we were to write a short "This I Believe" essay, then create a focal practice around that belief and write ten journal entries documenting our experience with the practice.
I wrote that I believe "God is in the silence." I talked about my desire--longing, really--for space and silence. These are things I never get, because when I'm not frantically trying to finish an assignment I started after most of my classmates had finished, I'm murdering time by playing stupid online games or watching the latest episodes of my favorite TV shows on Hulu.
As for a focal practice, I don't have one. I wrote about various things I did--attempts to cook, bike rides to school--things that make my life better, but that are not necessarily related in any focal sense. Then, today, while doing a shift at Bethany's front desk, I got overwhelmed with a desire to write. So I wrote the following:
I give myself "no credit" on this assignment.
I have failed to create any kind of focal practice. My writing here is reflective of a general theme in my life, which is a vague desire to be better in some way, accompanied by nothing more than fragmented half-attempts at doing something. So I tried to make broiled whitefish once. So I put together an altar. So I've been running. Sure, all of these things connect in my crazy post-modernist understanding of life and meaning and everything, but they aren't focal. And I'm not focused.
I face the same problem with writing. I'm a writer, kind of, except I don't write. And when I do, I don't write enough. I don't write enough to break out of the forced text and cliche and into something that will actually bring meaning to my own life, let alone to other peoples' lives. In writing, I start a new project wanting to name some kind of profundity, but then the ADHD sets in and I find myself entirely incapable of narrowing my vague creative desires down into something with focus.
A few weeks ago I stumbled across a guide to making a tape-less, staple-less booklet by cutting and folding paper. So I took some scraps of paper, put them together, and wrote "confessions" on the front. And I started to write.
Of course, this project is yet another one that has no focus. No boundaries. It's not "confessions" in the sense of "forgive me, father, for I have sinned." It's a confessional. I want to say, "This is who I am. This is what I think. This is what I'm going through." And, you know, it doesn't really have to have focus. Because it's just for me. It's just a little notebook where I can scribble some things down.
So I wrote about my lack of focus. My struggles with a learning disability. My recent separation from my partner of over a year. My theology of appeasement. My inability to follow through on anything, ever. Maybe when I'm done I'll tear it up. Maybe I'll put it in a box to read when I'm fifty. But at least I'm making something.
Maybe I'm not a writer in action--at least not as much as I should be--but I am a writer in belief. I believe that through writing I can mold the disjointed events of my life into a story. I can create meaning where none was inherent. I can process the things that whiz by me when I'm too distracted to stop and deal with anything.
I think writing changes the world, but not by being famous, unless you're Karl Marx or something. Writing changes the world by providing a lens I need to experience the world. It's a change of interpretation.
Maybe this post has nothing to do with the guidelines of this focal practice assignment. But I felt like writing it.
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