"So how to establish writing as a practice? Try to think about your project every day for at least for 15 minutes. Try to structure reading around what you are trying to write through—everything from philosophy and theory books to works that give you permission to be totally brave in your own work, to voluptuous and strange modes of research. Keep a notebook. Keep many notebooks. Be serious and particular about notebooks. Keep a daily journal as one of the notebooks—and see what of your project you begin to circle around in that dailiness. Title your project, treat it like a country or landscape you desire desperately to visit. Eventually, think about outlining, structure, how to write into it. Write tiny playful texts that have nothing to do with your larger project, write them in the margins of the notebook, and gather them up, and feel pleased and proud with how wonderful they are. Try to gather up time and space and solitude as much as possible, at night, on the weekends, even a week vacation if possible or a day to work on the project when it gets into a more advanced stage, when it’s possible to start adding words to the document. For that is what writing and art is—time—and it takes time, and it’s about both existing in the day and somehow transcending it."
"I’ve learned over time that keeping most of my thoughts, experiences, and ideas to myself and my close friends as they happen, instead of sharing them with the internet constantly—that helps them remain special."
Jung said about the spiral:
The spiral in psychology means that when you make a spiral you always come over the same point where you have been before, but never really the same, it is above or below, inside, outside, so it means growth (Jung 5, p. 21).
I’m interested in the possibility of a redemptive intimacy developing between strangers who agree to enter a relationship — not necessarily romantic — premised on unvarnished and intentional truth telling about our traumas and fears from the conception of the series of interactions. To turn inward and reveal who we really are and what we need in this moment, almost like descending from the mountaintop rather than climbing up it. The descent requires its own form of acclimatisation and is not to be underestimated. It’s intriguing to me then: working backwards from the most fundamental parts about me rather than trading high school anecdotes and much later, perhaps, the first instance of violence. I am also curious about how an awareness of a relationship being framed as an experiment impacts or directs the interactions that unfold. What festers at the root might be this: By removing judgment, do we create atmospheres ripe for flourishing? By laying out margins for trial and error from the outset, simple human flaw, do we craft a different type of relationship... one that is unthreatened and worthwhile? I want to disrupt the linearity of the ways we can relate to each other.
How does a shared history with people from formative periods of our lives impact the people we are trying to become now? Can personal links to that actually hinder the healing process and cloud present judgment based on the past? My recent self-examination has circled around freeing myself from my own past and baggage and whether embarking on that is as simple as a resilient mindset. I have often felt more freedom with the stranger, the person who has no direct connection to my histories: the places I have lived, my parents and friends, school and college. Inaccurate reputations and yes, past lovers. Maybe this freedom arises because there is no element of obligation nor expectation nor fear — no judgment and at least initially, caring about whether they like me or not. This allows me to be painfully honest. What if we could say to each other: I want to enter a mutual process of deconstruction with you, starting with the things I am most ashamed of.
Could we help each other grow sustainably? Let’s break away from the immediate gratification of certain connections and instead cultivate joy, healing, connection — free from attachment?