Journalling without the mental block
I write regularly. This helps me clear my thoughts. I understand myself better. Each time I expound on a given theme, I deepen all the mental paths that lead to it. This is exactly how it works in the physical world around us: the more we tread a path, the denser the soil gets and thus no vegetation grows there. The path becomes clear. The absence of plants is a metaphor for the clarity of concept we have achieved and the ease with which we can access it.
Writing makes me feel calm. It removes all concerns and distractions. This is a consequence of focusing on the task at hand. While elaborating on this essay, I cannot also process with equal effectiveness all other stimuli that demand attention. Irrelevant thoughts I could otherwise entertain are pushed to the side. I cannot pull them to the centre of my conscience while also trying to make this blog entry happen. In other words, I benefit from the fact that I am not good at multitasking: I just do one thing well, which is to produce this sequence of letters.
Doing this also puts me in control. I slow down my experience to a pace that is natural for my current activity. When I am exposed to, say, the news cycle, I sense that the information world is speeding away from me. Everything changes so fast, I cannot keep up with it, and I either surrender to constant distraction or feel stressed and disempowered. When I write or, generally, when I proceed out of my initiative, I maintain my balance. My poise is perfect. My progress inexorable.
I can find other good reasons to write, such as to keep a record of the little things that happen to me on a daily basis. Personally, I do not take note of the trivia, such as what I ate earlier or all the details that kept me busy. I prefer to capture impressions. Those are the abstractions I derive from multiple phenomena. I discern in them that which they have in common, as it was imprinted in my mind.
Whether one chooses to be detail-oriented or not is secondary to the function of a journal as a device for retrospection. We have data points that help us piece together a narrative of our life as it was happening.
The contents of one’s journal are largely irrelevant, so long as they experience at least some of the aforementioned. My journalling is mostly philosophy without the overthinking. It reveals an integral part of my personality. I like sincerity and the ordinary lad. Anything that looks or sounds deep and expects subordination ultimately fails to amuse me. Think of the dog who will pee at the tire of a cheap motorcycle and a luxurious car with equal disregard for social sensitivities and role-playing. Once you get that picture in your head, you gain insight into my worldview: when something is shallow, I do not treat it as if it is profound.
The point of journalling is to create an outlet for honesty. I happen to publish almost all of my writings (except those that contain details of people and places). I do this because it is “hard mode” at the emotional level and I have a highly competitive side that I need to keep happy. Journal entries will typically be private. The outlet for honesty is thus safe: nobody should know what you believe about yourself, what you feel in those moments, and so on.
No matter the specifics, the key is to gradually develop a habit of writing with regularity. In this regard, quantity beats quality. Focus on expressing as much as you can, with a frequency that is high yet sustainable (doing too much too quickly will not last long). In a similar spirit, try to write without succumbing to perfectionism. Let the typos stay there and keep things close to their original form. Your mistakes are a reminder of your imperfection. They keep you honest and grounded.
Which brings us to the heart of the issue: writing is hard. If you have never done it before, you may underestimate how difficult it is to put your thoughts in a coherent order. It is even harder to arrange them in a manner that is both enjoyable and informative or persuasive. The best pieces of writing are those that inspire us to become a better version of who we are. We may say that they touch our soul in what might as well be pure magic. The rest we forget about.
As a beginner, you should not have high hopes about the quality of your output. It will be awkward and clumsy. This is fine. Think of the baby that makes its first steps. It lacks grace in its motions. Do not feel ashamed that your baby steps are sloppy. This is nature: it just is. To judge your preliminary works as “bad” it is to misunderstand them.
What should I be writing about? This is a question whose answer will change depending on your experience. In day one, the only answer that should compel you into action is “anything; just write about anything you feel like”. This too may be vague though, so let me tell you how I did it.
When I experienced the mental block many years ago I pictured the following scenario: I am in the middle of nowhere and am asking where should I go, but I have not even taken the time to describe what is around me. I am looking too far ahead while completely ignoring whatever is in front of me. In other words, my priority should be to identify what my immediate condition is. I must be able to describe my surroundings. Once I have situational awareness, I can broaden the scope to cover a few metres further away from where I stand. And then I will slowly move around, to cautiously explore the space. After every few steps, I will repeat the exercise of acquainting myself with my milieu. Eventually, I will grow in confidence to quickly understand what is happening and to easily relocate without jeopardising my safety.
This scenario helped me understand that before figuring out what I wanted to focus on, I needed to appreciate the circumstances I was operating in. Otherwise I could not anticipate the next steps and get a sense of whether my longer-term goals were realistic.
Concretely, you should write about anything that comes to mind. The easiest, I think, is to describe how you feel right now, what is in your vicinity, how your day went, and the like. Imagine someone you care about calls you on the phone and asks you how was your day: you will say more than one sentence, right? Then do the same with your journal entries: report on what is happening, however inadequate the delivery is.
Once you practice this for long enough, e.g. for six months, you can start adding comments on the more technical or specialised topics that are of interest to you. If, for example, you wish to one day have a blog about programming, you can introduce an aside on, say, Emacs Lisp, and then connect it to something that is part of the immediate reality you have been journalling about. Remember that you are still reporting on things to someone who is not exactly like you, so you want to stay away from the technicalities. You are not writing a paper for an academic audience. Keep it simple.
From the next paragraph onward I provide an example which is true to the spirit of my original entries. My style back then was different. Words did not come as easily as they do now and each statement was unrefined. Still, this example is how I made the breakthrough. Use it as inspiration to get into the habit of writing. Do not worry if expressions do not flow as easily as you would like. Also, do not make the mistake of judging your text too harshly: you are not competing for any award at this stage. Just write and focus on the basic power of consistency. Consistency brings forward the best version of yourself in whatever you are committed to. Do it slow and steady. Be a turtle, if that is what it takes to get to your destination. Check the example below and good luck with everything!
I have been meaning to write for a long time now. But whenever I sit down to express my thoughts, I blank. Even though I have all sorts of ideas, there are no words to explain them. I do not know what to do about it. So I am admitting to my failure. I came here to write something grand and instead I am sharing how powerless I am in the face of a mental block.
Perhaps I am like those lonely guests I used to serve five minutes into my night shift, which would start at 16:00. I would open the bar and make preparations for the super busy hours ahead. Work would start in earnest at around 18:00 and would peak between 21:00 and midnight. Those guys, universally men, would be there all alone. There was no music playing. Not knowing what to do, they would order a pint of lager and just hang at the bar. Sometimes they would chat with me for a while, though not for long enough as I had all sorts of tasks to tend to.
So here I am now. I arrived at the bar and it is too early for party time. I could go back home, else quit, though that would probably be even more boring than just riding it out here. Sure, itt will be awkward for a little while. This is just in my head, anyway. Except I am not at a bar, but in my own room, sitting in front of the computer, trying to write my first journal entry while blanking on what to cover.
Not knowing what to do, I shall describe whatever is around me and take it from there. It is nighttime. I have the room’s light switched on. My monitor’s brightness is set to a low level. I adjust it depending on the environmental light. During the day I increase it and will set it to the maximum if there is direct sunlight.
I am writing this in Emacs. My font size is set to a face :height of
100. This is the Emacs equivalent of 10pt that other programs use.
When I do video calls I increase it to 180 to make it easier for
others to follow what I am demonstrating. Otherwise I prefer this
relatively low value.
My desktop computer is fairly loud. I have not done enough research into the hardware parts. My suspicion is that the fans are too noisy. I imagine there are silent options out there. Those might be more expensive. I may check them out in the future, though this is not a priority. All I am doing here is describing what is happening around me.
Local time is close to 23:00. I have been active from the early morning hours. Today was cloudy again. It will remain like this for the whole week. There will hopefully be plenty of rainfall. The more the better.
The dogs are asleep. We did our usual long walk in the mountains. They ran around and expended all their energy. I am happy to be with them every day, care for them, and set them up for success.
Even though it is late in the day, I still have the energy to keep going. My teammates at the local football club used to call me “the dog”. If you have ever tried to dribble past a dog you know exactly what that nickname is about. I would hound my opponents for the full 90 minutes as if my life depended on it. Playing with me in midfield was fun because I would do all the dirty work while you would engage in glamorous tricks.
Now I am more into nerdy endeavours with Emacs and free software, while I still have the same levels of physical activity. I am not the typical nerd. I did not grow up with computers. Tabletop games are still alien to me. And, yes, mathematics is not my strong point. But I am learning and am having fun.
I guess I also am not your typical intellectual either. I read stories about famous thinkers, for example, only to realise that I am nothing like them. They have these fabulous experiences that befit their genius. At the age of 5 they were versed in the Socratic dialogues, at 12 they had compiled their first collection of poems, and at 15 they were studying at some prestigious college. Me at 5 I was turning my grandparents’ furniture upside down. At 12 I was playing around in the mud and at 15 I was picking fights with lads twice my age on football fields made out of gravel.
Somehow I ended up here. Writing is a means of self-actualisation. What you see here is an example of snippets of thought that pertain to my immediate reality. I do not experience a mental block anymore. Whenever I did, I would circumvent it by reporting on my day’s trivialities.