Call it being contrary—and I can exhibit the quality—but I make it a point to say good morning to the people I meet during my early morning runs. They are few and far between and typically have ear buds in their ears, but I still make eye contact and at least tip my head in greeting. It’s a way to force myself outside my comfort zone and to seek an encounter.
A similar application can be made to the writing life. If I spend all my time in introspection and writing—the proverbial ear buds—the work will suffer. Writing requires vibrancy, and that means engaging with the world in which I live. I can’t keep myself and the work in some isolation chamber.
I must instead say good morning. I interact with people, even the people who would only be too happy to be left to whatever beat fills their ears and minds. I listen to their stories. I let the conversations drift around me and pick out phrases and words that resonate. I read and read and read. I let the words settle within me. I hold onto them, make them my own. I study the style, let it infiltrate my work. It matures.
It’s a self-centered reason for saying good morning, but an other-centered one exists. By entering my own and other people’s experiences, I become better able to empathize. I know what words to say because I’m saying them to myself. I am not reaching out with some moral platitude or bootstraps message; I’m in the pit or on the pinnacle with people. I can say, “I’ll stay with you. I’ll wait with you in darkness and light.”
I can do that because I brave saying good morning. I say the words, and the world with all its aches and pain and beauty and wonder envelop me. I feel that world. I express it. I offer words that someone possibly needs to hear, and I do it because I choose, every day, to be a better writer. I say good morning to everyone I meet.
Image: Alosh Bennett (Creative Commons)