18,982 words – give or take.
For a year I’ve tried this small artistic and mindful practice of writing fifty-two words every day. The math says I should have written 18,980 words, but I know I had at least one day where I snuck in two extra words (I was making references to a deck of cards and added the two jokers). I also rely on Word to tell me how many words I’ve written and I know that sometime it will do things like count a dash as a word. I tried to make sure those things didn’t happen. During this project, I’ve written far more than 18,982 words. I edited quite a few of them out and had several days where I made more than one attempt. I only cheated a handful of times – by which I mean I wrote it one day, maybe on my phone or maybe late at night, and didn’t post it until the next morning. In that regard it was a practice in both fidelity and flexibility, discipline and forgiveness. On most days, I wrote a straight-forward observation (sky, bird, moon) but on some days I was sleepy, tipsy, or in a dream-like state and things were less coherent.
As I’m sitting here this morning, a little after 5am, I’m caught between reflection on this past year of practice and wondering what I should do next. I feel a slight obligation to sum up – as though some wise lessons should have been gleaned from having done this. And yet… no real wisdom lingers. There isn’t a major sense of accomplishment or any ah-ha epiphany jumping out from the foggy alleys of recollection. Just the obvious: practice paying attention, slow down for a few minutes at some point during the day, listen to your thinking, use your senses (and learn when they are sharp or dull), use form or limitations to your advantage. As for what’s next, I’m not sure. I could choose a different number of words. I could make it more specific, more thematic, or pursue a daily affirmation – though I don’t think I could be that positive every day. I could just roll it into another year.
Where I’ll give myself props is in the discipline. As a person who likes beginnings, as a person who prefers gestation to execution, I’m glad I stuck with it for a year. There were days, usually later at night, where I just stared at the wall and told myself, “I got nothin.'” Where I’ll be critical is that I know I rely too heavily on sight and sound for how I observe the world. I seldom incorporate smell, taste, or touch – and of those three, taste seems to be the most limiting in its vocabulary. Where I’m left questioning is whether or not this helped or hindered other writing. Would my time have been better spent if I had committed it to writing a poem every day? Though honestly, that type of reflection serves little purpose – it’s done. The time was spent. A practice was established.
It’s been a year. I’ve written some words. I plan to write more. Maybe I’ll share those too.