Why Simple Is Best

The 14th c. theologian William of Ockham is known for his statement, “the simplest solution is almost always the best.”

[woman looking at tree]

This is the familiar thought I’ve come to after writing a bit this morning. If I want to finally finish, I’ve got to apply it. And I’ve long been convinced that the pursuit of writing has profound lessons to teach about living, if we’d only stay and wait for the eyes of our hearts to focus.

The simplest solution in editing is usually the best. Much of my difficulty seems to come in over-complicating the subjects and dialogue. So simplifying the characters’ motives and speeches is good to think of as my main task working back through the drafted chapters. I don’t remember writing many of them, which was well over a dozen years ago now.The very first ones began arriving around 2003 and 04, not that it matters.

It also doesn’t matter if it’s this hard to write or not for others, or if complex drama is what some people prefer. My own motives and inner voices get simplified as I commit to what I’m writing. And I’m not writing it for others, or an ideal reader, or even “for an audience of one.” I’m writing it, after all, for myself. Maybe that’s selfish, and maybe I’m forgetting it’s impossible to forget God and others, but don’t they get served if I share what’s important to me? If my motive is not my own happiness or isolation or superiority, but fulfillment in some yet unrealized way, isn’t that the synthesis of God’s will for my life and my own? Simplifying means not over-complicating by looking too closely at it.

Over-complicating is what caused this work to take so long to come out in the first place. And I finally just want to accept that this call to use writing to understand my deepest self and longings is not something I initiated, it is simply received or not. I want to be done doubting and questioning that. Not to look too closely, at it but to “pay attention to my life” because of it, as Buechner says. That seems to be the position of stability from which to produce good work.

[kid in glasses]

The product is not the point; far from it. But only in letting go of over-complicating the process, and thinking too much about motive and why I’m really writing, can I unstop the words that actually could simplify my life. If I’d just let it go. Too long I’ve used the role and position of editing to distract and create scaffolding instead of getting into the mud and making the stuff to build with. That was necessary for my story too, so I don’t want to think of that with regret. And I’ve had to learn not to use these things for my own gain, to pad my ego or prove my worth. It’s taken time, simply time spent writing, processing, and yes, even producing a bit of very precious words. All of that was part of the process for me.

But if every life is a story, each one requires simplifying if we want it to speak of anything. It’s a basic lesson I somehow missed, but it was editing—the occupation of my life—that has finally convinced me of this. In slowing down, simplifying, and writing what God brings to mind each time, it feels like he’s teaching me to deeply value this work. And who am I to say who that’s for most–me or others?

It’s time to write, but now it will only involve the next thing in front of me, and nothing besides. And I think this is how I’ll make it.

“Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”

― E.L. Doctorow, Writers At Work: The Paris Review Interviews



About This Word “Bearing”

Bear·ing [ˈberiNG] NOUN –

1. a person’s composure, based on assumptions about his or her character and heritage. (synonyms: posture · comportment · carriage)
2. the level to which something can be tolerated. (synonym: endurance)

Two different types of bearing. But, I think, intimately related.

Our lives are affected by our families in ways we don’t even realize, for good or for bad. We are each either limited or actualized by the huge impact of what they did or didn’t teach us, and by what their treatment either inspired in us, or didn’t. And if we were treated poorly, the insult is often simply accepted, since it may go unnoticed or require too much to act against directly.

How many people do not stand up to love the world because they didn’t feel loved themselves? How can this common struggle be countered when their lack of belief in you convinced you not to seek greater knowledge, not to risk failure, and not to show unconditional love? Can one bear insults, accusations, even wounds well, and move forward with loving actions without some such intimate source of support?

I don’t need to belabor this. And I do think counseling is important, as is the long process of grieving serious offenses and working toward reconciliation wherever possible. But I believe the truth is, yes we can learn to bear these things. And if we truly want to improve our bearing, we must push past this common limitation and reach out in love anyway, wherever we can.

I believe this is how we learn to bear our scars well. I believe this is what bearing means. And as we apply our talents to whatever God gave us to become, we should think about how we’re coming to better understand these two definitions of bearing.

P.S. I’m currently learning a lot about “bearing” from many friends and mentors: F. Buechner (in The Remarkable Ordinary),  Dan Allender (in his online course on overcoming “Orphan, Widow, & Stranger syndrome”), Hillary McBride’s work, as well as D. Benner (in The Gift of Being Yourself). Highly recommended for anyone looking to heal from repressed struggles.

Seek Out the other path

This is the way I begin.

There’s no clear path, just a tangle of thoughts left over from the last time I didn’t do this.

Maybe this time I’ll finally remember that regular expression keeps the way forward from becoming overgrown.

One year ago we moved here, to northeast Grand Rapids, and though we’ve explored many places, we’ve never once been down to East Lake behind our house. The way is too unclear and there’s a lot to navigate through before we got there.

But that’s only one of the ways to go. There’s a clear access path just down the street we could take between the houses, and even a neighbor’s boat free to use, leaning against a tree. To others, I’m sure it seems odd we wouldn’t take such a nearby adventure.

And thinking about it now, there is very little keeping us from doing it before the afternoon sun slides south for the winter. Time passes and soon we might not even remember the little thrill of hearing we could do that anytime we want. Really? It’s not even ours…

How many of us forget there are others ways we could go? How many have lost the thread to that inner call to adventure?

The day’s duties will always dominate. The tangle of overgrown paths will easily overwhelm me. But I’m never too busy or tired or mature to seek out the other path and rekindle the spark of discovery.

All I have to do is begin again.

Returning

Charlotte heads off to eighth grade today and Ellie enjoys her last week of driver’s ed before starting her junior year next week.

I’d like to say it’s an impossibly challenging season for writing, and maybe it is. The new job barely a year old, and moving the family out to Grand Rapids, the many responsibilities of this stage. Writing has taken a backseat, for my survival. But truth: you make time for what you really want to do. And I’ve been slacking, not paying close enough attention. I haven’t written anything for days, and this month only a few journal entries. The endless pub docs and emails don’t count.

Making time is the hardest part.

When I write I have one goal. The goal here is connection. And it’s a unique type. The things I connect here become primary, finally given their due. And there’s never enough time for it, always more to be paying than I have. But the connections arrest my attention and remind me there’s nothing more important.

So really, what stops the writing? I know it’s the pressure, from outside and inside us, we have to write a certain thing in a certain way and it’s too narrow a channel for the untamed, unchosen words. I became an editor because at my core lives an imprisoned writer. He won’t, can’t accept the title.

So instead, I focus on what my heart feels connecting with other hearts, too often buried beneath whatever daily pressures to make more time, or different time. But if I let the words come and fight the loneliness in my cage, all the worthier roles and tasks are forgotten.

Thinking of these deeper, less obvious desires returns me to the real world, the more restful, more connected place I let myself be taken from too fast. There are so many connections there—to memories, people, and long-distant places I didn’t think I’d ever forget. Somehow time managed to cover them.

I return to that former connected place and return to myself. To home and safety. It is being saved now to me, knowing I’m not in control of my own life. I’m saved when I remember something greater is, something good and beyond anything I can do. Writing is not about making anything happen or believing the right things. It’s a simple result of remembering God is in control.

Not writing is doubt. But I can accept the struggle and invite the spirit to my cell with the words and forget my notions of all my responsibilities. Always better to acknowledge it all and see what there is to work with rather than fight against it.

I’ve been here many times before and I know it’s not that hard to make the time in the mornings, or even at lunch. It’s just scheduling. Planning. So set a goal and work at it daily. Post reminders to ensure it.

I tell myself to remember this time and do whatever it takes. The imploring has a bit of urgency I don’t let myself feel often enough probably.

Oh do it before it’s too late. It’s for your life after all.

When There’s Too Much Anxiety in Your Way to Move Forward

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It turns out I have this unconsidered theory that what’s most important is to be comfortable.

And it’s especially true with huge challenges like writing.

One more cup of coffee, I think. Then maybe I’ll be in the zone….

There’s no coffee mug big enough for me. Or coffee hot enough, tasty enough, fresh enough. And soon, the way the perfect light hits the perfect spot on the floor has stolen 5 full minutes of my writing time. It’s not “wasted” time; actually it’s helped me recharge and get my thoughts in order. But it hasn’t gotten words on the page. And there’s a difference between taking a moment to appreciate the light, and stalling out.

Just keep showing up, I think, against all opposition. I was even geared up about it, or so I thought, seeking the answer to something, a recent idea I wanted to capture. So I came early before the day’s work because I know this is the way I work: the day must start here. So just get it down before anything else.

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But I’ve hit a wall and it’s a slog. I’m trying hard to remember the question I had, and it’s not there.

Just press on. You know writing isn’t always easy or comfortable. But when I get in this head space, there’s no denying it: my writing time for the day is slipping away.

There’s too much to do to waste this time, too many tasks and none of them can be rescheduled. The recent sweeping changes have created several places of real need and that’s led to some anxiety and overwhelm. We knew the move to Michigan would be fairly difficult, but the house has needed a lot of help and leaving our friends and family behind in Portland has been harder than we even expected. Bottom line, it’s become uncomfortable.

God knows I need challenges to push me out of my comfortable or nothing changes. I like to think I welcome change and even handle it well. But the truth is I fear it, and in most situations it’s something I resist—

What’s that? You want to introduce something new into my carefully circumscribed life here? Uh, no thank you. I’m good. Move along, please—

When I’m uncomfortable, I just want it to stop as soon as possible. Pain or struggle is evil and needs to be alleviated. It’s not useful for my good. How many times have I heard this truth espoused, and yet still I fight desperately to resist it?

I fight the truth, and I make myself uncomfortable in the process. I make myself uncomfortable in order to stay comfortable.

Which is insane.

We’ve all got to choose to respond to life’s inevitable challenges. Doing nothing is not a choice because doing nothing is still a choice. Believe it or not, accept it or not, life will change on you. Your only choice is how to respond. And when I respond by letting go of what I thought I needed, I’ll find a deeper comfort.

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I have to stand up and walk toward the window, face the light to get a hold of it, the thought comes in such a burst. But letting go of what I previously needed for comfort may be somehow the only way I’ll regain the sense that I’m safe and sound, that things are in control.

Because it will no longer depend on my own efforts to hold on to what I think I need.

In this life, nothing is what it seems. The greatest teacher was right: you have to give up your comfort in order to save it.

I haven’t fully figured this out yet, but I want to believe this. And maybe that’s enough for now. I can feel the release of it coursing through my body, holding me up, and convincing me it’ll be okay despite what it seems.

Accept the responsibility, choose to let go here and now, and you preserve your deeper freedom. You may not get to writing down words today, but there’s tomorrow and if God allows it, the next day.

There’s good, even when things look bad. The truth is always there just waiting to be acknowledged and accepted.

And surrendered to.

Am I required to do or to share anything else? Or is just living this simple truth today enough?

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And maybe next time I’ll remember this sooner, accept it more readily. When discomfort comes, can I surrender to it to keep my deeper comfort?

Only one way to find out, I guess.

“If only we try to live sincerely, it will go well with us, even though we are certain to experience real sorrow, and great disappointments, and will also probably commit great faults and do wrong things. But it certainly is true that it is better to be high-spirited—even though one makes more mistakes—than to be narrow-minded and all too prudent. It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength; and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much; and what is done in love, is well done.” – Vincent Van Gogh, (from Dear Theo: The Autobiography of Vincent Van Gogh (Plume, 1995)

For the deeper, greater, and higher purpose,

 

Mick