Writing is an interior activity. While our eyes hands and fingers do the writing, the content is part of our internal existence.
Writing is an intense activity. Whether we are researching, writing, or editing, our focus is keen: we inhabit the world we are creating with all our focus, becoming unaware of the things that are happening around us.
Such an interior and intense activity requires downtime. If we stay in that place too long, we lose perspective. We could even experience burnout. Sometimes the space we need is brief: we go for a walk, we eat lunch, we do some unrelated task, or perhaps we just get up and stretch for a moment.
Sometimes our writing activity requires a longer break. After I write a first draft, I set it aside for a week or more. It’s always inspiring how the distance of a week brings new perspectives and clarity.
When I’m aboard my boat, The first thing I do when I get up is take a shot of orange juice and then walk for 20 minutes on the beach. I don’t take my phone, and I work to stay in the moment and pay attention to the marine world around me. The feel of the sand beneath my feet. The sound of that pounding or rolling surf, the shape of the waves and the pattern of the seaweed, shells, and stones that have washed ashore. The smell of the salty sea air and thalassic flora and fauna.
Each morning is different. The power and curl of the breaks, The arrangement of the artifacts that have washed ashore. The number and type of birds, the temperature, the breeze, the atmosphere.
As I draw near the water, I greet a man who is there every day with his three Labrador Retrievers. He says good morning, and we might chat for a bit. I continue my walk down the beach, tossing a tennis ball for the dogs on my way out. I stand and let the waves wash over my feet, the cold Pacific waters connecting me with faraway shores. I turned back, throw the ball a bit more for the dogs, tell my beach friends to have a good day, and head back to my boat to prepare breakfast.
I’ve never been good at this sort of thing. My mind always tells me that I should keep working a little longer, or make breakfast quickly and get to work. Otherwise, I might not get everything done because I don’t know what surprises or obstacles might appear this day. Maybe I’m too tired, or too hungry. Perhaps I got up too late and believe I must make up for lost time.
So, I found a way to trick myself into doing it. I made it an official daily task, and it stares at me from an app on my phone when I arise. I get out of bed, take a shot of orange juice, step off the boat and walk to the beach.
This simple act of doing something physical, outside, in nature, is wonderfully restorative, the benefits outweighing the short time spent. I returned with us since then I can only describe as proper perspective. Some things that have been troubling me are less so. A sense of quiet renewal, confidence, and rejuvenation comes to live within me for a while: the sea air, the sound of waves, the playfulness of dogs. It’s all a peaceful moment that prepares me for the day.
