Exercising My Write
Spring began ten days ago, but in the south, it already feels like late Spring — slightly chilly in the morning, breezy and warm by afternoon with no humidity. It is not warm enough to swim, not cool enough for long sleeves, yet always delightfully right for an excursion with words. I have already absorbed my daily dose of outdoor vitamin D, so I am not feeling guilty spending these afternoon hours indoors.
I find myself seated in front of my laptop in the home of my son and his wife about to engage in a writing exercise. The lesson suggests centering on a typical day with an emphasis on routine yet with the challenge of making what is habitual unusual. The assignment says to close my eyes briefly, absorb the area around me, and then open my eyes and write my thoughts.
The dining chair I’m sitting in is cushioned, which helps me stay comfortable around the circular table that seats four, one of which holds a booster seat. The highchair in the corner is quiet, as is the entire kitchen because it’s nap time, so my ears are comfortable, too. The only sound is the occasional pitter-patter of a Belgian Malinois pacing the laminate floors as he anticipates his owner’s arrival.
Even with my eyes shut, I sense sunlight streaming through the windows on my left. Fragments of lunch leftovers remain on the center island and a child’s magic painting mat is drying on the floor. The room is not messy, but lovingly lived-in, and I feel pleasantly relaxed.
Next, the instructions say, I am to look at my surroundings and describe three things I did not think of with my eyes closed…
A ladybug, a smiling daisy, Moses, and homemade valentines are pinned to a bulletin board filled with preschool arts and crafts that remind me of a refrigerator decked with similar items their daddy and his siblings created. Hanging above the Google assistant device is a wood-framed sign that says, “In this kitchen we dance” and I recall all the singing and swaying that took place while the radio played during meal preparations years ago. Glancing down, I see the Richard Yates novel lying next to my laptop that I’ll have plenty of time to read now that my home is empty of clatter and clutter.
The narrative in the lesson recommends that it is useful to do this sort of perceptual exercise to revive the way you see things, that by defamiliarizing your perceptions you will reinvigorate your writing. While I certainly benefit from developing a keen awareness of my senses for writing purposes, this activity unexpectedly tweaked my memory and caught me foretelling the future. It prompted a welcoming chance to reminisce and anticipate while at the same time, relishing the present.
The past, the present, and the future are all a part of my life journey, which includes my writing pilgrimage. Henry Ford once said, “Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty.” This old gal’s age falls somewhere between those sixty years, and I eagerly look forward to trekking through stimulative writing exercises and any sundry excursions to learn, enjoy, and stay young.
