Reader,
Words are funny things. We use them to share our thoughts and communicate our feelings because we believe that, upon hearing them, others will see and understand what's in our heads and hearts. But sometimes — more often than we care to admit — others DON'T see what we see or feel what we feel.
This happened to me a couple of weeks ago, when I shared Alan Jacobs's taxonomy of writers and declared that "I aim to be a therapeutic writer."
That email sparked more engagement than usual, which was a pleasant surprise. Writing and sending emails can be a lonely task: it's ALWAYS nice when readers reply. Even when those replies register skepticism or disagreement, which is what happened that weekend.
The skepticism / disagreement focused on the category of "therapeutic" writing. To my surprise, this term was triggering to some readers. So, naturally, I've decided to write more about it. I may not change anyone's mind or be better understood, but I will at least better understand myself.
To begin, consider this quote from Frederick Buechner, taken from the introduction to his memoir The Sacred Journey:
... the alphabet of grace has no vowels, and in that sense, [God's] words to us are always veiled, subtle, cryptic, so that it is left to us to delve their meaning, to fill in the vowels, for ourselves by means of all the faith and imagination we can muster. God speaks to us in such a way, presumably, not because he chooses to be obscure but because, unlike a dictionary word whose meaning is fixed, the meaning of an incarnate word is the meaning that becomes clear and effective in our lives only when we ferret it out for ourselves.
If you haven't read Buechner before, here's some important context: "the alphabet of grace" is not something you can find in the Bible or a doctrinal statement. It is rather what we grapple with when we pay attention to our lives. (He wrote a dense-but-wonderful book about it, using an ordinary day from his own life as an example.)
Any reader, Christian or not, can attest that, when we try to make sense of our lives, their meaning is seldom clear. That is essentially Buechner's point here. Our lives are a jumble of faces, memories, scars, laughter, tears, fears, hopes, dreams, intentions, resignations, etc. It's why the hardest question to answer is, "Who are you?"
We often cheat when we come face to face with this question. We pretend that we are defined by our job, or by our family role, or by our ethnicity, or by some other culturally-defined characteristic. Are these characteristics unimportant or untrue? Not in the least. But they don't tell us, and they don't tell YOU, who you truly are.
And you know what? That's a GOOD thing.
To borrow Buechner's language from above, our sense of meaning is veiled, subtle, and cryptic, not because we're obscured beings, but because our meaning becomes clear and effective only when we ferret it out for ourselves. I can't tell you who you are or what you are supposed to do with your writing talents, let alone your life. Only YOU can do that.
Which is why I think that therapeutic writing is so important.
If you're (like me) a twenty-first-century North American, you probably crave certainty. You want crystal clear answers. You want to make safe choices that everyone applauds. You want to know the ending of your stories ahead of time (and I'm not just talking about books or movies). These are the kind of impulses that drive our cultural appetite for diagnostic and prescriptive writing.
There's nothing inherently wrong with this desire. However, as Jacobs suggests, that desire needs to be tempered. We need the comforting discomfort of therapeutic writing — the kind of writing that doesn't end with a next action, but instead leaves you with a question or three, or more. Writing that forces us both to fill in the vowels for ourselves and also to recognize that others will use different vowels, and that might be okay.
Keep your stick on the ice.
Frank.
PS — My upcoming K-drama series is a great way to practice filling in vowels and delighting in therapeutic writing. Starts May 15 and will be sent to a select group of readers. If you haven't already replied and told me you want in, now's your chance. Would love to have you along for the ride!