I can relate to so many points from your story. One is the restrictions we impose on ourselves in the name of religion or spirituality. I was part of a religious group (not Christian) for a couple of years and had the same experience regarding the quality of art and writing created within that context. It was mostly below mediocre. Interestingly, I grew up in communism and it had the same effect on art. And science for that matter. Creativity needs freedom. Years after I left the religious group I met a man who used to be an upstanding member of that group. He seemed like a shadow of himself. He told me that he had recently allowed himself to read again a bit of literature outside the religion. He seemed so happy about it but also somewhat guilty. The things we do to ourselves. I’m happy I got out relatively fast and unscathed.
“ I burned it on a sacrificial altar for Jesus. It took a long time to take it back. I’m still taking it back.” “ Laying in my bed next to my sleeping husband, twenty years from that decision in a top bunk in Wyoming, I cried. I read On Writing, and I cried. Because I always wanted to write, and somehow, in the strange and largely unpleasant journey I took into adulthood, I had forgotten.” I love loved your transparency, I completely related to you in my own personal way. I loved the flow of words and thoughts. Keep up the good work.
I really relate to so much you’ve written here, forgetting writing in the uneasy path to adulthood—but also when we are our most vulnerable, knowing that it is what we are meant to do. I feel this way, I don’t think anything makes me happier than writing, I love getting lost in it. Thank you for reminding me again, and also for reminding me how great On Writing is (it really is!).
I can relate to so many points from your story. One is the restrictions we impose on ourselves in the name of religion or spirituality. I was part of a religious group (not Christian) for a couple of years and had the same experience regarding the quality of art and writing created within that context. It was mostly below mediocre. Interestingly, I grew up in communism and it had the same effect on art. And science for that matter. Creativity needs freedom. Years after I left the religious group I met a man who used to be an upstanding member of that group. He seemed like a shadow of himself. He told me that he had recently allowed himself to read again a bit of literature outside the religion. He seemed so happy about it but also somewhat guilty. The things we do to ourselves. I’m happy I got out relatively fast and unscathed.
“ I burned it on a sacrificial altar for Jesus. It took a long time to take it back. I’m still taking it back.” “ Laying in my bed next to my sleeping husband, twenty years from that decision in a top bunk in Wyoming, I cried. I read On Writing, and I cried. Because I always wanted to write, and somehow, in the strange and largely unpleasant journey I took into adulthood, I had forgotten.” I love loved your transparency, I completely related to you in my own personal way. I loved the flow of words and thoughts. Keep up the good work.
I really relate to so much you’ve written here, forgetting writing in the uneasy path to adulthood—but also when we are our most vulnerable, knowing that it is what we are meant to do. I feel this way, I don’t think anything makes me happier than writing, I love getting lost in it. Thank you for reminding me again, and also for reminding me how great On Writing is (it really is!).