Writing is focus and focus is meditation.
When I write a letter to a friend, I hold the vision of that living person in my mind’s eye. Once I’ve got them properly framed, human emotion takes over and I start to react. Writing a letter to a friend is a shockingly intimate exercise. I just gave a single person 1 or 2 hours of my full thought power. And just like gold or diamonds, a little bit of undivided attention is infinitely more valuable than even a lifetime of sandy, diluted attention.
I’ve always held that writing is holy. I used to believe it in a song-lyricy way. But now I believe it in a prudent, roman numeral sort of way.
The singular focus of meditation is what makes it sacred. To watch an athlete in the peak instant of his performance. To witness a baby being born. To get down on one knee and offer your marriage proposal. These are moments of focus. These are moments where, if your phone rings, no way in hell are you picking up.
I’m afraid that life will be a series of random events until one day there’s no “next event.” When I write I feel focused. I feel more like a Captain and less like a soggy piece of driftwood.