Erick's Thoughts | Blog

This feels a bit overdue – to write about why I like to write. I’ve written posts about reading, but not about writing. Which is odd, because I say I like to write. Actually, for most of my life, I slightly disliked writing. I didn’t feel like it was worth the time and effort to use my brain on finding the words to communicate a message that was already clear in my head. I know what I’m thinking, so what’s the point kind of thing. Also, earlier in life, it felt like people care more about how you say something than what you say. So for writing essays in school, all my reading made it easy to include strong vocab and proper sentence structure. This pretty much guaranteed a good grade, and it didn’t bother me that the core ideas were so basic. It was formulaic, a semi-waste of time, but it worked. Writing had no other value than jumping through the hoops of ‘showing my work’. In hindsight, I think it was a mix of youthful ignorance, innocent self-centeredness, and my personality.

Something I share frequently ish but not yet on this blog is that I used to have a pretty bad stuttering problem as a kid. I couldn’t seem to get the words out right. It didn’t help that I was shy and nervous for other reasons like being overweight or embarrassed of my family background / lower income. At the time, I’d tense up and panic a little. Not out of control panic, but my heart would definitely beat faster. I would start my sentences, then I would trip on a word, sometimes at the beginning, sometimes in the middle or the end. And I would hear myself making the same sound over and over again. In my mind I’m thinking oh no, not again. Please stop. Embarrassed, I quickly looked down and lowered my gaze. What’s wrong with me? It was almost always awkward, and there wasn’t really anything else to do than wait for my tongue to get back on track. I felt like I couldn’t help it, so when people just looked at me expecting me to fix it, I was pretty much in the same boat as them. I’m waiting too.

Then, perhaps starting in second or third grade but definitely by fourth grade I was placed in a speech class. This was a special circumstance kind of thing where I would get removed from the normal class for an hour or so and meet with a special teacher to work on talking. There were about 4 or 5 other students in those sessions. I remember it felt so bizarre to me that I was there. I was the highest achieving student by a long shot. I had been separated before for special sessions, but those were for gifted student sessions where we learned ‘harder’ stuff. Speech class felt like the opposite end of the spectrum. I’m sitting in a room with kids that have trouble comprehending language or producing the right sounds in the first place. Honestly, I only felt slightly embarrassed. I was mostly curious. I didn’t identify as being deficient or stunted, but at the time I remember admitting to myself – well something is for sure wrong with me otherwise I wouldn’t be here.

So, I sat through all the programming. I paid attention. I played all the word games and practiced taking my time to say one word at a time. When I was told to put a big flash card on my head with the word ‘Snake’, I put the big flash card on my head and slowly said the word ‘Snake’ five times. I listened to all the other kids say the word ‘Snake’. I did all the things I was supposed to do, sometimes I felt ridiculous, sometimes it was fun, and eventually I stopped stuttering. It didn’t feel like a win, but I was definitely happy that I wasn’t stuttering anymore. The teachers all said I was stuttering because my mind was working so fast that my mouth couldn’t keep up to get the words out. It sounds like a nice explanation, better than me just being dumb or disabled. I don’t know if I believe it, though. Maybe, who knows. I feel that I stuttered more because I didn’t know what I wanted to say than because I had so much to say.

I did read a lot growing up, my head filling up with new words, facts, concepts – thoughts reacting to thoughts reacting to thoughts. Among all that chaos, what order was there? Obviously, I wasn’t setting myself up to be coherent. It didn’t help that when I wanted to say something, I found myself trying to say EVERYTHING. I still haven’t fully kicked this habit. Even today, my stories tend to have long build ups for small endings, and once I get started answering a question, I may end up on a totally unrelated concept 5 minutes later if I’m not stopped. It helps that I try not to talk that often.

Anyway, this post is about writing, so why the long story about stuttering? I think it’s relevant as an image of my starting point in writing. Helpless, undirected, but with high desire, high energy, and high bandwidth. It’s like holding a rocket in your hand that will take off the second you lift a finger. How do you channel that well? You can’t just let it fly, at least I couldn’t. I had to find empty land, build ad hoc structures, test at low altitude, come back and build sturdier bases, examine the rocket itself. All kinds of stuff. I still haven’t sent it out for a true space mission.

The simple reality is that early in my life I was mostly a consumer of information, I didn’t have my own insights to share. Plus, like the rocket metaphor, I needed to build my toolkit and worldview before I use those same tools to share bits of my perspective. That meant (1) learning to speak adequately and (2) improving my writing organically over time. Speech class mostly fixed the technical part about speaking and it wasn’t until much later (high school and college) that I gained enough confidence to use speaking more effectively.

As for my writing quality, actually it was pretty bad until after freshman year of college. That’s when I took a mandatory expository writing class that I ended up taking seriously even though at the start I brushed it off as not important like everyone else. Yeah yeah, we all know how to write essays already. You introduce some stuff, then you explain it, then you have a conclusion. You get a grade and you move on, it’s not hard. That’s the thing. It is actually pretty hard. Forced to re-read my drafts several times, I began to notice, wait, this sucks. Like this is not good. The word choice is so inconsistent. The content delivery is weak, it’s not that clear. It sounded so good in my head when I was typing it all out in one go, but I don’t trust that feeling anymore. I know even when I think it’s good it has flaws. Before, I wouldn’t have outlined for even a second, but if I were to write a serious piece I would be meticulous with outlining and drafting. That’s not the point for these blogs so I don’t need to do all that.

I learned writing is only fluffy when it sucks. Maybe there are naturally super talented writers, but I am not one of them. If I am going to write something I’m proud of, I need to put a lot of effort into it. The core ideas themselves come effortlessly, occasionally the words too, but most of the time it’s a battle. Not the kind of battle that you’re scared to enter, the kind that you’re excited for because you know you have the strength to win but it’s not as easy as showing up. I do have to try. It’s hard, and for me that’s part of why it’s fun. It’s sort of like a puzzle. I have to put a bunch of little thoughts together in such a way that when they are read the real idea that inspired me in the first place comes out. Sure, I can say the main idea, a sort of fact, but if I use a certain order in my presentation, certain words, all of a sudden it’s like I’m sharing myself, not just my thought. That’s the prize. And it started from speech class. Speech class taught me to slow down and think about what I want to say. I still remind myself to slow down. You really have to think hard to write well, and slowing down helps a lot.

Again, why do I write? I write because now I do have things that I want to share. Me. In my way. I’ve had the pleasure of living more life. The things I see stick in my head and I think and think. I also read a ton. I try to take intentional action, too. All together, these are the ingredients that are combining to form my points of view – which is really the same thing as me, my self. Many of the ideas I touch on may not be unique, but they make me feel a certain way. I want to share the feeling as much as I want to share the thought, and I think that together the combination is even more powerful. A thought that touches your core can change your life. This is how most of my big life changes come about. Practically speaking, I credit most of my ‘success’ with making good decisions at key times, but overall I don’t really do that much (I intentionally try not to). It’s a perspective thing, but perspectives won’t grow if we don’t give it things to react to. Anyway, what I’m doing is not the right thing, but if sharing triggers others to reaffirm what they are already doing or nudges them to change I think that’s pretty cool.

Yet, while I do believe what I wrote in the past paragraph, I’ll admit I am taking myself too seriously. Writing to share ‘good’ thoughts I have with others that don’t have them. Lol. Maybe that’s not the case. At the core core, I write because it’s the only outlet I have to make sense of what is going on in my head. It’s so hard to understand things otherwise. If I speak in my head, the trains of thought get too long and messy. The next best is having patient and willing company, and I haven’t met someone patient enough yet. Deep probing and dialogue takes time, it takes silence, focus, continuity over gaps. It’s hard (for me) to cultivate that with a real person. I started this blog during Covid and the main thought was if I can’t talk it out, I can write it out. Writing has become a prerequisite for me to figure out for myself what I think about life. That’s my mission, it’s not to live for others. It’s nice though that it might help others.

I’ll end on a hunch. My relationship with writing as a path for self discovery is pretty recent. I’m no longer the senseless kid, but I’m also not quite wise. I’m not instantly reacting to information in the world with the first thing that comes to mind. I take an extra second to put things in context. The more I learn the more intentional I can be of the next things I learn. Now, writing as a tool to synthesize has helped me carve out some thoughts that I may call my own. So far, they really are nothing special, but my hunch is they can be special. I don’t have a finished product to share. I’m sharing the first few brush strokes. A lot of paper will be tossed in the bin, but with time and effort something will emerge. And I will be so happy to see it.