Who Am I, Unedited? Midsummer Rising Pt. 2
Reflections from a partial reading of Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way
In 4th grade, I started keeping a composition notebook kept a la Harriet the Spy. If you haven’t read Harriet the Spy, bear with me, because my last reading was in, yes, 4th grade.
Harriet is not a mystery-solving girl detective. Harriet is a girl who keeps a meticulous log of all the flaws and faults she finds in those around her, including her best friends. At the end of the book, Harriet’s notebook is lost, then found by her peers, who — suitably shocked and hurt — ostracize Harriet, sending her into a prepubescent depressive spiral.
Strangely, the part that left a lasting impression was not Harriet’s social pariah-ship, but her unflinching, unfiltered descriptions of her friends. In fact, I remember my very first journaling experience clearly, because I kind of stole Harriet’s thing and composed a few paragraphs of scathing witticisms in my own composition notebook, which I proudly shared with my mother while my Ticonderoga pencil lead was still hot on the page.
She looked at me oddly - probably in part because she had an 11-year-old daughter who hadn’t grasped that a diary was not meant to be shared with your mother — and told me, “I don’t know if those are the kinds of things you should be writing. You should be more careful. You never know who can get a hold of that.”
Thus, the foundational philosophy of the cultivation of my innermost personal thoughts:
Always Be Self-Editing, Because You Never Know Who Will Read Your Deepest Thoughts…but You’ll Probably Be The One To Overshare Them.
Morning pages, the central practice in Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, never really appealed to me. As above, I’ve always been journaling. It’s how I make sense of my world. But also (as above), I’ve always been aware, more subconsciously at times than others, that my making sense of my world may translate to someone else making sense of their world, be that a snooping little sister, a far distant descendant, or an online newsletter readership.
Morning pages asks you, the journaler, to dispatch with awareness of a reader entirely.
Morning pages are a brain dump: first thing in the morning, on three sheets of paper, total stream-of-consciousness. It’s not easy. There’s the journaling half-awake. The hand-cramping. But it’s exceptionally rewarding.
This practice is just one part of artist Julia Cameron’s framework. She also asks those who take up the gauntlet to conduct weekly “artist dates”, where you follow your inner artist / inner child to whatever you feel called to do, be that a museum visit, fort making, coloring. Her 12-week program also includes specific journal prompts and thematic nuggets of wisdom for the hesitant creative. At the end of 12 weeks, proponents of Cameron’s work claim they feel more creative and more in touch with their innate curiosity or delight.
For full disclosure, I haven’t read The Artist’s Way. I’d like to, but at this moment in time, I don’t think I need to. What I need is to stop judging my thoughts and feelings, and morning pages is an incredible tool for just that.
I am not the type of self-critic to verbalize my insecurities. I rarely stand in front of a mirror and say mean things about myself. Instead, self-criticism manifests as a slew of icky feelings, guilt being the most prominent. And on the (morning) page, guilt translates to a lot of “shoulds”.
I should wake up earlier. I should have texted so-and-so back quicker. I shouldn’t feel so jealous. I shouldn’t drink a third Dirty Dr Pepper this week. I should be more grateful for X,Y, and Z.
Should is a judgement word. It’s use - or the inversion, shouldn’t - implies a lack / overindulgence in whatever behavior or concept you have shame about - manners, money, daughterhood, friendship, business acumen.
So, even if I’m not, say, telling myself, “That was a really fucking stupid e-mail to send, Zoe. Only you would fuck up that badly,” with actual words, the immediate wave of anxiety that washes over me, the constant checking and re-checking of language used in said email, and the general sense that “I should have included an extra thank you!” all manifest in the same thing: judgement of myself, my actions, my character.
The first step to any change in behavior is observance (as you’ll remember from last week’s recap!). Maybe those who berate themselves with actual words on the reg can either confirm or deny that at least you are damn well aware when you’re judging yourself. Enjoying a general stew of fucking awful feeling internally makes it much more difficult to do so. But that’s where morning pages come in.
Morning pages is a daily purge. Before you even have time to think, it’s out of you — all of the confused, anxious, painful thoughts, along with some lighter ones (because we all need a minute or two after the alarm goes off to really get going). Morning page evangelists will tell you your pages are never to be looked at again; some go so far as to burn them as soon as its pencils down. I’m too in my head / out of my body to just let something go (lol imagine me letting a thing go). Morning pages offers an honest insight into my psyche, one that I often have trouble seeing.
The stream-of-consciousness framework (meaning, no self-editing, avoiding punctuation marks, just your thoughts as quickly as you can translate them to your pen) + the early morning hour + the inevitable hand cramping combine to create a kind of urgency that removes the need for self-editing. It just comes out. You have to get it out. Three pages worth (two in my case, but as per this literal newsletter, I do think about myself a lot) of all the things I didn’t know I was thinking or feeling - or rather, the things I know I think and feel, but don’t quite allow myself to process. Now, they’re processed first thing, every morning, leaving me with a blank slate to start my day.
I’ve been doing morning pages off-and-on since late March, when this week’s podcast guest Shannon brought us along her journey with The Artist’s Way on Patreon. When I commit to the practice, I feel clearer, calmer, and yes - more creative (three experiences which I’m beginning to see as one). The rest of my day passes more smoothly.
In most places - here, my podcast, my life in general - I consider myself fairly open. Open, I’m learning, is not the same as unedited. And we all need a space to be entirely, carelessly, and undeniably ourselves - especially with ourselves.
Thank you for being here for our first post of Midsummer Rising. All month long, I’m exploring cultural must-reads when it comes to spirituality and self-development. If you enjoyed this, maybe you’d like to…
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Also guilty of not learning the intended lesson from Harriet the Spy and instead creating my own book of judgements. 🫣 Mine was a spiral-bound notebook with black paper, and I scribbled my over-embellished gossipy reports in glittery gel pen. Of course I left the notebook splayed on the kitchen counter one afternoon, and of course my mom found it, and wowzers, I still feel ashamed when I think about the way she looked at me and her tone as she spoke to me! The disappointment!
I would like to get back into a morning pages routine but alas here I am on my phone in bed reading Substack! 😬