There’s something new in my life, something little and compact and detectable only to my ears and heart. A co-worker and I have been listening to Garrison Keilor’s The Writer’s Almanac each morning for the last couple weeks. For under five minutes a day, it’s catalyzed an important shift in my creative life. Listening to it has made me realize multiple things.
First, I realize that poetry is my religion. The opening chords of the broadcast are reminiscent of the music played when entering Church on Sunday morning, awakening in me a sense of reverence and awe and beauty.
Second, I realize that a meditation practice doesn’t suit me nearly as much at this stage in my life as does a writing practice. I don’t want to wake up and meditate. I want to wake up and write. I want to wake up and listen to poetry. I want to wake up and remember the poems I love most. Listening to the Almanac has an instant impact for the better on my day, no matter how decaffeinated, grumpy, menstrually, or Mondayish I might be. Every morning feels like Friday for the duration of the broadcast.*
Third, I realize that the thing I need most in my life is also the thing which I have sometimes valued least, and others have sometimes valued least. This thing is the written word.
I am deeply nourished and sustained by the written word. I write, I read what others write, and that is very simply what does it for me.
*Of course, I’m not saying that the two are mutually exclusive. Rather, I am certain they are mutually beneficial. I just think I’ve been focusing on drier practices than the juicier ones I require.
