It doesn't have to make sense

A case for inconsistency

Whenever I’m on a podcast, I dread one inevitable question:

I know who you are, but tell everyone listening who you are!

This is a moment when I feel painfully insecure, first-day-of-sixth-grade only-kid-with-braces level.

The things I like about myself don’t matter in this scenario; my task is to answer, essentially, “What is interesting, valuable, or remarkable about me to strangers?”

It’s a more formal version of a question I get all the time, after I say I’m a writer. “What do you write about?”

My go-to response is to laugh, “Myself! As they say, write about what you know, ha ha” and then I quickly change the subject. “So you’re from Omaha?”

Because I don’t actually know: What do I write about?? This is a big insecurity.

When other people tell me what I write about, it sounds good, but I wouldn’t know how to answer myself. In fact, the vast majority of time, I look at something I’ve written and think, “I am the only person who understands what I’m talking about.” I’ve even been told as much.

So, when I accepted the invitation to go on a podcast a few weeks ago, I revisited the usual dread over the inevitable question, but planned to answer honestly this time: I don’t know. I don’t know what I write.

I braced myself for the awkwardness that would follow, but saw myself as some sort of activist for uncertainty and inconsistency (so brave, I know!).

As my lucky stars would have it, David the remarkably affable podcast host asked nothing of the sort, and I had such a nourishing time reflecting on his thoughtful questions, plus the beautifully challenging questions of the sweet folks in the crowd. (Note to self/others: A live podcast recording brings a lot of juicy energy!)

You can listen to our conversation here! I really, really enjoyed doing it.

After the podcast was done, I mingled with the audience, cheerfully crammed in a Williamsburg apartment overlooking a thunderstorm that intensified the skyline with white flashes and burgundy shadows.

When I was putting on my shoes to leave, a lovely gal came up to me and promised “one last question.”

She said, “Sometimes I write something and I feel like it doesn’t make sense except to me, and I don’t know how to share my work when I’m not sure if people will understand what I’m saying.”

To be honest with you, I was exhausted by this point and couldn’t wait to catapult into a cab and order a pizza from the backseat. I realized this is what platitudes are for, when you don’t feel like fully engaging: Someone will understand!, I could tell her. Believe in yourself!, I’d shout, as the cab skids away.

But her thoughtful admission deserved a thoughtful response, and I told her the truth. I told her that my least favorite writing is the type where the writer knows it makes perfect sense. I bristle at too-sure-of-itself writing, too-clear writing, writing-with-a-pithy-POINT writing. I much prefer the type of writing where the author and I are on a journey together, and we’ll both find out where we end up, at the same paragraph.

It reminded me of what the poet Mark Doty once said about writing political poetry (something he’s since changed his mind on, but I appreciate his thinking here): For him, writing poetry was all about the process, the experience of exploration—not an opportunity to say something specific. That was a job for protest posters, not poetry.

Writing, for me and I imagine others, is spiritual. I don’t know where writing comes from or how exactly I do it, and I like it that way.

I told all this to the lovely gal. I added what I thought about earlier that night: “I don’t know what I write about.”

By this time, a tiny crowd had collected around the shoe shelf, and I was secretly hoping one of them would tell me. My ego would have been thrilled to get some validation that all my writing somehow coalesces toward one theme, but I received something even more validating:

A wonderful man standing nearby said, “I just realized something about all my favorite writers. I couldn’t tell you what they write about. I just like them. I like getting their specific perspective. The subject they write about almost doesn’t matter. It’s not why I read them.”

THANK YOU, WONDERFUL MAN!

When there’s so much pressure on creative folks to pick their lane, I was so relieved to hear this viewpoint. Maybe I don’t need to figure out what I write about! Maybe it’s a society problem and not a Mari problem that it’s simply easier to sell what is easily definable. I get it, it’s hard to package “I just enjoy the writing process and I go wherever it takes me!” That’s not a product.

But his words made my whole week, and I knew I had to share his statement. I think it applies to many other areas of life, like “a career path” for example.

“What if my jobs don’t add up to something?” I’ve spent years fretting.

How about…they add up to my LIFE?

There are so many decisions I’ve made that wouldn’t make sense if I were a protagonist in a novel or a sitcom about a fun-loving lady just trying to make it in the city, but I’m (alas!) not in a novel or a sitcom; I’m in human body. We humans change our mind a lot, which is a really cool thing about being us.

“You don’t owe anyone consistency,” my friend told me when I was worried I’d let people down if I changed direction in my creative work.

It can FEEL like we owe people consistency when we’re rewarded for linearity: a resume that dutifully climbs the organizational chart of a company, an ever-growing social media presence, or a list of experiences that somehow grow bigger and better over time.

Let’s face it, we collect more rewards when we take steps in a straight pattern rather than skip off the trail in search of a better view.

I’m dealing with that tension right now in a few different ways:

• A future newsletter will be about why I left Instagram (for the most part) and what effects that has had. Short answer: great emotional effects, not-so-great financial effects! I doubt any business advisor would encourage me to stop any efforts to expand an audience there, but it was an obvious decision on a soul level.

• My last book was very different from the first, and my third will be very different from both of those. It’s tricky to be a writer who doesn’t commit to one theme; it means less money and less publicity. Everything is easier when you’re the go-to person on one particular topic. However, I can’t tell you how delighted I am to find that a novelist I love also wrote a cookbook I love, or the author of an indulgent romance is the same person who writes insightful parenting articles for the Atlantic. They may not sell as well, but it’s exciting to watch any creative person hop around genres.

• I am finally embracing the inconsistent proclivities of my human body! I got into weightlifting last year, but after injuring my shoulder, I haven’t done it in months. I’m vegetarian, and eat meat when I really want to. I’m an introvert who was super social for years, and now I’m retreating again. Sometimes my boundaries are strict and other times they are fluid and porous. I am a seasonal creature and my only consistencies are the tattoos on my arm. I would be elated to progress with weightlifting, or truthfully say that my diet reflects every one of my values, but I also appreciate my nature as a living thing who continually changes.

Like the wonderful man at the podcast event, I too don’t know how to describe the work of my favorite writers; I just like how they think. It’s liberating to realize this, the fact that I actually prefer inconsistency and sometimes non-sense-making in the name of following a spiritual process rather than trying to box thoughts into a single theme.

Same goes for favorite musicians, poets, dancers, actors, chefs, designers, inventors, and life-livers. I rejoice when people surprise me. It’s so human to want more of the same; our brains also reward patterns. Our brains leap for joy when they can correctly predict what’s coming, when we’re in a routine, when our faves keep doing what they’re doing. Brains love going on autopilot.

We know less about our brains than we do about outer space, but it seems like a good idea to make them work a little harder. What happens when our favorite politician doesn’t vote the way we would? What happens when our bestie steps outside the parameters of the identity we’ve created for him? What happens when Taylor Swift records a death metal album? We’ll have to use our brains a bit more than we’d like to, as we fight against our mental ruts and come to our own conclusions.

It seems natural—obvious, even—to make any decision in an upward direction. Why wouldn’t you move to the larger city, take the higher-paying job, or make every life decision based on the college major you chose years ago? It has to make sense, right?

Who told you that?

Sometimes moving back in with your parents is the more mature, adult move. Sometimes taking the lower-level job is a sign of growth. And sometimes, I hope, not knowing what the hell you write about is a sign that you’re in integrity.

I know it’s not easy to stray off the path. It took me four years and way too much money spent on therapists and career coaches just to realize that I could, actually, maybe, change directions. I still want to pull my hoodie over my head when someone asks me, “What do you write about?” and just pretend I’m invisible for the rest of the interaction.

But I hope you remember what I heard from that man, and I hope you remind me when I forget. It doesn’t have to make sense.

Where are you inconsistent in your life? Are you making a decision right now that may not make sense? How do you embrace your seasonal self? Are you from Omaha?

Announcements:

Online workshop alert!
I’m not doing any more retreats this year, but I plan to host a monthly live session/workshop on various topics (any ideas?? :). The first this month will be about sharing and publishing your work. Ask questions here and I’ll be sure to answer them in my talk, but I’ll do a live Q&A as well. Details coming next week!

I wrote a guest piece for my friend Torri’s gorgeous newsletter here: It’s about whales and safety and confinement and freedom and lots of other things I could talk about all day! Read if you’d like, and give Torri a follow! She’s a tender poet, a rare gem. I was so honored to get to share thoughts with her.