I’ve been doing this for over a year, my “Morning Pages.” Some days it’s boring and three pages feels like an eternity and I end up writing lalalala orI don’t know what to write today repeatedly in huge letters, or making grocery lists.

Other days, it is poetry.

I’ve learned that the most inspired pages are no less and no more important than those filled with the nonsensical or superficial. I’ve filled six journals so far.

This is my ritual.

Morning after morning, I come back, to clear out the clutter, and to provoke freedom, creativity and forward motion.

What fills the pages is what is alive first, before I wash the sleep off my face. Before thinking too hard or answering emails. Or maybe it’s about dreams. Or what’s left over from yesterday. Or what may come later in the day. Whatever it is that comes out is real, clear and often quite vulnerable.

They are a space to admit and obsess. To laugh or cry or sing along to. To engage with the morning’s weather, or the bug that won’t leave you alone. To affirm what you already know.

Maybe one day your whole first page will feel inauthentic. But at the top of page two, maybe you will get brave and ask yourself what you’re hiding. You’ve decided you don’t want to waste these precious pages for another instant. And then maybe you’ll proceed to respond, maybe even angrily, shouting ink on paper what lay at the depths of your soul and freeing yourself from holding it inside any longer. That day will be good.

When things get rough, you’ll whine and moan into the page, day after day, the same story. Until one day you realize you’ve somehow begun writing about something entirely different.

You can do it, I tell you! I’ve written my morning pages on a plane. On my balcony. On a bus. In a village, to the sound of a rooster waking the community. In bed, sick. In a busy downtown cafe. Even at a lover’s house.

If you miss a day, or two, or a week, it won’t really matter. You’ll come back, because you will miss the sacredness of the pages. You’ll have to be flexible, and do the occasional Evening or Bedtime Pages. Just get into the routine. Buy a cheap journal covered in cartoons or flowers or superheroes, or a beautiful one that leaves glitter on your hands. Commit to put your pen to paper — or if you don’t have one, voice to recorder or fingers to keyboard — and let the words fall out of you. I promise you won’t regret it.

***

This post first appeared on Rebelle Society.

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I do it all the time. We all do, to some degree, no? Even if it’s happening solely in your mind, it’s happening, which means we’re also labeling others. From the bus stop to Twitter, we’re often lost in a subconscious conversation of: Who is this or that person? How can I conceptualize where he/she/it fits into this world so I understand what it means? And how does he/she/it relate to me?

I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault that we do it. I’m guessing there are a million neurological and psychological explanations behind our need to fit into something and understand where friends, strangers and lovers fit, too. It’s tribal. And in many situations, and for the sake of time, it’s the best and easiest approach.

But it can be so limiting, no?

In journalism, we’re taught to be stingy with words, so the descriptions of the people in our stories also become stingy. Someone who has been on a thousand journeys suddenly becomes just “human rights specialist Jane Doe.” On Twitter and Facebook and every other technology, we’re instructed to describe who we are in just a matter of characters. And then to connect with “similar users” who’ve also represented themselves in only a limited number of words. In the most progressive marketing of the modern age, we’re taught to market our product or idea to the most like-minded among us. Etc. Etc.

We’re connecting more than ever. Technology and modernity have allowed us to get closer to those who are similarly identified. And it’s easy and convenient and quite fulfilling to do that. But what do we lose in the process? And how can we remember to remember that every single person is a million and one different things and fighting a goddamned battle out there?

For What Binds Us

by Jane Hirshfield

Today I spent the day reporting on the San Lorenzo football club, his preferred team, and one of the top five most traditional clubs in Buenos Aires. Pope Francis is a long-time San Lorenzo fan — and No. 88,235 on the club’s member list.

In the morning, I hailed a cab and headed almost an hour away, where I visited the San Lorenzo club headquarters, stadium, and stadium chapel. I heard stories, saw photos, and talked to many, many people who are very excited about the new Pope (and his fútbol allegiances). I even got to see the old white Fiat that has transported the Pope from his downtown apartment to mass on stadium grounds.

Check out my story in the New York Times.

Vincent Harding

I recently listened to historian and civil rights activist Vincent Harding’s discussion with Krista Tippet on the radio program “On Being,” and I was blown away. The former speechwriter for Martin Luther King, Jr., shares memories from a tumultuous time in U.S. history, but one he says birthed unprecedented creativity, kindness, love and compassion. He instructs us to use the wisdom gleaned in that time — those important lessons — to heal today’s fractured U.S. society. What moved me the most were Harding’s words on the importance of storytelling. In a society that is so diverse, he says, listening to the stories of our neighbors can have a profound impact on our ability to build a “beloved community.”

Some excerpts:

“It’s a powerful time in this country for young people and others to be asking the question And what are we for? Do we exist for some reason other than competing with China or finding the best possible technological advances? Are there some things even deeper that we are meant for, meant to be, meant to do, meant to achieve?

When the mother with the baby at her bosom starts telling stories, it is clearly not just to pass on information. And what I find is that even in some of the strangest situations most often where I go, where I speak, where I share, I start out by asking people to tell a little of their stories. And it is amazing what people discover of themselves, of their connections, of their community. It’s wonderful.

How do we work together? How do we talk together in way that will open up our best capacities and our best gifts? My own feeling that I try to share again and again, is that when it comes to creating a multi-racial, multi-ethnic, multi-religion, democratic society, we are still a developing nation. We’ve only been thinking about this for half a century. But my own deep conviction is that the knowledge is available to us if we seek it … those are things that can be available to us if we’re willing to work with each other and work with the universe on developing them. They don’t come free and easy. They are tough tasks to take on.”

Listen to the full program.

On Being a Journalist

My job always begins with a good story.

In journalism, a story idea may be generated by an editor or reporter, or even a reader. A story worth telling is one with characters and tension. It challenges or boggles the mind, and deserves explanation and a presentation of various points of view. Most of all, it says something important about the world in which we live. As a journalist, I am perpetually in search of such stories.

Once I know my general story idea, I must compile information from reliable and knowledgeable sources. To do so, I may conduct interviews (in person is preferred to via email or over the phone), consult archives or reports, find official and/or government documentation, go to a live scene to collect “color” and description of place, or consult older, related stories. Reporting can take days or months, depending on the complexity of the topic and the desired length of the story (and whether or not I’m on a deadline).

Once the bulk of my information is collected, I must write. First, I outline, which helps me organize my ideas and see the story arc. It also helps me to narrow in on what information will be part of my story lede. A good story always leads with the most interesting and powerful information. In journalism, we refer to this as an “inverted pyramid,” meaning the most important information goes up top. If I’ve done my reporting well, I should then be able to fill my story with information, facts, description, quotes and explanation. If I notice holes in my story, I go back and seek out the additional information I need.

An editor will then work with my story, and I may have to make changes or rewrites. Eventually, it publishes — ideally accompanied by attention-grabbing photos. My goal is to leave my reader with various viewpoints and perspectives, delivered in a pleasant reading experience. As a journalist, there are very few feelings more satisfying than seeing my byline, and knowing that readers around the world are reading and learning.

Three months later, I’m still waiting. Well, more precisely, they’re still waiting — for the one teeny piece that is going to fix the shutter and cost me hundreds of dollars. I’m guessing it’s stuck at customs.

Industria Argentina. National Pride.

Imports and the Argentine government have a complicated relationship. While many people here want and depend on imported goods, the government wants to limit their entry, pushing to spur local industry and hold up the MADE IN ARGENTINA label.

It’s hard to argue against growing the local economy and limiting dependence on faraway markets. I’m all for it. But in practice, the execution of the ideology can be frustrating for many people. Various high-demand goods are not available, and those that are sell at comparatively high prices, despite what is often poor quality.

It’s the reason my friend asked me to bring her mascara from the US. And why a yoga mat costs US$70+. And why a professional musician has family bring tuning kits and strings, plus requests from other musician friends (I’m told a recent delivery included trumpet oil, percussion mallets and oboe staples). In more extreme cases, the import restrictions have threatened to shut down entire industries.

It’s an interesting exercise in considering the true value of a particular good, as well as how interconnected global trade markets really are. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that these are themes I rarely considered before moving abroad.

I recently published a feature on the theme, for the Associated Press, using the cycling industry to explore the effect of import restrictions on a local industry. During my reporting, I visited bike shops and factories and spoke to producers, sellers and cyclists to learn how they depend on imports and how they’re adjusting — or not — to the restrictions.

At Musetta bicycle factory in suburban Buenos Aires, I saw cardboard boxes full of partially assembled mountain bikes, missing a pedal, seat or handlebars and unable to be sold, gathering dust in a corner. I met a man who brought his bike in a suitcase from abroad. And I learned about the trend to forgo a new bike completely … to fix up an old vintage one instead.

Read the story here. I’d love your comments.

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