The Zen of Writing and Tennis

My morning free write is pasted below. Though it feels a bit indulgent, I wanted to share this one because it's an example of what I love most about writing. Before I started, I felt sluggish and tired, but quickly after the first few words were written the sentances began flowing out of me. I wrote so fast I couldn't possibly plan what was coming next. That is one joy of writing and I think the most pure joy as well. Its not the "joy of admiration" which comes when friends or strangers praise you. Its not the "joy of commerical success" which I have yet to experience. And its not the "joy of hard work paying off," when after weeks of writing and countless drafts you have something you are truly or proud of. All those are wonderful and good, but are not the "joy of the essence of writing." This essence of writing, high falutian as it sounds, is what should drive us. I find it in all my activities I am passionate towards. Take tennis. There are times when hitting the ball seems as natural as riding a bike. I'm not thinking about how to swing in a techincally perfect fashion, I'm not deciding what kind of strategy I should use. I'm not worried about going for too much and missing. Instead, a different side of my brain has taking over and I am simply letting my body go. This is when tennis is most glorious. At the net, when two players are exchanging volleys, sometimes the ball comes so fast that the racket moves without conscious thought as if by reflex. That's what I'm talking about. So, here is the free write.


Time is running out, so I must hurry. Must get to completion and make something of myself. That is the inner voice talking, but who listens. Brendan 2, the one who has to hit the forehand perfectly every time. Who listens, the one who holds that racket still after contact on the forehand volley. I am talking about different shots here, lest you get confused, oh patient reader. The time is coming when we will all find a service return that matches our personality. One that rifles down the line, barring even the lunging of a racket and after that allows cockiness to emerge in triumphant stride over to the other side to go through this dance again. Up the ball, slightly spinning then here it comes towards me flying through the air so fast and sure. I made up my mind to correct some errors. I made up my mind to play fast and loose with my heart and see what came of these decisions. For so long I have come and come again so close to the outer wall of my citadel and for every dream that has been forgotten another two will never have been dreamed at all and that is sad. So very sad don’t you think. What is most ironic, most iconic about our day to day activities? The simple jokes, the little pleasantries and over and over again we must come to make good on our demands for a better life and simple taking over of artistry and pain. Yes, that is the coming together so brightly of our futures and pasts together again like ripples on a lake in spring time. Ever so peaceful and only our hands grazing each other makes us think that anything could be like this.