Post Script | November 14, 2022

The Habit of Good Enough (When something is better than nothing)

Since the spring, I’ve been a part of a very small writing group. Every six weeks, we send work to each other with the usual apologies—The writing is drafty; This is embarrassing—then meet to discuss it.

Three days before our most recent meeting, I had nothing to send to the group. I had been working on an essay, but it was bedeviling me. I couldn’t figure out the central question, much less the structure. All I wanted to do was jump ship: abandon the essay and start from scratch. I figured I could turn in a 500-word nothing and make the excuse that I had been busy.

But here was a point of hesitation: essay writing figures into the most recent version of my rule of life. In fact, I have even gotten this specific in my rule: that by the end of the year, I would “choose to finish my spontaneity essay for my thesis (and writing group).”

Although there are many ways to write a rule (and I will be suggesting lots of various ways in the upcoming January workshop I’m offering), my own rule follows my vocational roles: my life as wife and mother, daughter and friend, neighbor and citizen, writer and speaker and student, home manager and self-steward.

In my rule, I named my intention—as a writer—to give more diligent attention to the creative work I signed up to do in my MFA program. But as of last Monday, that work looked too hard, too effortful. I knew I had a good start on this essay, but I was also hesitating on the effort it would take to get unstuck.

Here’s the thing about a rule of life. It doesn’t let you off the hook as easily as you might want. It doesn’t indulge your moods. On good writing days, it’s easy for me to think: I like this work, and I should stick with it. But on bad writing days, when my brain is muddled and I want to magically pull an essay from a hat, I am ready to abandon the effort. I want to practice cowardice, not courage, self-soothing rather than real love.

A rule serves as a niggling reminder. Wait: what is you said you wanted? Who is it you said you wanted to become?

A rule isn’t magic, of course. It is words on a piece of paper, and those words cannot beat you into submission. And yet, a rule is something prayerfully discerned in conversation with your Maker, the one who calls you into faithfulness as a means of your very own joy. You can’t just casually ignore those words you set down, those words that stare back.

Here’s the wonderful, surprising secret about a rule. A rule is not a means to dramatic change in our lives. It doesn’t work like a home makeover show. No, it begs all of us to practice—with God’s help—a little bit of faithfulness every day. With great relief, it says: good is good enough. It says: something is better than nothing.

Comfortingly, it says: heroes need not apply.

Last Monday, I had two hours to work on my miserable essay, then email it to my writing colleagues. I printed out the pages of the two drafts I currently had and tried to sort out what I was saying about spontaneity, “this shirking of responsibility” as I called it. Suddenly, I remembered a line from Dorothy Sayer’s introduction to Purgatorio, that “man is a responsible being.” I had a spark of a thought.

“I am 48 when I read Dante for the first time.” It may be the worst first sentence, but it was a start to another draft. Before I knew it, I had another two pages. I sent the essay to my friends, feeling it to be “drafty” and “embarrassing.” But I knew that in this case—as in most—good was good enough and something was better than nothing.

And you want to know the real miracle? They said it’s working.

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I’m taking the opportunity through the end of the year to focus each of my Monday letters on the practice of writing a rule of life. (If you’re new around here, you can read here and here and here to catch up.) This may feel repetitive to some, but I had a wonderfully perceptive email from a Post Script reader last week who said, “I have to admit that I joined the Zoom group not really understanding what you meant by ‘rule of life.’” I have a feeling there are more of you like her, so I’m hoping to clear some confusion.

Wonderfully, we have more than 100+ registrants for the workshop I’m leading in January for anyone who preorders In Good Time, coming out on December 13th. Woot, woot! (If you haven’t signed up, you can do that here.) The quick details are:

·      There will be 4 (recorded) Zoom sessions, starting January 8th, 7pm EST.*

·      Each session will include teaching as well as Q&A.

·      Each session will feature a variety of “rule” examples.

·      I will assign weekly homework (lectio divina, prayer prompts, writing exercises). No one is grading the homework, so this is for your benefit, not mine!

·      And drumroll, please: I’m also lining up some great interviews with other rule of life practitioners, people whose work you’re probably already familiar with. More on this soon!

If this is something you’ve signed up for or something you’re still considering, may I gently nudge you in the direction of doing it with a friend or small group of friends? In the monastic tradition, a rule of life was never a private exercise. It was a community document. And while your rule will be personal, I think you’ll benefit enormously from walking alongside others in this process.

*Yes, this represents a change from what I originally announced. I’m doing this workshop in 4 sessions, not 5. I think you will thank me.

And one last thing: you can sign up to win a free copy of In Good Time through Goodreads! Yes, you might have already ordered your copy, but this can be a copy you give to a friend!