I was writing my weekly note to the writing group I facilitate and just to be sure it was clear, I wrote that I wanted to, “be sure you all are getting something out of our time together.” I went on to write, “I want to be sure that our sessions sustain your writing practice--or your human practice—or both.”
Once I finished up the note, I reread it and stopped at the phrase, “human practice.” As far as I knew, I hadn’t heard that phrase anywhere, it just showed up in my brain as I was drafting my weekly agenda. But suddenly it became very clear to me that that’s exactly how I feel about the task of being a human. I wasn’t trying to be clever in my note—as I sometimes try to be—I just wanted to acknowledge the very different places the members in our group are in our writing lives. Some of us strive for publication, others want simply to be present for their lives in a tangible way and another wants to create letters of import for her family and friends. Human practice seemed like a complementary process to the writing practice we all observe so differently.
In my group, I want to honor each individual’s writing goals, but I also want to support all the things that come up that impact our writing. We are all in very different places in our lives, not just in the writing group, but each one of us. We’re all dealing with assorted challenges, changes and catastrophes. Sometimes it feels like every day, some new thing shows up—an unexpected wrinkle, an intrusive responsibility, a terrible information. Maybe the thing that comes up is positive, and that folds into the practice of being a human, too, but it’s the unanticipated jolts that require our attention. In our group, we process those things in writing; it’s how I’ve always believed we make meaning of our experiences. But even when we’re not writing, we’re sharing our hearts, our pain, our joys, our fears with each other. It’s our human practice.
And I do have to practice. Damn. Every day I have to practice managing my presence in a world that—right now—feels insistent on seeing just how much I can take. I don’t even say, “what else could happen?” anymore, because I’ve been given a crash course in that. SO much else could happen! And really challenging and unimaginable things.
So, I practice.
It’s like the old joke: Why do doctors (therapists, lawyers, etc.) still have to practice? Shouldn’t they know how to do their job by now? In education, the word practice is used, too, but in its original form: Praxis. New teachers take the Praxis tests to measure the knowledge and skills they need to prepare for the classroom. The noun praxis—and practice--is defined as the process by which a theory, lesson or skill is applied, enacted, embodied or realized. The verb, though, is defined as to exercise a skill repeatedly or regularly in order to improve or maintain one’s proficiency.
Every morning we have to get up and face the day with the skills we have. Or the rusty ones we used to be good at or new ones that don’t quite fit yet. The practice of being human expects that, even if we passed the test, got the certificate, earned the diploma, we’re not done, are we? I know I’m not. Have you heard the old saying, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice.” But in this case, practice doesn’t make us perfect.
It makes us human.
PS I didn’t Google “human practice” before I wrote this because I didn’t want to see if somebody had already Brené Browned the concept and had written a book about it. (Maybe even Brené Brown.) Or developed a workshop or started a cult, all of which would have made them a billion dollars. But I’m going to go Google it now…and if I find out there’s already a whole “practice” on this, I’ll let you know!
xo
Cindy
All of this!
Sustainability but also sustenance. Thinking of an alternate word for process . . . 😉
Happy Christmas 🎄