How long does it take you to shower? From the moment you step into a warm stream of flowing water to the moment you step out? You’ve washed your hair, lathered your body, rinsed, and even done a second round with conditioner. All together, you could be out in 3 minutes, maybe less?
But that’s not what happens in reality, is it? First, you spend some time letting the warm water trickle over every inch of your skin. You give it a few extra minutes to let the warmth soak in. Then you shampoo and spend a little extra time scrubbing your scalp. Dang, that’s nice. If you try to be efficient like me, you immediately follow it up with face wash before rinsing, so you can kill two birds with one stone. Rinse from head to toe, then start at the top again. Conditioner goes in, and if you’ve read the label, you let it set for a good while. That’s why I wash my face first and then use body wash while the conditioner is working. (Your hair is silkier and even more tangle free the longer you wait, right?) Now comes the scrubbing with a loofah or sponge, getting every crack and crevice.
Finally, one last rinse making sure to get every last bubble of suds off of you. Then, once again indulge in the warm flow of water from the top of your crown down your shoulders carrying the stress of the day down the drain.
Strictly speaking, showers should take no more than a few minutes. But, for those of us who have the luxury of inexpensive, heated water, it can be drawn out to 10, 15, maybe even 20 minutes. And we feel better when we get out. Showering is therapeutic.
Writing is like showering.
I’ve always struggled to write. Not because of writer's block or disruptive perfection (though those things are certainly at play). I struggle to write because I know that once I jump into that steady flow of words, it’s going to be really hard to get out again.
I’ve recently gotten to the point in my daily life where I feel so busy that I avoid taking 20 minutes out of my day to shower. No, I’m not walking around like Linus in the Peanuts1, with a waft of stench behind me. It’s just that I postpone bathing until it’s convenient and efficient. I’ll see if I can check one more thing off my to-do list rationalizing that I showered within the last 24 hours and haven’t broken a sweat since. Besides, I’m planning to jump on the treadmill in 3 hours, so why would I shower twice? But when I realize that the day has passed and I have to shower before 48 hours is up, I force myself to turn on the water and get in. Then it’s bliss. I don’t want to get out.
Writing is similar in that once I finally push through the first few minutes of clearing my desk, prepping a new text file, and typing out a few paragraphs, I get to a point where I don’t want to stop. I have turned on the faucet and there is a municipal reservoir of emotion and thoughts that need to be drained to relieve the pressure.
Writing is therapeutic.
I struggle to write because there is so much to say but not enough time to get it all out. But once I do, it feels so much better. I feel refreshed.
But all too often I avoid getting into that zone because I know how difficult it will be to turn off the warmth and step into the frigid air once again.
How do you manage to write your thoughts out without going down the proverbial rabbit-hole?
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Linus gets his blanket back. The Peanuts comic strip