Stuck in a Beautiful Rut
It’s taken time to get to this, particular, blank page. It feels like months, is more likely weeks, but the truth of it is, writing over the past year or so has been difficult, haphazard and at times, pretty damn rare. It’s a multitude of factors at play that have made it so difficult, but I’m here to count my blessings and state my claim.
First and foremost, I need to raise my glass, tip my hat to our beautiful tenth child, and seventh son: Louis. The sound of his name conjures an ineffable, radiant sense of gratitude that spills out of my heart, into my hands and fingers, and I thank our Lord and Saviour each and every day that the kid is here, with us, safe, sound, whole, beautiful and innocent as every one of his siblings was. The tenderness and vulnerability of any newborn babe must bring life and love to the most hardened of hearts, as it certainly does mine, and reminds me, shockingly, mercilessly, of God’s gratuitous love and benevolence.
But to the writing, or the lack of, perhaps an explanation is fitting. Most mornings, I’m woken by one of our wonderful sons between 4:30 and 5:30am. The eternal question is of course, whether or not to engage, acquiesce, ignore or indulge. Whatever course of action I may take, I am awake, alive and engaged, as a husband and father. This of course, is after a standard night of repeated wake up calls that come from one child more than others, but are reliable enough to know that I don’t necessarily bound of out bed with a kettlebell in one hand and my writing notebook in the other. There is black coffee, self pity and when God grants me the grace of it, my breviary, unless it has to wait til later in the morning.
The uncertainty and despair of the pandemic has had an impact that is both cognitive and affective. I’ve found myself agitated, angry, confused, uncertain and completely at sea with it all. At its peak, I’d be checking the news fifteen to twenty times a day, to see when and how our lives would be disrupted, disturbed, derailed, again and again. I’ve been angry about lies, distortions, coercion. I’ve had to make difficult decisions, as we all have, and continue to watch lives around me contort, conform, retaliate and revolt in a range of ways that I can usually make sense of - but sometimes not. For many, it has become a wicked and futile game. I still see enough of God’s grace in the colours of a sunrise to know that He has us in hand.
Good habits are built in here and there, despite my worst intentions to abandon every creative ambition and intent I ever had. Whilst writing, one of my Freedom sessions kicked in, as did the night shift on my laptop. The internet is dead to me, and I know that the blue light from my screen won’t keep me up when I finally hit the hay. I’m poring over my notes from Atomic Habits to renew a range of intentions, that in truth, aren’t really priorities - but wonderful luxuries that can sneak into a sliver of a day when there’s time. Right now, being at the keyboard by 9pm is a wonderful blessing that won’t repeat itself for some time now. But right now, I am here. And here you are.
There is a guitar spending time out of its case, and I will humbly admit that much of the energy and focus that was going into writing, has been diverted into music - as a necessity no less. I find, as you well might, that the more the world is tearing itself apart with the noise of words, lies, arguments, the more I need to retreat into a melodic silence that is bereft of language, but full of life. Music has sustained me, at so many points in my life. I’m blessed to play music with good, holy and humble men of great faith, and I’ve wiled away many fantastic, futile hours crafting a sonic palette through the joy of putting together a pedal board, which may be a guilty pleasure that other breeds of instrumentalist may be unfamiliar with.
A commitment to prayer, and in particular, the 15 Prayers of St Bridget have been a new addition to the evening routine. Complementing the breviary, reading and silent prayer of the Carmelite rule, it’s a fairly unforgiving addition, but an incredibly rich and reverent meditation on the passion of our Lord, and a petition for His mercy and grace that is as humbling as it is inspiring. At the beginning of every work day, I spend time before the tabernacle, with a handful of my children, in silence, in reverence, likely teaching them more in those five minutes than I ever could with any words that I could conjure.
In the end, it’s this. I must pray above all else. I must tend to my wife, my children, my patch of earth before I can play with word, phrase and inflection. I love the process of writing. The toil of it. The peace of it. The clarity it brings me. But silence, prayer, and my vocation as husband and father will ever and always come first. Wristwatches and Radios is the balance of meter and melody - purpose and passion - vocation and volition.
That’s why I’ve been gone so long. It’s also why I’m back.
God bless you, brothers.