I can't remember exactly when I came across this quote from the Dutch priest and writer Henri Nouwen, but I can recall reading it and saying, "Yes, that's it!"

Writing is a process in which we discover what lives in us. The writing itself reveals to us what is alive in us. The deepest satisfaction of writing is precisely that it opens up new spaces within us of which we were not aware before we started to write. To write is to embark on a journey whose final destination we do no know. Thus, writing requires a real act of trust. We have to say to ourselves, “I do not yet know what I carry in my heart, but I trust that it will emerge as I write."

– Henri Nouwen

I have been writing for over ten years. It's come to the point now where it's something that I have to make time for. There was a period not too long ago where I told my spouse that I was stepping back from writing because I felt that I was spinning my wheels. And although stepping back from this practice is necessary, I always find myself coming back to it, out of necessity.

But I'll also say this: I have not been great at writing when I know it's something I'll be sharing. Even as I type this, I'm thinking too much about what I'm saying and how I'm saying it. And, as much as I don't want to admit this, I sometimes focus too much on saying something clever. I push too hard, try to force something out, backspace backspace backspace.

Then I don't make any progress. I get stuck. I shut down.

What I really don't want to admit is that I've done this with past newsletters I've tried to start. Not that I need to be so hard on myself, but I can see why these attempts failed: I was trying to write in a voice not my own. I was too afraid to share what might actually emerge if I wrote from a deeper place within myself. I wanted writing to feel more loose and even fun, but it became a chore, and I had become too concerned with a "publishing schedule."

At first, I thought I needed to shift the topic around. I had chosen a theme for the newsletter but found myself unable to always write on that theme. Sometimes I wanted to venture off into something else but felt like I wasn't allowed to, I guess? (Looking back, this was so silly). Then I tried a different platform (Substack). I thought, "This will be good, and I'll be able to reach more people."

But this didn't work out as well. Twice! Tried, didn't like it, and backtracked. Tried again, didn't like it, and backtracked. Became frustrated. Deleted my account. And to this day, I just imagine that there was a whole barrage of people looking at me and thinking, "What the hell is going on with this guy?" (There probably wasn't; I was just in my head too much. Still am sometimes, just not as much.)

And so now I am here. With this blog.

But this feels different.

Okay, when I wrote that, I sort of mocked myself: "bUt tHis fEeLs DifFeRent." My batting average for writing consecutively in a format like this is bad. When it comes to an art practice or creativity, I think consistency is a really good thing. But what sustains that consistency, I think, has to be something internal. And I think that's what has changed this time.

I suppose it's cliché, but as I get older, I seem to be settling into myself more. Your thirties can be a really freeing time because you're sort of looking back at your twenties, and you think, "Wow, was I overcompensating on EVERYTHING because I was so insecure?" I mean, it's your twenties. You're figuring things out. The ego is running on all cylinders, and you're really trying to "establish yourself" (whatever that means). One small poke to that ego, and you unleash all defense mechanisms to maintain said ego.

But then something happens, and you say, "Wait a minute, what's going on here?" And you side-step yourself, a way of trying to objectively look at yourself and maybe realize that all this overcompensating isn't really working out for ya and ya need to do something about that.

And that's how I've come to the point of settling into myself more. Perhaps it's acceptance, perhaps honesty, probably both, but it's this sense of "Oh, I just get to be me, and how cool is that!" That's not to say I've arrived (who arrives?), and that I'm not willing to acknowledge parts of me that probably need some work.

But things feel a little lighter. And that's got to be a good sign.

So how does all this connect to writing? Well, I suppose I'm no longer afraid to share the things that I write about. I don't feel so concerned about if this essay here aligns with what I'll be sharing next week or the week after that. Because I don't know what I'm going for. I suppose I'm just allowing it to emerge, and I imagine that I'll discover connections that I didn't even know were there. Connections that I wouldn't have otherwise discovered if I was being too much of a stickler with myself.

We ain't doin' that again.

So I'm writing again because it became fun. I'm writing again because surely there's something worthwhile here, even if it's just for me.

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You like to write? Have you had a point where you felt like you just became unstuck and what started flowing was more of you and less of whatever it was you were trying to be? Maybe it's not even writing. If you have a story about that, I'd love to hear it. No, seriously. Send me an email about it: hello@cameronfrench.co

If you're over on the socials, I am too. You can find me over on Instagram, posting photos and going viral (not). I'm also on Bluesky. Can it fill the Twitter gap in me? I don't know. We'll find out.