No Excuses
a priest and Jenna Elfman walk into a writing class. wait no that can't be how it goes...
Did you ever watch that rom-com from 2000 called Keeping the Faith? Ben Stiller and Edward Norton play a rabbi and a priest, respectively, and no that’s not the start of a joke. They’ve been buddies since childhood, they had a third childhood buddy who moved away, they’re hip and cool and play basketball and introduce old people to meditation, the elders on the board are less than thrilled, et cetera. In one scene, Ben Stiller is going out for dinner with a woman from his congregation, and as he’s picking her up, he sees two little plush toys in her apartment — both strangely jacked and fluorescent. He picks one up, half-looks at it, and then plops it back down on the table. It pipes up in that startling way that only battery-powered toys and singing cards do, with the canned voice that makes you pee yourself a little, and bellows, “NO PAIN NO GAIN.” He picks up the other one, plops it down, and hears, “YOU GO GIRL.” Watch the movie to enjoy more shenanigans and also to see Jenna Elfman flaunt her super-high-tech flip phone, complete with antenna.
It’s funny in a movie. It’s less funny in real life.
I attended a seminar today on writing. I was very much looking forward to it, as I am both someone who loves writing and someone who is petrified of calling herself a writer. I hoped for encouragement, inspiration, and maybe even some good old-fashioned tips on things like writer’s block and finding a publisher.
Instead, I got scolded.
Okay maybe that’s being dramatic. I didn’t personally get scolded. But it was two hours of people telling you that the only way to be a writer is to strap yourself to a chair and write for two hours or two thousand words a day, which ever comes first. You have to write every day or your creativity will dry up. The only thing keeping you from writing is yourself. You have to write even when you battle every word and stare at a blank page and wish you were doing anything else but writing. You have to push through and write because if you don’t, you’ll get to the end of your life and you’ll regret having cleaned your toilet instead of writing, or something like that. I admit to having stopped paying close attention and started coloring mandalas at some point during hour number two.
It was like I was in a room with the literary version of gym-bros. (You know, the ones who post on LinkedIn in button-up shirts so tight you can see their veins through their polyester-cotton blends, and they say things like “NO EXCUSES. Work out even if you’re tired NO EXCUSES. Fit your weight training in between your meetings and your kids’ soccer practices NO EXCUSES. If you’re tired just up your protein NO EXCUSES. Your body is fully under your control and you can protein-shake and squat your way to health NO EXCUSES.” You know. Those guys.)
I asked a question in the chat inviting people to share any ideas they might have for someone like me, whose chronic illnesses very often prevent me from writing every day, or even really being able to do much of anything every day, because symptoms are unpredictable, and energy is fleeting, and brain fog is real, and nerve pain is debilitating. I still want to write, to tell my story, to let creativity flow, but that strict of a daily rhythm just doesn’t work for me. Here’s what I got in response:
well but can’t you at least dictate what you want to write into a speech-to-text app, so you keep the discipline of writing going? it’s really important; you should try to still dedicate that time
if you can’t write maybe you could read for two or three hours instead, because at least that’ll keep your brain sharp
write poetry instead of prose (uh, what? poetry is HARDER to write than prose, in my humble opinion)
It had echoes of the “have you tried intermittent fasting” of my early days of being sick, when everything could be fixed by trying harder or losing weight or thinking positively. And what’s even more concerning than receiving this kind of thing inside of a writing seminar is when I see and hear it in communities of faith. Things like,
in order to be a good Christian, you have to read your bible every day, no excuses
if you don’t give 10% of your income it means you’re unfaithful, because God will provide if only you would trust enough
you make time for what’s important, and if you don’t make time for God, you’re showing him you don’t love him
and my personal favorite:
God’s using this suffering as trial by fire to burn away your faults and develop [patience/virtue/strength]
NO PAIN NO GAIN. YOU GO GIRL. NO EXCUSES.
I’m here to present an argument in favor of excuses.
You’re excused if you don’t work out every day, or every week, or even very often at all. Maybe sometimes your body needs exercise, and sometimes it is telling you it just needs rest, not more protein. Maybe sometimes, sit in the sunlight instead of driving yourself to a windowless gym.
You’re excused if your joint pain or your depression or your insomnia or your work schedule keeps you from feeling like writing, or baking, or practicing trumpet, or typing up that report, or doing the laundry, or returning that text. Maybe sometimes, stop being so unhelpfully productive and instead sit completely motionless on the couch while your dog does her best impression of an 80-pound weighted blanket on your lap.
You’re excused if you picked up a hobby and then set it aside for days or weeks or months, or maybe even didn’t return to it at all because you decided it wasn’t for you. You aren’t a failure if you don’t post your sourdough on Instagram every morning at 9 a.m. sharp. Maybe sometimes, step back and admire your TBR shelf for all the beautiful cover art, instead of guilting yourself for not meeting your Good Reads goal.
You’re excused if you’re a teacher and you’re barely surviving the last few weeks of school, or if you’re a minister about to enter Annual Conference season, or if you’re a hospital chaplain who just sat for 12 straight hours with the family of a dying child. You don’t need a pre-approved reason to be exhausted and tearful and anxious. Maybe sometimes, call a friend and cry instead of holding it together.
You’re excused if you haven’t been to church in a while, or if you can’t afford to tithe, or if the most you’ve prayed recently has been a quick “God almighty” every now and then and you’re honestly not sure whether it’s a prayer or an expletive. Maybe God draws near to you not because you read the bible in 90 days but simply because God likes you, and even loves you, and incomprehensibly thinks that your sweet, stressed, imperfect, silly self is exactly the right amount of enough.
You’re excused if you don’t see any pattern or point or greater plan for your suffering. You’re excused if you cycle through the phases of grief like you’re flipping through Netflix shows, bouncing from anger to denial to acceptance and back again in the span of a few minutes. You’re excused if you want to stop treatment and your kids don’t understand. You’re excused if you sleep with the light on and unfollow a bunch of people on social media because the world is scary as hell. Maybe sometimes, all you need to do is make it through another day.
And you know what? You’re also excused if you do get to the end of your life and wish you’d written a book, or learned the oboe, or traveled to South America. You’re allowed to wish you had had more time, to wish you hadn’t gotten sick, to wish you had taken that one job or turned down that other job, or done things differently. You’re allowed to have regrets and unfulfilled dreams. You’re allowed to wish for more than you were able to achieve, and, even more importantly, you’re allowed to feel all of this without it meaning that you are a failure.
Maybe there are gains without pain. Maybe it’s even ok if there aren’t any gains at all. Maybe it’s enough to be gentle with yourself and to get by with just enough. Maybe excuses are underrated. Maybe they’re not even excuses, but rather just little reminders that we are limited, that we are finite, that there are things we aren’t meant to finish or complete or master or perfect.
Maybe being right where we are at this exact moment is miracle enough for today.
Hey, thanks for taking time to read my words! I’ll be here as often as my brain and body allow.
When my grandmother died about 18 years ago, I retaught myself how to crochet. (She had taught me when I was younger.) That year, I decided to crochet something (scarves, primarily) for everyone in my family for Christmas. I did a great job, and everyone was really appreciative of the gifts, but I burned myself out. It was a long time before I picked up my crochet hook again. When I hear people talk about writing the way you described your class or movement the way you referred to the gym bros, I wonder if those things that should give us the most joy become chores instead. (Incidentally, I have concern that UIL Performing Arts in Texas can have a similar effect on middle school and high school students’ love of the craft of making music. And, it’s possible that concern stems from personal experience.)
Making the art or writing or any of those things guilt ridden takes every bit of pleasure in accomplishment away!