Over the past few years I have tried to improve my writing. Better writing often leads to a better understanding of an idea, be it a question, a problem, or a memory. Given how easy it is for our emotions or biases to colour perceptions of a topic, the process of writing allows us to better separate ourselves from a subject when the need arises. Naturally, this doesn't mean that the things we write should be devoid of personality. What we should strive for when putting pen to paper, however that may be, is an absence of inaccuracy and an abundance of clarity.
The former is generally easier than the latter.
At the beginning of this year I made a number of changes to some habits so that I can invest more time in thinking. I no longer wear headphones while out and about in the world, using them only when talking to people through the phone or Internet. I carry something to write in at all times. I do not have music playing in the background all day to overcome the silence that permeates my life now. This has had a noticeable effect on how much time I spend thinking about important matters that were previously kept at bay by playlists, podcasts, and other distractions. Thanks to the reintroduction of "boredom", a number of realisations have been discovered and important decisions have been made.
That said, there is still one distraction that gets in the way of mental clarity: the internal monologues.
This is a plural because there are generally two thoughts that are vying for attention at any given time. There is one that is trying to focus on right now, whether it is work or reading or prayer or something else. Then there is that distracting voice that presents memories, asks off-topic questions, demands food, or something else that interferes with and sometimes overpowers the first. This is different from the "Voices of Self-Doubt" that I used to struggle with because the distractions are rarely demeaning or self-destructive. Instead, the distractions are more like a young child that runs around in an attic full of old boxes asking "What's this?", "How about this?", "Can I have this?".
Perhaps describing this voice as distracting is a little too generous.
One of the things I've been doing to try and reign in this internal "Chaos Monkey"1 is to have a paper notepad next to me when trying to focus on a specific task. Some testing over the last few weeks has shown that when I write down some of the ideas that are being thrown to the forefront of consciousness, the distractions can be set aside for a short while. Time still needs to be dedicated later in the day to mull over the concepts and memories that were presented, but the main area of focus can continue to receive the bulk of my attention. What I find interesting about these half-thoughts and memory fragments is that, when looked at as a whole, a pattern emerges that can offer insights into a problem or something I thought I understood. It is as though the mind is saying "You're not done with this, yet".
What does this have to do with better writing? Quite a bit. The insights are written about in my journal, in a letter, or on this blog. Because a proper amount of time was afforded to them, what I write is generally – but not always – more concise, with fewer tangents that lead to nowhere. I also find myself to feel better afterwards, as if a small weight has been lifted off my shoulders; one less burden to bear.
The voice continues to cause interruptions throughout the day but, perhaps by attending to that monkey, it will eventually run out of things to say and I will learn more about myself along the way.
This term comes from a tool developed at Netflix that would randomly shut down parts of their infrastructure. This was done to ensure their systems were built to be resilient against failure. It's also a good term to describe the little voice in our head that is never satisfied with the present.