Where we meet ourselves
A tool to connect to our voices, viewpoints, questions, and answers.
Each morning, as we face the page, we meet ourselves. The pages give us a place to vent and a place to dream. They are intended for no eyes but our own.
― Julia Cameron, The Miracle of Morning Pages
Woke up, it was a Chelsea morning
And the first thing that I knew
There was milk and toast and honey
And a bowl of oranges, too
And the sun poured in like butterscotch
And stuck to all my sensesOh, won't you stay, we'll put on the day
And we'll talk in present tenses— Joni Mitchell, Chelsea Morning
I have not been sleeping well lately. When I don’t sleep well, I can be a bit….cranky. Short tempered. Snarky. All to say, I am not my best. That is how it is right now. For now. Tired as I am, I take to my pad of paper for morning pages.
Morning pages is a practice shared by Julia Cameron in her seminal work, The Artists Way. Here is a brief summary of the practice. It is very simple:
Write 3 pages.
Long hand - not typed.
Write as close to waking as you can.
Do this daily.
When I started morning pages a few years ago, I challenged the practice with questions like: “Why is this of value?”, “What am I supposed to get out of this?”, and, most frequently, “What do I write?” Many notebooks later, here are a few thoughts on those questions.
“Why is this of value?” “What am I supposed to get out of this?”
Find - and get to know - your voice. Many people come to coaching because they want to find, or feel more confident with, their voice, especially if they are new to their role. What does your voice sound like? What does it want to say? How does it want to say it? When do you want to use it? Morning pages gives you the time, the space, the quiet, and the routine to find and get to know your voice.
Morning pages is my chance to connect to yourself. Natalie Goldberg encourages us to “Sit down right now. Give me this moment. Write whatever’s running through you…Don’t try to control it. Stay present with whatever comes up, and keep your hand moving.” For this recovering perfectionist, it’s that last line that fills the back of my neck with prickles and heat: “Don’t try to control it. Stay present with whatever comes up, and keep your hand moving.” I force myself to keep the pen moving. I am jumbled and uncertain and vague. Even like that - I get it all out. I get out all the things that crowd my mind (usually on page 1) and then this remarkable thing happens: there is a clearing. My mind clears. I start to write about something more than just my to-do list or my anger or my worries. I start to be with me. The me that is under the pressure, the load, the list…me. Every morning, I connect with me.
I am able to ask myself questions that need asking. In the private, soothing, kind, wide, and supportive space that comes from my own hand with a pen to a piece of paper, I start to wonder:
How am I?
What do I feel right now?
What did I dream?
What do I dream?
What is on my mind?
What do I notice about this day?
I don’t always ask these questions but in the privacy of morning pages, I can. And I can go as deep or as far in my questioning as I need. I decide what I need.
I design. Morning pages allows me to design my space, my process, my method, and my ritual. It is 100% by my design. For you, perhaps that means designing the day or your thoughts or your approach to whatever challenges you face. Bravo! For me, morning pages is about the intentionality I bring to a busy day for a few minutes. It is connecting to my late-father by writing every day on the same kind of pad he used. It is the beautiful pen I choose from my stable of inky, colorful options. “Which pen is my pen today?” is often the first question I ask in the morning. It feels good to have that lovely of a choice first thing. I design those choices and moments when I come to morning pages.
This brings us to the question I get asked the most when I recommend morning pages and that I’ve asked on many a brain-foggy morning, “What do I write?”
I can’t tell you what to write. I will tell you how I begin as a way to imagine your own beginning:
Some days I start by writing good morning.
Some days, I start by writing that I don’t know what to write. And I write that for five or six lines before something comes along.
Many days, I turn to the 11s as a starting place. This brilliant practice comes from Jena Schwartz, writer and promptress. 11 things. Whatever they are. Write them. Period.
Some days, I ask myself questions that I return to again and again.
What are you holding on to? How is that serving you today?
What are you grateful for?
What do you desire?
How might you be of use in the world? In what ways can you be of service?
What do you know in this moment?
What do you really want from this day?
What do you want to say?
What do you see right now?
Still wondering what you would write? You are not alone. The blank page evokes many responses and emotions. If not the 11s (see above), I remember Natalie Goldberg who prompts us, “Give me your morning. Breakfast, waking up, walking to the bus stop. Be as specific as possible. Slow down in your mind and go over the details of the morning.”
So what I do see? What is my morning? I see the sun coming over the hills that have greened up from the rains in ways that make it seem more like the green of Vermont in summer than the California I have known so far. I see the cat skulking towards the leftover toast on the counter. I see the mossy green ink I used on my pad of paper last night to draft this post. I see the calendar on the kitchen wall begging to be turned to this new month, the month of my late-father’s birthday and I take a slow, steadying breath to embrace the ache of missing him that comes upon me. Another breath on that just for writing that here.
Joni Mitchell’s matutinal anthem rings in my ears. In each verse, she guides us towards our morning pages: “Woke up it was a Chelsea morning and the first thing that I heard….”, “the first thing that I saw….”, and finally, “the first thing that I knew.”
Before we can know what to do, what to think, or what to say, we need to tap in to ourselves. To our way of hearing, seeing, and knowing. The world is noisy and busy and loud. This short practice is a tool to connect to our own voices, viewpoint, questions, and answers.
Whatever practices you embrace - morning, noon, or night - I hope they open space in you to feel supported, curious, and loved. And that sun pours in like butterscotch wherever you may be.