Why is writing so good for you, anyway? Pt. 1

Swim in my circles and you'll see one suggestion spring up over and over: you should write a blog.

Doesn't matter what you do. You should write a blog. Groom dogs for a living? Write a blog. Public Defender? Blog. Product Manager? Yup. Mathematician? Politician? Astronaut? Philosopher? Teacher? Karate Instructor? Chess Grandmaster? Venture Capitalist? Novelist? Blog. Blog blog blog blog blog. Blog.

It seems gospel that a writing habit is up there with good sleep and daily exercise as a foundational habit for life, no matter who you are or what you do.

And you know what? I'm not here to refute that. In fact, ya know who you'll find leading this thumping throng of blog-evangelists frothing about? Yup, me. Oversized sign in one hand, bullhorn in the other, exhorting the world to write things out.

But why? Why do we care so damn much? For me the answer's easy: writing makes my life much better. It makes it richer, more rewarding, more interesting, more fulfilling, more connected, more lively. I could go on.

But this begs the question: how the hell does writing do this, exactly? As I did with my recent meditation on meditation, I wanted to dive in on this.

Here's a brief shot at answering that question. There is so much more to say, but I'll leave this here for now. Like my thoughts on meditation linked above, I share this with you for three main reasons: firstly, so you can learn about it if you're curious; secondly, because it has made such a big difference in my life that it would feel irresponsible not to; and thirdly, because I got curious about it myself and wanted to - you guessed it - write it down.

First: Writing makes me smarter.

Writing helps me pick good ideas from bad ones. It does this by stretching ideas to their breaking points, which reveals which ideas have integrity and stand up to scrutiny - and which don't. This helps me gauge a new idea's merit more quickly and effectively. In this way it improves my critical thinking and media literacy. This is pretty important when you're living in the Conceptual Age.

In the long term, writing builds wisdom. I've realized that "writing something out" is like making a deposit in my mental bank account. The way a new paycheck deposits more money which I can then draw from and "spend," a new piece of writing forces me to build more knowledge, connections, and relationships between ideas in my mind, which I can draw from later. Over time I grow wiser, see patterns better, and understand systems better. This helps me move through the world less anxiously and more confidently.

In the short term, it gives my brain a boost, like a stimpack to a Marine. On any given day, my brain invariably works better for a while after a writing session. I see these effects after writing for an hour, 30 minutes - even 15 minutes! I become sharper, smarter, quicker. I fill out crosswords faster, complete puzzles faster, speak more eloquently. I can summon an elegant turn of phrase while texting with a friend faster and more easily. That won't mean much for most, but it is very cool and rewarding for me.

Ultimately, writing is like resistance training for my brain. The way resistance training allows me to move more freely, smoothly, and capably through the physical world, writing helps me process new information more smoothly, quickly and effectively. [1]

Second: Writing preserves my attention span and working memory.

By now it's gospel that people's attention spans are eroding faster than the ozone in the 80s. Down they fall, shedding inexorably as the waves of new media crash interminably on the shorelines of our cerebral cortices. [2]

Like every piece of popular commentary, this idea is both true and false. Yes, some are losing their attention span. But some aren't. The difference between these two? Their choices. Your attention span rests in your hands. If you continue to cultivate a longer attention span, you will never lose yours. In fact it will only grow. You will be able to sit down for long periods and savor a work in its entirety - whether it's a feature length movie, a full symphony orchestra performance, a paper-bound book, a concept album from cover to cover - whatever your preferred creative work. You are in control of your attention span.

On the flip side of that coin, your attention span will get smaller and smaller if you willingly submit yourself to the whims of the social media algorithms. Make no mistake: if you jump on TikTok, those "harmless" 21-34 second chunks of fun-sized merriment will entice you into thinking you've got nothing to lose. That is, until you lift your head 3 hours later to find the sun's gone down, the damp laundry is getting mildewy in the wash and your roasted Brussels sprouts turned into coal nuggets an hour ago.

Meanwhile, you now feel dazed and somehow mildly hungover.

Like the party at LMFAO's, the technological bacchanal never stops. Round the clock, it invites you to indulge in its endless array of bite-sized entertainment. And the only thing it demands from you in return is your ability to slow down and enjoy what actual, real life has to offer. Beware this tradeoff.

Make your choice; just know you're making one.

Life moves slowly. Align with life's speed and you'll taste rewards so profound you won't know what to do with yourself. That's the side of life I want to live on. And writing is my ticket to that. It slows me down and asks me to do the kind of cognitive heavy lifting that deepens my attention span and working memory. As a happy side effect, it enables me to enjoy the rest of life more fully.

A third thing: Writing keeps my brain, mine.

Speaking of those TikToks... those cute little bite-sized videos seem so innocuous, don't they?

"What have you got to lose? You're not sitting down for long. You're only watching one video. Okay, obviously you have to watch a couple since you're here.

Fine, I'll do five; they're all so short, anyway. That's like 3 minutes.

Five more is nothing. I'm still not even close to the time it takes to watch a single half-hour episode, for heaven's sakes.

[Cue the timelapse with the mildew and the darkness and the slaughtered Brussels sprouts.]

The most insidious part of this mindless scrolling? The opportunity cost. Every time you watch a short video, you are prevented from something else.

Here's a question: Do you know which part of a casino "makes more money in the United States than movies, game parks and baseball combined?"

Slot machines.

Give that a second to sink in.

Slot machines only take tiny little coins! Yet they extract more from people's wallets than potbellied behemoths like Hollywood, amusement parks and a Top 4 Sports League put together?!

This is a hidden lesson in opportunity cost. Each coin that goes into the slot machine is indisputably insignificant on its own. It is fully replaceable. It is virtually harmless to lose. No one could reasonably disagree. And yet slot machines manage to earn casinos more than any other form of gambling.

Now consider how harmless each of those little coins is. Now consider those tiny deposits of 30 seconds you're giving to TikTok, or looking at those photos, or scrolling that feed. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Your life is nothing but one little drip followed by another. You must guard the knowledge that every little drip is not only meaningful, it's the whole game! These drips are the pieces that sum up to your life when all is said and done.

Little things add up. Don't ever forget it.

When you're scrolling your phone, it means you're not working on your garden, or writing your poem, or knitting that scarf for your niece, or reaching out to your old friend, or doing any of the millions of enjoyable things you could be doing that actually build a well of meaning in your life. You are dripping your life essence into their pool instead of yours.

So even though it seems like you are only giving a tiny little bit in each moment, you are actually giving up everything. Picture yourself on your death bed. Would that person have wanted you to sit and consume media, or do something else with your life? Genuine question. I know my answer.

Writing helps me claw back those moments. It gives me something meaningful to do in my in-between time. It builds my own personal well of meaning. It connects me more deeply with the world, with my loved ones, and with myself - both past and future. Writing enables me to me keep my head and my heart in a system endlessly grasping for both.

Fourth and final point (for now): Writing reclaims my soul.

As someone who consumes media, writing is a vital refresh for my soul. Confession time, there have been periods when I've lost part of myself into the endless torrent of information available today. Periods where I've consumed gobs of media without stopping to turn all that input into healthy output. Every time this happens, my mental health suffers. I seem fine on the surface, but inside I become a little more anxious, a little less bright, a little less connected and inspired. This then affects my family. I've learned the hard way that you have to keep a balance between consuming and creating. I do, at least.

The writer Andrew Sullivan puts it well:

There are books to be read; landscapes to be walked; friends to be with; life to be fully lived. And I realize that this is, in some ways, just another tale in the vast book of human frailty. But this new epidemic of distraction is our civilization’s specific weakness. And its threat is not so much to our minds, even as they shape-shift under the pressure. The threat is to our souls. At this rate, if the noise does not relent, we might even forget we have any.

Writing returns me to myself when I begin to lose myself. Writing is like a good friend who checks in on me, sees through my bullshit, and gives me what I need to get better. It helps me remember to arrange my own little world in a way that's healthy for me, that helps me make sense of things. I gain perspective. I reify my values, my priorities, my desires for life. It makes me more human that way. More hopeful, more vigorous, alive with more agency and intention.

As a bonus, this not only restores my soul but liberates those around me to live this way too.

Just know: It isn't easy.

Is writing good for me? Yes. Is it rewarding? Yes. Does it make my life better? Big time. But is it easy? Hell no. It is work. It is a skill. Just like any skill, to do it well requires practice, focus, and commitment.

But like the Olympian Jerzy Gregorek said, "Easy choices, hard life. Hard choices, easy life."

Writing is hard, but one of the most rewarding things that exists in my life.

Doing this hard thing has paid off for me so far. Maybe it will for you too, friend.

Footnotes

[1] Worth nothing that I don't claim any hard statistics or research to back this up; I only report to you my consistent experience.

[2] Sometimes I mix metaphors.