“You can write, but you can’t edit...edit...edit...” -- Regina Spektor
I always associated the beginning of September with new school supplies. I loved to label glossy new folders, meticulously outline my upcoming class schedule, sharpen pencils to needle-perfect points. I would spread out everything in front of me and reflect on the school year ahead, my plans to stay organized, my aspirations for my social life, my goals for discipline in my faith. I tried to prepare myself as best I could for the stress I knew inevitably lay ahead. Getting everything in order was my calm before the storm -- the times I would unravel emotionally in the throes of perfectionism, unrealistic expectations, a hectic schedule, and lengthy to-do lists.
Despite my best preparations (and my petty joy in the newness of my carefully-selected school supplies), September also heralded the unknown...the unforeseen life lessons I could not possibly brace myself for, the new knowledge and wisdom I had yet to gain. To put it simply, I had no way of knowing what really lay ahead. But I invariably had high hopes for starting afresh.
My favorite new school-related items were almost always my pencils -- more specifically, their erasers...their pink erasers...smooth, untouched, velvety soft, bubble-gum hued, plump and supple atop their yellow No. 2s. If you couldn’t already tell, I was (am?) a bit obsessed with these pink erasers...to the point that when I was younger I would buy those ugly, bright-colored little refill eraser tops to cover up my new erasers so that I could preserve them in their un-smudged, pink perfection. I refused to erase anything with the actual pink erasers formulated for that very function. I even covered up their loveliness as a result of this absolutely ridiculous apprehension that someone would use them (heaven forbid!) and only occasionally let them see the light of day so that I could admire them and contemplate their simple beauty. Footnote: if this makes you laugh at me and think that I was absolutely crazy, you are fully justified in doing so. But I have a reason for admitting my pink eraser-fixation: it’s analogous to my life, and maybe to yours.
Don’t hide loveliness, or diminish the significance of a gift you have just because you’re afraid of using it. Utilize what you have for its intended function. If you’re holding a pencil between your fingers and think you have something decent to say, WRITE. ERASE. Write some more. Encourage, challenge, rectify, create, persuade, motivate -- mistakes and triumphs mingling on the page.
What does it mean to plan ahead? What hopes will be dashed by unpredictable Septembers and the months that follow? What can we prepare ourselves for? What can we anticipate? What does it mean to write plans for our lives in pencil?
Some goals and dreams shift around a bit in your suitcase when you travel. Some lists are unfinished and awaiting additions. Some love poetry ought to be edited. Some words should be erased, but they have to sit there on the page awhile first. Some sketches look better smudged.
Writing in pencil begs for fresh starts, better words, chances to self-correct or be corrected. Ergo, writing in pencil also requires an eraser.
I’ve realized that I sometimes avoid erasing. If I discover some abhorrent paragraph of thought or deed scrawled on the pages of my life-journal, I’m tempted to tear it out, crumple it up, burn it, toss it out. But maybe it would be better to besmirch the pink-eraser-view of perfection I’m ludicrously trying to preserve in my expectation of myself by erasing that undesirable page instead...and writing over it with something redeeming and beautiful.
Sometimes the organization and discipline I try to build into my academic, spiritual, and intellectual life each September ends up falling discouragingly short of my good intentions. Reflecting back on this past semester, which has just mercifully drawn to a close, I am realizing that perhaps too many of my goals are oriented toward some lofty dreams about the future and what my life will look like, when in reality there is little that I know about what lies ahead for me and much I have still to do in practical, daily steps towards those goals. But spiritual discipline starts NOW. I can come closer to realistic achievements NOW. I need to think about what my life looks like this very minute.
God is helping us compose our stories, pencilling in new details, making smudges in the margins, erasing our failed attempts at perfection and writing over them with definitive redemption. He doesn’t make us wait until the next September to re-evaluate, restock, reassess, and start afresh with renewed exuberance.
So for now, I will pick up a pencil. I will write, and I will erase, and I will write some more.
I hope you will, too.
