Noticing What You Notice

Joan Didion says she writes to find out what she thinks and (I believe) it is Patricia Hampl who writes to uncover what she already knows. For me, writing is a combination of these two. I write to discover which of the things I believe actually are true, and which of those the lies I tell myself to get through life.

Having recently switched my thesis project to a new direction, one which is actually closer to the reason I decided to get my Master's in writing, as well as reflects the kind of book I wanted to write in the first place, I learn something new every day, whether I'm looking at a specific event or person in a way I couldn't in a particular moment or why I do, think, or feel certain things.

One thing I find myself doing a great deal is making connections. Since I am writing about relationships (mine primarily), I end up comparing and contrasting them a great deal. Two guys I've dated both shared nearly the same taste in music, owned a tote-bag make from an old sail, and continually needed me to help them pick out clothing before we'd go out to dinner. Another set of two both broke up with me after I revealed my insecurities with our relationships. In every situation, there is an odd ebb and flow of both superficial and intricate coincidences, patterns, and repetitions. What they all mean, I am not so sure, but I see that they are there.

A couple weeks ago, my memoir class went to see Verlyn Klinkenborg speak at the Hammer Museum. He said the one lesson he's learned as a writer, which took him a very long time to understand, was, "I assume that if I notice something, it is worth noticing." Which gives me some assurance in over-thinking even the smallest connection. (Finally, my trusty over-analyzing skills can non-self-destructively calculate.)

Klinkenborg went on to explain that what we notice as writers and how we feel about what we notice matters. Yet, we can go a step further: notice what we notice, then try to understand how we feel about what we notice, and, finally, act upon that knowledge.

I am writing to find out what I think. I am writing to find out what I already know. But I am also writing so that I might act upon what I discover about myself. Memoir can be a meditation, even a confession, both of which Sam Dunn has said, but it can also be a transformation.

While I write, the opinions and feelings I hold toward those men I've allowed into my life change. But mainly, the truths I believe about myself are what really shift. The question of who I really am becomes foggier with each hour spent looking at the page, and the decisions I've made less logical the more I try to understand them.

Over the next months I will scour and interrogate my memories to attempt to figure out who I am, which is both terrifying and exciting. But, I hope, in getting to know me, (the me that's often clouded with wants to live up to expectations, fears of judgment, and layers of insecurities) I can take that knowledge Klinkenborg alluded to and transform myself into the woman I wish to be.