I Write To Feel Better

Substack as emotional maintenance

Last Sunday afternoon, I was having a rough one. I felt a general sense of unease and agitation that I just couldn’t shake. This wasn’t a case of the Sunday Scaries, it was a little too early in the day for that. Instead I was laying around my apartment, feeling like I needed to do something, but immediately rejecting any idea that came to mind. I didn’t want to watch a movie. The new episode of 1923 on Paramount+ was of no interest. My copy of The Hobbit, halfway finished and sitting on the coffee table waiting for me to dive back in, did not tickle my fancy. I had already taken my dog to the park that morning, so a trip outside didn’t seem appealing either. I needed to engage in some kind of action, I just didn’t know what.

What I did was get off my couch, and then immediately sit back down. Except this time I sat down at my kitchen table and started writing.

There had been an idea for an essay percolating in the back of my mind for the better part of a week, and I just wanted to get it started, to take it from that theoretical space in my brain to the concrete space of text. As long as I got a paragraph or two down to generate some momentum, I would consider myself satisfied. Two hours later, I had written all 1,600 words I needed to complete the piece.

The shift in my mood from when I began writing to when I finished was drastic. I went from feeling heavy and sluggish, not excited about anything, to light and airy, consumed with a general sense of well-being accompanied by a slight euphoric buzz. What happened within those two hours that caused such a change?

What happens when anyone engages in a creative act? Who knows for sure. What stood out to me was the fact that I kept writing even when I passed the minimum threshold that I had set for myself. Once I completed the first couple of paragraphs and was allowed to call it a day, I decided it felt better to keep going than to stop. If I had closed my laptop at that point, I probably would have found myself back in the same emotional state I was in when I sat down to write. I knew finishing the essay would be challenging, but a difficult challenge was more appealing to me than an afternoon of uneasy comfort. Only one choice provided me with the outcome I desired.

The most concise way I could describe how I felt after I finished writing was unburdened. Not only did I accomplish an important task (writing a new essay for my Substack) but I also got some stuff off my chest. Understanding something internally is one thing, but actually translating it to prose, seeing it laid out neatly before you instead of existing as a jumbled mess inside your mind, provides a tangible measure of relief. It’s like unloading a heavy bag that you’ve been carrying.

That’s why it felt better to keep going than to stop–it wasn’t time to put down the bag yet. The journey wasn’t finished, and no true relief could be found until it was.

I sometimes wonder what the point of this Substack is. There are a handful of readers that engage with it, all of them thoughtfully, but it doesn’t have a ton of subscribers. Some posts do well and get a higher than average amount of views, likes and comments, while others land with a relatively thud. But that’s just the nature of creative output, especially in the era of the algorithm. Writing for digital engagement isn’t really the point, and you won’t last long if that’s your primary goal. So what is the point then?

This Substack exists for moments like last Sunday. It’s for when something just doesn’t feel right, and the only thing that will improve my mood is to get words down on a page. Taking those words and then putting them out into a public forum is also a major part of the relief I feel. It just wouldn’t hit the same if I were to keep everything in a Google Doc, locked away for no one else to see. Sharing with an audience, and getting feedback from that audience, no matter how small, is the final step that enchants the entire process.

Not only does this act benefit me, it benefits others in my life as well. When I write, I feel better. When I feel better, I’m an easier person to be around. I’m sure my wife appreciates it whenever I dissolve whatever internal strife I’m carrying around. I also do a better job at work when I’ve recently written and shared something. I find myself to be more agreeable and willing to actively confront complex problems.

For me, the writing process has holistic benefits. Moving with the spirit of effervescence that comes after writing, instead of sad-sacking around like a human Eeyore, pays dividends in my immediate real world environment. This holds true in both personal and professional scenarios.

Substacker

Neoliberal Feudalism

recently published an overview of pessimist philosopher Emil Cioran. One particular quote stood out to me. About writing, Cioran said:

Everything I’ve written, I wrote to escape a sense of oppression, suffocation. It wasn’t from inspiration, as they say. It was a sort of getting free, to be able to breathe.

I don’t exactly know why I have this affliction, this need to write (in the present) and to do stand-up comedy (in the past). Something about the way I’m wired compels me to attempt to synthesize ideas and put them out into the world. I’m just glad I have a way to ease the agitation that comes with this compulsion and I’m grateful for the positivity I feel when I finish writing. I believe, on the whole, it’s better to suffer, strive and feel relief than to never feel that initial suffering in the first place. Action beats inaction every time.

So I keep writing.