One Year of Weekly Essays—What I’ve Learned

An essay every week? Are you kidding me? That’s what I thought when I ventured into this effort. Will I have enough to say? How much time will it take? And the biggie: Will anyone read it?

Well, on enough to say…yes, I found a few things to say.

And on how much time…not too much. About 2-3 hours per week.

But on the third item: Will anyone read it? Yeah, a few people do. But I’m not really sure how many because I don’t get much feedback. The Substack app says my open rate is high—much higher than most—but who knows if that’s accurate. Most times I feel like I’m writing into a black box, not sure if anyone’s reading it or stimulated by my ideas.

But then I get that occasional comment from someone I hardly see who says, “Hey, I read your stuff and I like it. Keep it up.”

Really? You read it? Okay, I guess I’ll keep on.

Well, here’s what I’ve learned in a year:

1.      Writing a weekly essay is harder than I anticipated. Writing is hard. It tests your ideas. It challenges your thinking. You may have a thought or an observation on life, but until you put it on paper, you don’t know if it has legs.

For example, I had the idea that humility is the gateway to all other virtues. Without it, every other good quality is stilted or inaccessible. Cool idea, right? I love it and happen to believe it to be true.

But putting that into a cohesive, compelling, interesting essay, accompanied by an example from my life, well, that’s another thing. It’s hard to do. I still haven’t found a way into that piece. The “Humility - Gateway Virtue” folder on my computer still has half a dozen attempts, but nothing I would share with any of you.

Writing is hard. Writing a weekly essay is, too.

2.      Writing a weekly essay is easier than I anticipated. I have more ideas than I ever dreamed of. Now when I make an observation during my daily life, I think, ‘Maybe I can write about that.’ And the ideas seem to multiply. Once you’re in the groove, ideas beget ideas, and the supply seems endless. (You watch, next week I’ll be dry as a bone…)

For example, just yesterday I took a highway offramp and came to a stop at a fairly remote spot in our city. There is very little pedestrian traffic at this offramp and very few cars. At the stop, I noticed a young man press the crosswalk sign and stand, waiting for the “walk” sign to light up. I was the only car in the area and as I turned right, I looked back to see if he would cross on his own or wait. To my amazement, he waited.

Now, God bless him for being a law-abiding citizen. But law-obedience aside, seeing a young man comply with such absolute compliance did surprise me. I would have never done that. I would have used my head, noticed I was on a one-way offramp, noticed that there were no cars in sight, looked to see if a cop was around, and walked across the street.

As I drove away, I wondered, ‘Am I the oddball here? Would other people cross the street like I would?’ Well, I don’t really know. But it’s an interesting thought experiment.

Here’s how I see the nut of the piece:

Some people find great comfort in compliance. They will wait for that stick-figure walker to light up on the crosswalk sign, no matter if there are a hundred cars in front of them or none. They don’t care if another car is in sight. They don’t care if a cop is around. They are going to obey the law come hell or high water because they, doggone-it, live in a civilized, orderly society and they are going to do their part. Amen and hallelujah!

Other people (me) find more comfort in using our head, (as we like to think of it). We will note the traffic in front of us, notice if it a one-way or two-way street, notice the traffic lights, notice the number of cars and the number of people present, notice if a cop is around, and then use our good judgment as to when it is safe to cross. Because we know that the powers that be, while good hearted most of the time, are not all-knowing and all-seeing or perfect in their safety measures, and that we, as intelligent creatures, should use our head at all times.

Come on! Now that would be a great essay, don’t you think?

·         Those who would walk.

·         And those who wouldn’t.

So yes, ideas present themselves much more than I thought they would.

Well, I’m at 900 words which is right about the number I like to keep these essays. Why 900? I’m not sure. It just feels right to me. I would read something that long without much thought—especially if it got me to think about life a little differently. And that, my dear brother and sister, is what I’m trying to do with these weekly pieces.

Part 2 next week. My use of AI in writing and more.

Best, Ken