Writing is rewriting. It’s not only about finding the errors, it’s also about finding better words and phrasing to express what you want to say and make your story sing. And it’s about cutting out the crap—the words that do nothing to move your story forward.
Rewriting is a also good metaphor for life. When I was a clinical social worker in the 70s, I heard a lecture by William Glasser, who’d just published his ground-breaking book, Reality Therapy. He presented a simple idea. He said, basically, if what you’re doing isn’t getting you what you want, then change what you’re doing. It was the doing that was critical.
Like most people, there were moments in my life, when I sat around day dreaming, wishing things could be different. By thinking change could come magically from the outside, I was overlooking the tremendous power I had to change my life for the better. Fortunately, I stumbled upon a book called What Color is Your Parachute? I began doing the exercises in the book—examining my work history, my likes, my dislikes, my wins, my losses, and what I could learn from them. What worked for me and what didn’t. Instead of becoming immobilized, I looked at my past mistakes. I didn’t dwell on them. I was able to move in a different direction, one that moved my life story forward.
Because so many people who came to see me for counseling were stuck on past mistakes—and making the same ones over and over again—I would start by telling them about the pencil. Why pencils have erasers. It’s because we all make mistakes. We need to stop beating ourselves up, learn from them, and do something different.
There’s a wonderful moment in the book and film, Eat, Love, Pray by Elizabeth Gilbert. Our protagonist finds herself at an ashram where one of the guests gives her a note to read while she’s meditating. It has to do with forgiving herself. Forgiving her mistakes.
Whenever I mess up now, I try and remember the pencil.
