Writing Leads to Thinking

The expression “writing leads to thinking” probably strikes you as completely backwards. It ought to be obvious, you need to think before you can write, right? 

Possibly the same could be said for talking and thinking, and I’m sure most people reading this have had at least one experience where they wished that they had spent an extra second thinking before they started talking. By talking, they realized, unexpectedly, what they were thinking before they had thought it through. Some of us only gain insights into our thoughts, or for that matter, what we should do, by talking about it first. I, for one, often need to talk about something before I know what I’m thinking. Yes, I am one of those. . .

As I think about the title of today’s entry, “Writing Leads to Thinking”, one counter could be “It’s reading that leads to thinking”. And I agree of course, reading does also, or at least can lead to thinking. But for my purposes here, I am starting with the premise that I don’t know what I’m thinking, or what to do, unless I see it.

I was spurred on to start this evening’s adventurous writing by an anonymous response to one of the earlier posts from last summer: posted into the ether, with no clear knowledge if anyone would read or really care. Someone wrote “Thank you”. Which got me thinking.

It’s December 2023, a month filled with inside warmth both literally and figuratively, at least for me. Inside warmth, outside cold. Note: over month has elapsed since I started this entry, I’ve been coming at it a few different directions, and for those attentive enough I had a post that I subsequently removed that took some time. That one I wrote to help process my ongoing professional activities: I posted to provide myself and others insights, and I withdrew it in order to lessen the risk of causing harm to others who are also impacted by my work!  OK, after that parenthetical comment, here goes on the initial topic. 

I am no a churchgoer and definitely not religiously observant; I’m a product of the modern age and the Judeo-Christian culture and mass consumerism no doubt. I still like the sentiments of hope and love and companionship and yearning for a better future that Christmas provides. Possibly I’ve completely misinterpreted the message. A good friend tells me that “Cheese is the Reason for the Season”. (Say it aloud if you don’t get it immediately). But no matter. At this part of December, we more often make fires to add to the warmth of our living room:

Yesterday morning's fire was particularly necessary due to us waking up to a cold house. The boiler had stopped providing heat, as it does every year or two. It’s old. It’s not that reliable. But I understand its quirks and have fixed it many times already. Anyway, I don’t want to get distracted and write about the repair of the boiler (to keep it brief, it needed a replacement igniter, of which I fortunately had one on hand). I want to contemplate the role of writing and thinking in the context of how does it work, this causal relationship? Initially, I think that it’s the need to formulate thoughts in order to structure coherent sentences, and string those sentences together into a useful narrative that expresses some essential truth, that can help a person to clarify their thinking.

When I’ve had to issue rulings on a matter of law in an inquest, I’ve expressed the benefits of written rulings. Sure, some straightforward issues having to do with the purposes of an inquest, or having counsel deviating from the scope, or having witnesses asked questions that they should not answer, are often dealt with simply with an oral ruling. But more complicated legal issues benefit from careful articulation, not least because it may be helpful in future proceedings. But these rulings express an interpretation of the law as it applies to these hearings, and don’t necessarily lead to thinking, at least for me as the writer. A lot of thinking goes into them, and conferring with my own legal counsel, and re-reading previous decisions made in similar circumstances. But then I can put it behind me and move on. The other regular professional writing that I engaged in for the past 13 years was reports for families relating to the investigation into the death of their loved ones. For these letters, an approach of tactful honesty was needed. We need to tell the truth in a way that respects the underlying humanity of the person who is no longer with us, a person with the frailties and complexities in life that may have contributed to their fate, and who was loved. But I don’t think that that kind of writing led to thinking for me, it became routine, like some novels from authors with the same plot recycled over and over, just a few tweaks here and there. Possibly that was one of my clues that it was time to move on from that work. (Again a note, from later editing and thinking about this: I have come to a different conclusion now and think that that writing, as well, led to thinking. Considering the impact of the report or letter regarding the death of a loved one, how it may be interpreted by the recipient, has the salutary effect on the writer of a gain in empathy and the ability to step outside oneself. But again, ike all good things, sometimes there can be too much of a good thing.)

When I’m reflecting on recent experiences, I have to be both participant and observer. Writing about the motorcycle adventures, brief as they were, put me on the seat with my hands on the handlebars, my feet on the footpegs, and later, on my easy chair at home, with my critical eye on the narrative. Why was I driven to attempt the trip to the Arctic? I knew that it entailed risks, all motorcycling has some degree of risk. Travelling long distances leads to fatigue, and inattention, and complacency; not knowing the roads can lead to unexpected hazards popping up and grabbing your tires, throwing you to the ground. 

Euphemistically expressed, of course.

I don’t know if I’ve written in this blog before one of my favourite aphorisms “The unexamined life is not worth living”. Of course, it was Socrates who was expressing his sentiment that exile from Athens would not allow him to pursue his philosophic interests, ask questions, and examine his existence; he preferred to drink the Hemlock. I don’t advocate that one has no other choic but ending one’s life if deprived of the opportunity to consider the basis of our existence but I do agree wholeheartedly that a key value of life is the capacity to contemplate the essential basis of it.

So I will continue on a course of at least haphazard missives from the depths of my consciousness and you, my friend, are welcome to read (and comment, either anonymously or not, either on this blog or directly to me).