WTL Issue 026 | June 17, 2026 |
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What Returning Makes Possible
Lessons from the Long Haul
My desk was cleared, everything in its place: Moleskine notebook, Sarasa pen, quiet keyboard, a blank Google doc glowing on the screen. All the tools were there. No words came.
I shifted the desk to standing height. Still nothing. My attention drifted instead to the squirrel hopping along the powerline outside, the bark of a dog somewhere in the building, the empty water bottle I'd drained without noticing. I stepped away and paced the ten steps to the bedroom window, looking for a different view. Came back. Sat. And typed the only phrase I could find.
Get words on the page.
Get words on the page.
Get words on the page.
Get words on the page.
Maybe writing words makes you a writer. I think there's some truth to that now. At the time, though, this first writing session felt like failure. It was during the long stretch of homebound pandemic isolation that I began carving out regular writing sessions, and what I learned that morning stays with me: you have to keep going. Try again. Make the small action a habit. Reserve space for it on a regular cadence.
Learning to settle into writing felt a lot like learning shavasana, the resting pose at the end of a yoga session. From the outside it always looked easy, just lying still for a few minutes. But once I closed my eyes, time seemed to stretch endlessly forward, my mind filling with unfinished experiments, to-do lists, dinner plans, conversations I couldn't stop replaying. The quiet arrived only after months of practice, and even then only a minute or two at a time. That turned out to be enough. It still is.
Ada Limón writes about poetry in Against Breaking (Bookshop link) in a way I keep returning to:
“Is any poem ever a failure because it goes unpublished or unshared? No, because didn’t it make you pay attention, the act of writing?”
The act of paying attention, of being genuinely present in a moment, is one of the reasons I started writing regularly. I also want to pull the threads of memory, to understand more clearly how my life and family shaped who I am today. You’ve seen that thread move through this newsletter in how I think about identifying values (Issue 020), about showing up in climate work when the ground shifts (Issue 017), and about the relational foundations that make lasting change possible (Issue 009).
Attention, I’ve come to believe, is a disciple. And like any discipline, it deepens not through waiting to feel ready, but through showing up and trying again.
Field-Tested: The Catch, Return, Shape Loop
This is a three-part system for building the writing habit from the ground up. Each layer feeds the next. You don't need all three at once, but they do build on each other.
1. Quick Capture
The system begins before you sit down to write. I carry a small Kokuyo sketchbook and Blackwing pencil. On my phone, I keep a dedicated note called INSPO where I drop observations, phrases, and images as they come. Voice memos work just as well. The goal is a low-friction way to catch what you observe before it slips away. No filtering. Just capture it.
2. Regular Writing Sessions
I hold a weekly writing session on my calendar. Fridays mornings work well for me because if something sparks, the next morning is open and uninterrupted. This is when I return to things I captured during the week, or add to my commonplace book. Consistency matters more than duration. Even thirty minutes, held weekly, builds something real over time.
3. Craft
I started taking memoir writing classes during the pandemic. The teacher Molly Wizenberg, author of 3 excellent memoirs, taught our virtual class techniques to use sensory triggers to drop into a memory. I also began reading books about writing: The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr; Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott; Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert; Wired for Story by Lisa Cron (all Bookshop links). Reading about the craft of writing gave me language for choices I was already making.
Sustained attention deepens through accumulation. That is the tailspin worth falling into.
Catching what matters before you need it is also the idea behind the Arctic Work Readiness Assessment, for those of you whose climate work takes you North.
It is designed for organizations new to Arctic work: public sector teams, contractors, consultants, researchers, and funders. It covers the key players and governance structures, the regional diversity of the North, and the mistakes outside organizations commonly make when they arrive without that foundation. Some of those mistakes you only learn by living through them. A few you can sidestep entirely if someone draws your attention to them first.
As a 🌐 Work That Lasts reader, you are among the first to hear about the Arctic Work Readiness Assessment. If it sounds like something your work could use, reply directly and I will keep you posted as it moves toward release.
Signals & Shifts
Recent Pew Research found that 75% of U.S. adults read at least one book in the past year with a preference for print. I’m happily part of the crowd reading digitally, checking out e-books and audiobooks using the Libby app. Support Your Local Library
I follow Abbie Emmons, who introduced me to Scrivener writing software, hosts live writing sprints, and is a 3x indie-published author with a new book, Make Your Story Matter, out soon. This July she's hosting a free virtual writing retreat. If you're working on something, join me.
Question for reflection: What is one thing from your work, your community, or your own rhythm that you’re adding to your notes and carrying into your next writing session? I’d love to hear what you’re sitting with.
Take good care of yourself and the work that's yours to do. Both matter more than you know.
Nikoosh
Work That Lasts arrives every other Wednesday. Forward to a colleague who might need these tools, or reply and let me know what's working in your own practice.
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