One morning this week, the coffeeshop where I do a lot of writing closed unexpectedly. Well, damn. I sat in my car, flustered. I drove a loop around the block. I didn’t want to go a different café, but I was eager to start writing. Where to go, what to do?
The morning was cold, but slowly warming up. I stared at a tree poking out of the sidewalk – which prompted me to remember I keep a camp chair in the trunk of my car, and a down jacket. My laptop had a full battery. Griffith Park was five minutes away, and I knew a secluded glen on the north side, lots of trees, clean restrooms. Already, I felt a sense of enthusiasm I hadn’t known for days. I stopped at a 7-11 and bought a coffee. Fifteen minutes later, I sat down, body slowing, mind accelerating – sunlight stippling the ground and lots of bird song, eucalyptus smells, a few people walking their dogs, a young man parked in a red Porsche, vaping, looking immensely sad. I focused on what was in front of me and a sense of time fell away. I got probably the best two hours of writing done for several weeks.
Routine is not necessarily an obstacle to mental industry, but it can be. More often, routine supports what I do, like writing a small sketch prepares me for a larger project. But I’ve told myself for years that I am a creature of routine. I schedule my days to the half-hour, drink the same drinks, try to recreate a familiar urgency for each project, and maybe it’s too much. A reverence for self-discipline is part of a Puritanism hangover, I think, that lingers in the United States. Breaking routine, I feel less in control, also less controlled. Moments are sharper, my awareness more acute. Perhaps I’m more likely to be inspired in moments of flux.
I drove home from the park feeling deeply contented. It was the smallest of small adventures, and something easily found.
From tomorrow’s “Sunday Supplement” for supporters – my Sunday bulletin with three-plus things I loved recently – some recs for great recent reads, a new way to see nature, and a weird online movie night event that feels like a pirate radio station:
It’s an online TV station that streams blocks of films that are (always? routinely?) scheduled by curious themes. It’s all pretty weird and wonderful. Some of the films are rare video art, some are B-movie horror, some are schlock. In order words, a lot of fun.
If you want to subscribe, grab it over here.
“Meditations in an Emergency” is a weekly email published Saturdays by novelist Rosecrans Baldwin about things he finds beautiful. “The Sunday Supplement” is his weekly recommendation bulletin.
Rosecrans’s new book, Everything Now: Lessons From the City-State of Los Angeles, is available from Bookshop, Amazon, or your local store. Any other books mentioned in this newsletter are featured on a Bookshop list.