Not this coming weekend, but the weekend after, I’m starting a class on how to write a book proposal. I know that plenty of people write book proposals quite successfully just by researching them on the internet, but I’ve never been that kind of learner. I need to be able to talk about things in order to make sense of them. I need the give-and-take of conversation, of listening to myself muddle through asking questions, and then finding the words to articulate my new understanding.
It’s also true that the nature of book proposals, which are really marketing documents, is totally foreign to me. You’re pitching the idea of a project, but you’re also pitching yourself as the right person to undertake that project. It’s like a job interview, but also you’re telling them what the job is they should hire you to do. It’s the perfect job, which the world needs to be done and no one has ever done it quite like you before. God, help me.
It’s good for me to remember, though, that there are other types of writing I’ve learned to do over the years that didn’t come naturally. The five-paragraph essay way back in 5th or 6th grade, for instance. An introductory paragraph, three body paragraphs (each one explicating one of the points outlined in the introduction in at least three sentences), and then an effective conclusion that wrapped it all up. Good god, that was a lot of rules that I don’t remember taking to well at all. But I got there eventually with clear guidance and, honestly, the threat of a shitty grade hanging over my head.
Much later, in my thirties, I became the Finance Manager of our local food co-op and had to learn to write quarterly and annual financial reports. Not just present spreadsheets, but provide a narrative for co-op owners that told the story behind the numbers so they made sense to people who had never run a business (and whose eyes tended to glaze over when presented with anything resembling basic math). I wasn’t good at this in the beginning, but I got great at it over time. Eventually, I could riff the whole thing extemporaneously while presenting power point slides and fielding unexpected questions. It just took practice and a healthy back-and-forth with my co-workers in preparation.
So, I expect I can figure out how to write a book proposal with enough practice and the right kind of support for the way I learn. Feel free to say, Yes, Asha. Of course, you can.
What the proposal will be about is another thing entirely, but it will be based in large part on the same material as this newsletter— a mix of memoir, resources, and interviews about the challenges and rewards of practicing integrity in this modern world. Contemplating the project has gotten me thinking about what practicing integrity entails these days. How is it different, if at all, than it might have been 100 years ago? 1000 years ago?
Integrity, I’ve written before, is a social technology. If we didn’t have to figure out how to live together in community, bumping up against each other all the time, why would we need it? But humans have always lived in community, so perhaps practicing integrity has always been as difficult as today. Maybe, though, what is difficult about it has changed?
Certainly, we are inundated these days with information, and misinformation, to an unprecedented degree. This hugely complicates discernment. When it’s hard sometimes to even know what the truth is, discerning what to do in response to the truth can be incredibly difficult. Harder than it’s been in the past? Maybe.
We also don’t, many of us, have religious affiliations any longer, through which we are supported in discerning right from wrong and guided in how to approach the vast grey area in between. There’s much to be said for the freedom that comes from not being bound by convention or religious expectation, but it can also feel ungrounded. The sheer enormity of choices and perspectives can be paralyzing. Do we answer to anyone or anything beyond ourselves anymore, or are we just making it up as we go along? In pursuit of philosophical and spiritual freedom do we end up wandering in the wilderness without a map?
Finally, and this is not a new idea at all, for all of our connectivity we are remarkably disconnected from each other. Maintaining intimate, face-to-face connections that involve vulnerability and accountability and growth and joy? Many of us struggle with this. But if integrity is a social technology, how does struggling to find community and connection affect our practice?
What makes practicing integrity hard for you?
For me, what feels like near-constant over-stimulation encourages a retreat from connecting deeply beyond a select few relationships. Safe within these familiar intimacies where we share so much in common, I’m not risking much, which leaves my integrity practice often feeling more theoretical than actual.
Divorce and single parenting already made my life more insular, and then the pandemic hit. Extending myself back out into the in-person world now, where the stakes are higher and the risks greater, requires fortitude and daily commitment.
Do we answer to anyone or anything beyond ourselves anymore, or are we just making it up as we go along?
What supports your integrity practice these days?
As much as the media landscape is often overwhelming, it’s also true, for me anyway, that there’s more out there now that speaks to my condition than there was twenty or thirty years ago. There are so many books and podcasts and articles and websites that are all asking the kinds of questions I want to be answering, pushing me to consider things in new ways and helping me connect the dots inside my often jumbled brain.
The other thing that supports my integrity practice right now is all of you— knowing you’re out there pondering, trying, failing, and beginning again. How do you do it? Why do you do it?
I’d really love to hear your thoughts.
XO,
Asha
My daughter said to me today that I'm a "thinker" and I consider that the highest compliment. If we don't think, we end up just going through life on autopilot, missing everything happening in the world. I think it's an obligation to ourselves and humanity to wonder, ask questions, reflect.