Mashed Potatoes

This morning my free writing prompt was “Everything I know about mashed potatoes.” It is one that Natalie Goldberg uses. I use it when the blank page becomes oppressive. An unprompted expanse of threatening space. So, I turn to the utterly boring. Mashed potatoes. A starchy vegetable, milk, butter, and salt.

My writing practice wasn’t fabulous. I didn’t fathom deep mysteries. I didn’t even reveal a deep understanding of mashed potatoes.

But my pen and I filled the page.

Victory!

Why?

Why does it matter that I filled the page? Because it was on my planner? Because it filled five minutes of my existence, edging out the existential dread? Because if I don’t do anything else today, I at least filled that page?

I can at least tell you I didn’t do it because I it was the key to unlocking the next NY Times bestseller.

I free write because I believe that it connects me to something deeply creative about the world you and I were thrown into.

That’s all.

That’s why. It is one page’s worth of time that I am sitting and listening to the whispers of creativity swirling around me all the time.

Also, to the person who would dicker about lumpy vs. creamy mashed potatoes, I say if you cannot inhabit the city and the country, you should choose one. I refuse.