Friday 9/27/24
An entry about stairs before doing something very unpleasant pertaining to stairs and several editors at Bloomsbury, which I strongly surmised that I would end up having to do before I wrote and sent the earlier letter that I included in these pages that was ignored despite me being more qualified to do this book than anyone could be to do any book, my having done business, as such, with Bloomsbury, and all of the facts and quotes at my disposal regarding how other writers, with no qualifications to do the books they did, came to be commissioned their books in the series.
I can't see how it's possible for someone to be more identifiable with an object that doesn't directly pertain to their work than I am with stairs, and I don't think anyone in history has been. They do pertain to my work in that they're integral to my keeping going, and there are stairs in my work--stairs are crucial in "Fitty," for instance--but stairs are not these implements of my job as such. They are, though, part of a philosophy, a way of seeing and understanding the world and myself. They have informed my thoughts about strength, focus, dedication, presence, and also writing and my art. Stairs are more than physical stairs, a means up and a means down. They represent a form of being.
The stairs of the Bunker Hill Monument have never been easy for me. Since the middle of August, I've done 105,000 stairs inside of the Monument. The other day I was wondering how many total stairs in there I've done over the years and it occurred to me that someone could probably go through this record and come very close to figuring out the number. But there's not been a single time when the stairs of the Monument haven't been challenging to some degree. This is part of their value and a reason why running these stairs matters. I know it won't be easy each time and yet there I am, again and again, running these stairs.
That's a potent reminder, a valuable reinforcing, for a good way to be. The stairs, ironically, keep me grounded in this idea. It's like a musician practicing their scales. They play all of these parts elsewhere, but someone such as Charlie Parker still found value in sitting in his hotel room and practicing his scales. The exercise is much simpler than what he did up on the bandstand with his music, but he understood that the soul itself may build good habits. You return to a simpler good habit because it operates on the same principle as the habits we build up in the doing of harder things. The person of good habits in matters big and small is consistent across the board. I write works of art every day that no one can touch. But that is also like running the stairs. I come, I put the time in, I don't shear off stairs, if you will, I keep my pace, I don't walk away, I don't avoid. I do.
Stairs are a way of life. No, the stairs of the Monument have never been easy. But I do them every day. Each time I stand at the bottom of them, before having begun, I am committed to finishing and doing them properly. I know I can if I maintain discipline and commitment. And I know that this helps me elsewhere. Taken all together, it's part of how I am able to stay alive and keeping at it right now.
When I played hockey, I knew that if I practiced well, to the best of my abilities, I would play well in the games. Writing is the same way for me. If I do what I need to do the best that I can in this area that pertains to the writing, and in the writing itself, my results as to the quality of the work is guaranteed. I will create something that no one else could. I build momentum--and keep going--in all kinds of ways. For instance, at some ungodly hour of the morning for other people--what they would still consider night--I might come to these pages and write something to loosen the fingers, to make the blood flow, before I write this feature and work on that story and complete this op-ed. Let's say there is half a cup of coffee on the desk from the day before. I will finish the cup so as not to leave it unfinished. Again, it is the reinforcement of habits. These habits then become how one is. They're not habits any more.
This is how we change. How we grow. Stairs, for me, are a symbolic representation of an idea given tangible form in my life. When I hold people accountable in these pages because I know and can easily prove the discriminatory nature of their practices, the stairs are a part of that, too.
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