A new commitment to ‘the pour’ (and welcome to The Foundry)

Because sometimes the work we actually need to get done is not the work we think we need to.

I’m going to talk about wasting time—and why we sometimes should—but first I need to give you the backstory. (And then, once we’ve gotten back to talking about wasting time, I’m going to follow that by telling you about this new space I’ve created, The Foundry, and why and what it’s for.)

Let’s begin with an unrelated photo of me in my jammies in the garden because I want to keep this real and give you a human face and because the garden makes us happy.

See? Happy, right?

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Magical and Productive

Knowing my next book is due soon, a friend was recently kind enough to let me stay at her place while she traveled in order to give me an environment to focus on my writing with minimal distractions for several days. What a gift! I leapt at the opportunity. 

The last time I tried to get away for writing was in July of 2021 when I went to our caravan at the beach at the peak of winter. 

Imagine with me: 

I would bundle up near the heater with my laptop and my stack of books and hot chai tea to write at any ungodly hour I wanted to (night owl, here!) with the soundtrack of waves crashing near by. In between writing stints I would zip up my puffer jacket and work out my ideas as I worked my way over the sand and let my cheeks turn pink with salted up wind. There would be no “I’m hungry’s” or “I’m bored’s” to attend to, no protests around screen time restrictions or decisions to make about budgets or project timelines or the household division of labor—just a week on my own schedule to engage with the work I found hard to make progress on with so much vying for a piece of me. 

Magical and productive, right?

To my bitter disappointment I was sent home on my very first day when park management informed me Covid restrictions were being re-introduced for germy folk like me from current ‘hotspots’ (Sydney). So instead of my magical and productive week, I collected my things, went home, and recalibrated. Again. (The pandemic years have provided nothing if not for one million ways and reasons we’ve had to recalibrate.)

Of course there’s a lot to say about the pandemic years and how they impacted us and changed us and exposed us, but this isn’t the moment I wish to get into it. What matters here is knowing the last time I tried to get away it didn’t end well. More accurately, it didn’t even start. And then all the time between then and now has been filled with more change than I ever saw coming. It’s required intense amounts of survival skills to cope with the urgent, leaving little place for creativity or progress on the important.

This is the context in which I recently went away. You can imagine how much I needed and wanted it as my manuscript deadline looms. I mean, no pressure, but this was my chance—I had better not waste it!

The Writing Retreat that Wasn’t

Now as I get ready to head back home from my ‘writing retreat’ I’m doing a stocktake of what I accomplished, and I must admit I haven’t made much obvious progress on my manuscript if you measure in terms of word counts or chapters. It’s been nothing like I had assumed or hoped I would when I first arrived. 

I mean, I’ve done a lot: A ton of reading, list-making, organizing research, confessing fears, and grieving losses that have happened in and amongst the process of writing thus far and reflecting how those, too, shape the way in which I’m writing the manuscript. I’ve prayed, thought deeply about some important “yes’s” and “no’s,” and I’ve even written a few difficult letters I’ve needed to. I’ve been honest with myself about areas where I’ve let myself down or have actually not stayed tethered to hope while writing a book called. . .Tethered to Hope. I’ve gone through piles of sticky notes and made mind maps and have cycled through note cards. I took a bath and a nap and went for a few long walks. I’ve written a slew of words and stories and pages that I’m fairly certain will never make it into any book, much less my current project. 

What a waste of opportunity to make progress on my manuscript!

Except that it’s not.

The Work of Reframing 

Why am I sharing all of this? 

Because sometimes the work we actually need to get done is not the work we think we need to. Sometimes we just need to do what we need to do in order to take the next step and that itself is the progress. We must do the work of reframing in order to accept this as true.

(Psst… This is where you pause and consider your own list of things that you need to do—or not do— and ask yourself if you need to reframe in order to get unstuck. I shared my “waste of time” stuff. Now it’s your turn—go on and write yours down.)

After I accomplished all that “non accomplishment” type stuff I just described, I spent the remaining hours of my time alone reading old articles I’d written and had forgotten about. What might have looked like a waste of time (or procrastinating the “real” work I needed to do) may have been the very best thing I did this week. I read article after article and let my past self remind my present self that I’m good at this work and my words matter. Stories matter. Generosity matters. Paying attention matters. Wading through the junk to get to the good stuff matters. Decluttering the noise matters. Giving time to remembering all of this matters. And doing the work of writing it down—it matters.

So, Friends and Readers, this is why I’m getting back to making writing more central in my vocational life again and I’m doing the work of figuring out how to do this. This is also why I’ve decided to give you The Foundry, my old-turned-new newsletter that’s morphing into middle spaces just like I am. (Faithful writing companions like Jess have been urging me to write a Substack so for many moons now, but I wasn’t ready. Until I was.)

Welcoming Back the Good Stuff

This is your official welcome to The Foundry, my new Substack newsletter, which is sort of a hybrid between the old days of blogging and the subscription model most of us now use to engage with content. (This is a free subscription, by the way.)

The Foundry is my small way of getting back to what I’m actually good at: Giving grace disguised as story and verse for the ones who find themselves weary or discouraged or in need of the reminder that they aren’t alone. It’s for the ones who find themselves in process, or, as Scott Erickson says, the ones who are “on the way.”¹

No Big Promises

Because I lost my footing and rhythm for a little while as a writer, I think it’s wise for me to not make grand promises for how or when I’ll show up here at The Foundry, but I do know this: When I show up here it will be honest and written with you in mind. I won’t write here just for the sake of writing or staying on your radar. I can’t have this turn into another soul-sucking demand for ‘throwaway’ content or a become a reductionist stab at platform-building. I’m here to write for those who want to read and grow alongside me. That’s all. Together we’ll explore themes like faith, doubt, hope, loss, relationships, identity, purpose and intention, and what it means to be found and loved.

I’m renaming what has been LoveNotes for more than a decade to The Foundry as I transition my mailing list over to the Substack platform and I wanted to share why.

Why ‘The Foundry’?

For a start, I’ve wondered how many men are secure enough to subscribe to a newsletter called LoveNotes, but mostly because there’s a dignity in naming something as its birthed. Ascribing a new name in a new space to mark this transition feels appropriate as I enter a different stage and focus of my writing life.

Foundry is another name for workshop—specifically where metal work is being done. And if you’ve been reading my work for a minute you know I like to nerd out on the etymology of words every now and then. Well, the word ‘foundry’ originated from the Latin word fundere which means to “to pour or melt” and this seems just right to me: These letters will be where I work out ideas in the shop—more polished and finished ones go in places like books or articles—but these will be my work-in-progress words poured out in letter form with you in mind. 

From the Workshop

Like metal can end up in everything from paper clips to guitar strings, forks or engagement rings, a spade or a canteen, The Foundry is my attempt to pour out something that is useful or entertaining, nourishing or beautiful. Even something that helps you grow or keep going when you feel parched. (So many possibilities.) 

And who knows? We may be surprised at what the workshop will produce, but regardless—workshops are exactly where makers and their friends belong so this is me inviting you to show up along with me at The Foundry. 

I’m committing to the pour and the process.

And You? 

I hope The Foundry will give you courage for the pour and the process, too. 

So here we are. I’d like to welcome you to The Foundry by asking you:

What have you been “wasting” your time with lately that made you realize it’s not actually a waste at all? Do you have an area you need to give yourself permission to “waste time” in order that you might do the most important work of getting unstuck in whatever it is that’s holding you from pouring out or being on the way?

Love,

Adriel 

p.s. If you find yourself feeling tender as we head toward Mother’s Day weekend, I’ve written lots of things with you in mind. Perhaps start here or here.

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Are you asking, “Why did I get this newsletter?” 

Because my mailing list has been around for ten plus years, some of you likely don’t even remember signing up to be on my list in the first place. You may have come through something you found on Pinterest (like an Advent resource) or a grief resource (journal prompts) or the Tethered Summit or maternal health advocacy (ie supporting clean birth kits in the developing world), or any number of ways. (I promise you I have never and will never buy or sell an email list—I find this practice repugnant.) If you now wish to unsubscribe please do so. For the rest of you, I’ll be grateful for the company. Welcome to The Foundry.

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1. See chapter six in Say Yes by Scott Erikson.