The Mindful Freewrite

by Safia Jama

“Your true home is in the here and now.”^[1]

—Thich Nhat Hanh

Prologue

I walked by my colleague’s desk at 7:40AM last week and decided to interrupt his early morning ritual of quiet work with a loud “Good morning!” After some brief chit-chat and inquiries into how our respective semesters were going, his voice dropped: “Some of my students are just… lost. And I’m not sure what I can do to reach them.”

“That is a topic,” I said, appreciating his honesty while making a mental note to pick up the thread again later when I had more time. Since then, I have pondered my colleague’s concern for his students and our brief exchange has inspired me to share with you an activity that I call “The Mindful Freewrite.”

The Lesson

The in-class writings that punctuate my classes most days is the secret step—the last leg of a commute to class that encourages my students to be more engaged and present than they would be otherwise. Indeed, I see freewriting as a way into greater presence and awareness that is the foundation of the kind of learning I seek to foster in my teaching.

“At this moment…” This simple prompt, which I have been employing for years, and which was freely given to me by a colleague, invites student writers to connect with themselves. I precede the prompt with the invitation, “Let’s write.” Next, the invitational prompt announced a few minutes later invites students to pay attention to the world around them, which can become a kind of text to read, analyze, and comprehend.

For example, here is what I write on the board to set up the activity:

After I write this, I say, “Start with the phrase ‘At this moment,’ and then keep writing, following the thread of your thoughts. If you’re anxious about something, or a thought keeps on repeating, start there and write those things down. This will not be collected, but you will have the chance to share all or some of what you have written.”  Once students have a chance to write for a few minutes, I add a guided prompt that sometimes relates to the day’s reading or lesson, sometimes not, depending on the goals for that particular day.

I like to teach in the morning, in part because the morning is often the only time that my CUNY students are truly by themselves, during the commute to college. Since other family members or assorted roommates are likely preoccupied early in the morning, there is a rare opportunity for true solitude, which is the perfect condition for writing. I, too, enjoy the quiet of mornings on the subway, watching the brief glimpse of sunrise over the Gowanus Canal from the F train’s elevated tracks. During that time, I think up prompts to give my classes that will, I hope, encourage us all to notice the particulars of the world around us.

Students are often told to include more detail in their writing, and I think that begins with an awareness of detail in their daily lives. This awareness became especially pronounced with the return to in-person teaching after a period of distance learning. Something as mundane as a morning commute suddenly became infused with new meaning for me last spring. Hence, it seemed fitting to write the following on the board once my class was writing intently:

Prompt: “A stranger I noticed this morning.”

The talkers fell quiet. I sat down at the front desk, and replied to the prompt, along with the students. Here is what I wrote that day last spring: At this moment, I am remembering the girl arguing with her mom on the G train – I paused to let their storm blow by and as I followed them up the steps, I noticed her backpack—maybe leather—with printed pattern of gold chain links like high fashion and the word “Beauty” hovering over her back – (there).

“Next, imagine something about the stranger’s life,” I said to the class. I was no longer watching the clock. I was absorbed in my writing, yet I invited my students to partake in the imaginative leap I myself was about to take: “You even can make something up.”

I imagine the girl, sitting in a classroom now… fidgeting, fighting the air—

Diversity issues & Big Feelings

I know that the idea of Mindfulness will not appeal to everyone, and I am also aware that there is a danger of cultural erasure and colonial appropriation in borrowing from deeply meaningful spiritual practices that originate in non-Western cultures. And yet, spiritual leaders like Thich Nhat Hanh have generously shared their wisdom widely. Why not quote him directly, in class, to help to contextualize these Mindful freewrites? When I first read Natalie Goldberg’s classic book, Writing Down the Bones, I had no idea that she was influenced by Mindfulness. Only after I picked up Thich Nhat Hanh’s Cultivating the Mind of Love did I notice that Goldberg had written the preface and was very much engaged with Hanh’s teachings. In a way, I have been awakening to the origins of my own writing practice, many of which are rooted in the teachings of Buddhism.  

If our students are truly present, and writing down real feelings, thoughts, and experiences, that can present new challenges. Are we ready? Put another way, be ready for feelings to come up. In more ways than one, we are learning to be here, again, and with that will come some discomfort. Learning to tolerate such feelings is all a part of the process. Set boundaries. Some ways that I set boundaries during the sharing of freewrites is to call attention to the existence of said-boundaries. In the past, I have said something along these lines: “What you write is private, what you share with a neighbor is semi-public, and what you read and say aloud to the whole class is quite public. You can make these choices depending on your level of comfort. That said, we will all be respectful of what you have to say.” It’s important to keep your eyes open for anything with even a whiff of toxicity, sarcasm, or judgy-ness. The idea is that you are creating a relatively safe space where students can write and share what comes up. Does this sound like therapy? Maybe. Or maybe we as educators can think of this practice as simply opening up channels of communication.

Technology

Listening is an activity that is crucial to both reading and writing. This era of perpetual scrolling sets up a level of distractedness that all educators must reckon with today. During these mindful freewrites, I want my students to practice listening to themselves so that they will have the capacity to listen to others during class conversations. I discourage the use of technology during freewrites, especially in the early days. Texting and social media is simply too tempting. An old-fashioned composition notebook and pen works well for this activity. But I don’t recommend getting all Draconian in the enforcement. It’s better to explain why you are doing what you’re doing, and then get the students to buy into that endeavor. Reading itself is a form of listening, so I see these freewrites as a way to ready the mind for deep reading with room for the conscious and conscientious use of technology in the classroom.

Here I will acknowledge once again that I am very much leaning upon the teachings of Mindfulness that have become increasingly familiar in our culture thanks to the lifelong work of Buddhist spiritual leaders such as the late Thich Nhat Hanh, whose writings point directly at the problem identified by my colleague. Yet one does not have to be a Buddhist to employ Mindfulness in the classroom.

Learning gaps

Since my return to in-person teaching over the last year, I have often reflected on the learning gaps that our students experienced due to the pandemic. Not to mention the trauma. Some have described a feeling akin to that of Rip Van Winkle–they were high school juniors one moment, and the next moment they woke up to find themselves suddenly in college. Some of my students simply can’t believe that they really are in college. It seems to me that introducing a practice of Mindfulness through freewriting is an invaluable teaching tool at this particular juncture, especially for the students who are struggling to catch up to their new surroundings. In some cases, my students can’t remember the last time they were asked to connect with themselves in this way, so there is often a steep learning curve, both for student and teacher, when it comes to beginning a practice of freewriting into greater presence. Perhaps it’s best to reduce the steepness of the curve. Why not take this endeavor one small step at a time? For example, you might begin with five minutes of Mindful freewriting every other class. Students can each share a line from their writing, first with a neighbor, and then with the whole group. A few brave students may be willing to read a longer excerpt. If the instructor is willing to go out on a limb and share, this can help to inspire the students to take such a risk. I realize that this idea may not appeal to every instructor. There is no one correct approach: I encourage tailoring this practice to your own particular teaching style.

How I got here

While I have been leading students through these exercises since I first began my teaching practice 20 years ago, first as a student teacher, then as a high school English teacher, and finally as college teacher of writing, my conscious practice of Mindfulness is relatively new. Mindfulness, which I think of as the practice of living in the present moment, has became an integral part of my teaching and my life over the last three years. My turn towards Mindfulness was born of necessity and inspired by a series of complicated losses that began in 2019—first the end of a 14-year relationship, then the pandemic (of course), then the suicide of a family member, then getting Covid19, then dealing with long-Covid, all the while grappling with the lingering effects of childhood traumas, which everything else only exacerbated. It was all a bit much. I know I’m not alone in these experiences, which is why I chose to share them here. So what I did was, I started watching Thich Nhat Hanh’s talks on YouTube, and I began reading some of his writings. I also, very begrudgingly, began a bare bones practice of meditation—just five minutes a day—and I took regular walks without ear phones. I limited the amount of information (news, television shows) I consumed. Six months ago, I left all the major social media platforms, setting aside worries that this would negatively impact my ability to share and publish my poetry. Yet despite my fears, I can say that all of these actions have helped me to heal from a lot of my struggles, and I ultimately feel a lot better now, which means I have more energy for life. Of course, this also means I also have more energy to offer my students.

Dance Class

I sometimes read aloud my own freewrites at the end of the writing time as a way to model the practice–and perhaps to inspire courage in students who may also enjoy shamelessly reading their own writing aloud. I try to model the act of paying attention in whatever I do. I liken such participation to the way a dance teacher might do a little dancing over the course of a class. Yet the dance teacher—or the writing teacher—ultimately will want to let the students do most of the dancing. (More recently, I shared a draft of this essay with my students as a way, I told them “of pulling back the curtain on what we are doing,” and I was pleasantly surprised by how receptive they were to hearing about my pedagogical musings.)

Such a practice of regular in-class freewriting takes discipline and one has to believe in it to make it work. Some mornings I am strict—or firm or decisive. For example, when two friends were still chatting as the writing began. I shifted to classroom management mode: “We are all writing now.” While I recommend a firm approach, I don’t advocate forced freewriting. All prompts are invitations, not orders. This can be a fine line, of course. If a student is struggling to stay on task, I would recommend speaking to the student in a compassionate way. A discreetly whispered “Are you okay?” works when it comes to behavioral issues arising during a freewrite. More often than not, simply observing closely is what’s called for. Everything a student says and does is information that can help to inform the instructor’s work. I used to always begin class with a freewrite, but this year I mixed that up—this is the subject of another conversation, but I do want to caution against setting up a rigid, inflexible structure that may become pure monotony. I really don’t recommend using freewriting as a classroom management tool—although I know that we educators we need to rely on such tricks sometimes. Teaching is not easy. Yet this year, I have made a commitment to talking to my students at the start of class, rather than jumping right into the freewrite. Again, it all comes back to this practice of paying attention. Also, I noticed that sometimes students will interpret a low-stakes writing prompt at the start of class as a license to arrive late. So that’s another reason to mix up the timing of the freewrite, and begin with instruction—a story, a song, or a mini-lesson—before beginning to write. That said, sometimes we do still immediate jump into a freewrite—if that’s what I desperately need to do, that’s what we do.

Mindful sharing

“Freewritings are vacuums,^[2]” writes Peter Elbow. Although I am indebted to Elbow’s theories of writing, especially his take on time management  during the stages of the writing process, I personally don’t see freewritings as “vacuums.”  And I am slowly retiring the jogging metaphor I have recounted many times—that we freewrite so as to later run the marathon of a longer assignment.

These days, I’m more of an observant walker. And after a good walk, a person often has new ideas and a story to tell. Thus, where Elbow forbids discussion of freewrites in most cases, in this activity I advocate the sharing of low-stakes writings while sitting in a circle as a way to foster a greater sense of connection and community in the room that will ultimately build trust and allow for deeper discussions. Thus, for me, the pinnacle of sharing following a freewrite is to sit in a circle and give everyone a chance to share something—anything—from their writing.

Taking a page from Elbow, there must not be any evaluation of the freewrites shared, but there may be a necessary teaching moment if the content of freewrites impinge upon the safety of anyone present. In other words, it’s not a free for all, and the rules of conduct outlined in your course syllabus still apply. For example, hateful or disparaging speech is not permitted in my room. Here is another opportunity to discuss the importance of boundaries—some stories are appropriate to share with the group, and some stories we prefer to keep private. This will vary from person to person.

In most cases, I empower students to make such decisions by offering a few different options regarding what they might like to talk about—be it their current state of mind, their specific response to the invitational prompt, or a textual connection between the prompt and the day’s reading assignment. I don’t penalize anyone for so-called “oversharing.” I realize that not all educators will be comfortable with such an approach, but the good news is that students are incredibly perceptive regarding what their instructors can handle. So the more you can handle, the more you will hear about. 

Changes

One of the most gratifying parts of this practice is witnessing changes in students’ lives and in the way that they perceive experiences. Six weeks into the semester—again, these examples are from last spring—I gave this prompt: Something different about today.

 “I didn’t see any homeless people on the trains,” said Carlos.

“My mother made me tea this morning—that never happens,” said Stephanie^[3].

During our first week, my students had little to say in their freewrites because they were blocking out all stimulus with ear buds and sleep. One freewrite at a time, they began discovering that it’s worthwhile to pay attention, both to themselves and to the world around them. The Mindful Freewrite, I find, helps both myself and my students to find our bearings, day by day, through the long shadow cast by the pandemic. In doing so, we can all feel less lost and more present for the day’s learning.

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[1] The Pocket Thich Nhat Hanh, ed. Melvin McLeod. (Shambhala Pocket Classics).  P.6.

[2] “Freewriting” by Peter Elbow. Join the Conversation. Vol. I: 2018-19.

[3] Names of students have been changed.

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