Piling into one of the big, bamboo gazebos in the garden at Cafe Wayan, we’d mostly begin as strangers. But by the time we left we felt strangely connected to each other.
I remember the sweet smell of jasmine and the tall, bright red, birds of paradise that lined the garden.
This was a time for reconnecting with my creativity and a deep need for community. Most days revolved around wandering aimlessly with my camera, writing for myself, writing for blogs, and being welcomed into tight knit communities. (And slowly, over time, I started being paid for a few of those things.)
It was 2011, when I landed in Ubud, Bali for 3 months of traveling around South East Asia.
But I didn’t stay for 3 months.
3 years later, I flew home with a full heart, full creative tank, and some profound friendships.
My Australian friends called it my “walkabout”. And my American friends teased me about my “Eat, Pray, Love” experience.
To me, it was a moment of grace.
The Balinese culture (and Asian culture in general) has such strong social networks. People live together in connected communities that look after each other. It’s woven into the fabric of society. And it’s one of the benefits of living there. The culture is so warm and welcoming, there’s plenty of local and expat communities to blend into.
And that was where I met my first writing mentor, Jane Brunette.
She held a weekly writer’s circle called Writing From the Soul.
She created a space where our writing could be both a meditative practice and a creative one. Every Monday afternoon an eclectic group of travelers, writers, and seekers would wander into the garden of Cafe Wayan on the Monkey Forest Road for Jane’s circle. If it was your first time, you had no idea what to expect.
No critiquing, no small talk. We’d write to a prompt and then go around the circle reading out loud. Everyone held space for the reader with their silence, because that silence helped us listen deeply and feel safe.
I remember being so nervous to read out loud that I’d count each person so I knew how many until my turn. I braced myself for the inevitable vulnerability on the page.
And to my surprise sometimes I’d write things like:
Last night I woke in the middle of the night hearing a voice say, ‘You are not alone, even though you may not remember.’
There were always messages from a deep place inside me that needed to be heard. (I always wonder how much of that inner wisdom I’m ignoring now in my day-to-day transactional stress of work and life.)
Jane created a safe space to do that. Sometimes snippets and threads would end up in a blog post and other times it was feelings, questions, and insights that needed a voice.
So overtime I started holding my own writing circles. Same format of silence, with a few added rituals to make it my own. Now I call them Scribblers Circles.
And I’ll start holding them here in September or October. Stay tuned.
Even though Substack is definitely not Bali, I’m feeling a vibrant, creative community taking shape here. It has that buzz of energy around writing and building community. It feels fresh, and filled with people longing for that kind of connection.
So if you have a friend who’s been wanting to write more, share this with them. Having someone to write with will help you get started. And you can sign up for an upcoming circle together.
That’s just the mystical place I love to hang out. At the intersection of writing and belonging.
So I’m here to remind you, you are not alone, even though you may not remember.
P.S. Bali was a moment where time and money came together for me to reflect, re-evaluate and reset my direction in life.
Perhaps for you it’s more local. Like your garden. Or a bean bag at your local library. It could even be a Scribbler’s Circle. Where do you go to reflect and reset?
The description of that cafe is so evocative. I actually feel relaxed reading it :) I feel very lucky to have been to one of your Scribblers Circles - so happy you’re going to start them up again.