Creativity, language and pausing for reflection

It’s week 3 of The Course, and it’s a week for mindful visioning.

While I am continuing on my mindful meditation path—and in doing so building in skilful habits—I’m taking this week as time to breathe. Time to disengage from the information we’ve covered during the past two weeks … and let my subconscious go to work.

This is a strategy I use as a fiction writer, as a blogger, and as an introvert. Over the years I’ve realised it’s a reliably good strategy for me, in that it allows me to ‘process’: to step back so I can see the woods for the trees. Join the dots. See new connections, and let go of extraneous fluff.

One way I do this is by walking in nature.

I recently read an article in HuffPost that outlines the creative process in more detail. When I read it, I was nodding to myself in agreement. Especially when the topic of ‘mindfulness’ was raised.

But, I have to admit, when people call themselves ‘a creative’, I get a bit nervous.

I understand the evolution of the ‘nouning’ of the word ‘creative’—some people work in creative industries, and what with the advent of social media like LinkedIn and Twitter, it’s useful to be able to describe yourself. (“I’m a creative.”) Having a category in which to place one’s self is also a comfort to many artists and writers whose art dictates an alternative way of operating in the fiscally-driven, modernist world.

And yet everyone is creative.

I reckon everyone has the capacity to think outside the box: about their lives, about abstract problems, and about life in general.

seeing the blues and the greens

I don’t think you need to be working in a ‘creative industry’ to be creative. I certainly don’t think by labelling one’s self as ‘a creative’ that it makes you any more or less of a person than anyone else.

Mindful words

This week, as I write my first office-job application after many years as a freelancer, I’m being mindful of terms we use to describe ourselves.

I’m being mindful of the words I use around my children, and I’m carrying with me Debra‘s challenge from Week 2: to notice when I describe a state of mind.

Which words am I using? Which story am I telling myself?

For me, as a parent, the biggest challenge is to find ways to help my kids notice their words when I hear them doing the same.

Because sometimes a parent is the last person a teenager wants to listen to.

Or is that just a story?

And so I keep walking.

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Context gymnastics: the stories we tell ourselves

The first week of the course has flown by. Literally. I was on a plane for 27 hours; in transit for around 35 hours.

Twenty-seven hours in the air is ample time for mindful contemplation. It’s ample time to watch about a zillion movies, play games, catch up on TV box sets etcetera, too, of course. But this trip I opted for ‘less is more’, and took time to rest, and to be in the moment.

Not fill my head with other people’s ideas.

At 40,000 feet.

Sitting with rows of strangers, all facing the same direction.

While being attended to by people all dressed like Barbie and Ken … in a tin container … in the clouds …

That’s one of the things I love about being a writer: with practise, you learn to be gymnastic with context.

ZOMG! Jaws in the air! Nobody’s safe!

Which is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, being able to be flexible with context allows the most glorious opportunities for humour; for re-framing situations. For helping others who are stuck in the quagmire or who need an outsider POV. It’s a skill I employ when I’m parenting, and it’s a skill I’m proud of.

And on the other hand … not at all.

Because it also means I am adept at giving my imagination free rein … in unhelpful ways.

One of the questions Emily posed this week was:

Have you noticed any areas of your life where you are on autopilot and allowing circumstances to control your behavior versus creating space for choice?

Creating space for choice. It’s an important step.

Thoughting versus Thinking

So instead of reacting when one of my kids tells me a story about a choice they’ve made, or a way they’ve behaved … Instead of allowing my imagination to join dots and build future outcomes … Instead of all this, I’m on a mission to train myself with mindfulness to be aware that I have a choice in how I respond.

To not let that crazy writerly autopilot take over.

The Feels

Family, loved ones, friends—these are all in the realm of emotion for me (and most people, I’ll warrant). And this is where I ‘feel’ most at sea, most out of control.

the space between

This is where unless I can find my inner navigator, my ‘rowing girl’, I am forever in reactive, thoughting mode.

This week I was reminded that a good place to come back to is breathing.

Just breathing. Being aware of every breath.

It sounds so stupidly simple, but it’s the best place for me, as a writer, to start.

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