Sitting with Creativity: Finding Your Way Back to Creating When You Feel Lost
My father falls asleep if he sits still. For as long as I can remember, this has been the case. In my adolescence, I would make fun of him, not understanding that the man worked himself to a point of exhaustion every day.
Even on vacations, I noticed that he couldn’t simply sit. He needed to swim in the ocean or ride his bike down city streets. He has a constant compulsion to be doing, to be achieving. A character trait I inherited.
I should say, I am better at sitting, as that is most of what my job as a writer and editor is composed of; but even so, I sit with a purpose. My brain is busy. My fingers active. My body buzzes with ideas. Unless I encounter the paralysis of writer’s block, which turns my body rigid. I feel purposeless and pointless.
I recently experienced my most debilitating bout yet at a time when I most needed to be creative, but the possibility of it seemed impossible.
Since 2018 I have been pursuing my master’s degree and through that program I have been writing a novel.
On March 6, I would board a plane to San Diego. It would be my last escape for six weeks before I confined myself to my office and finished the portion of my novel that was due to my thesis committee.
Just before midnight on March 3, I was awoken to the urgent tone of my phone sending an emergency alert followed by the pounding of my fiancé’s feet up the stairs.
And, then, I heard it.
A tunnel of wind, a massive and unstoppable danger barreling towards us. In the basement, our house above us trembled. After three minutes of pure terror, it stopped. The silence was deafening, punctured by the incessant wailing of sirens.
Left without power the next day, we took a drive to charge our phones. The complete destruction and disarray brought me to tears. I had never seen anything so devastating.
I felt heavy with guilt when three days later we left for California.
California—San Diego in particular—is a place that puts me at ease. The jagged coastline jutting over an expanse of endless blue where sea and sky meet, the abundance of flora and fauna, the walkable neighborhoods, and the consistent weather—my goodness—the weather.
As my fiancé and I basked in a sun-drenched, blissful haze, we tried to ignore the looming threats of closures due to the coronavirus and the reminders of havoc that awaited us at home.
We made it back to Nashville just in time to enter into quarantine.
I was in isolation, which would normally be ideal writing conditions, yet I couldn’t find it in me to write. I told myself that I had time. I would shake the feeling in a few days.
Days passed and I couldn’t. I felt weighted with pain of the world.
Those I knew and would never know were losing jobs, and worse, their lives. I kept imagining the hardships of those sheltering alone. I ached for those in nursing homes who couldn’t see their family members. I had no way of knowing when I would see my own grandparents next.
My work didn’t feel worthy.
It no longer held value when there were concerns so much greater than my own small creative contribution. Yet, as an achiever, a poster child for a type three Enneagram, I felt torn. I needed to be doing, I needed to creating, but more importantly, above all my achievement had to be something that served a purpose in order to justifiable.
My deadline loomed and I had 15 pages to write and write well. I needed to and wanted to find my way back to the page.
Over the course of a few days I engaged in the following practices to guide me back. I’m sharing them in hopes that others who find themselves stagnant when working towards a goal, a creative endeavor or a passion project can find an avenue into it.
I asked myself a lot of questions.
I asked myself why I needed to do this. What I would gain from it? What would others gain from it? Will it make me happy? Will it make others happy? Will it promote empathy? What can others learn from it? Will I learn something? I found reassurance in my answers.
I took many walks.
Walking, running, or simply being outside has always centered me. I believe outdoor air is the cure to most things: creative blocks, vitamin D deficiency, hangovers, sadness, and more. I took long leisurely walks and let my mind wander, taking in the scenery—sniffing the scents, stopping to admire flowers blooming, listening to bird song. Or, I ran—in hard bursts that made me feel alive and proud of what my body can do. During one of these runs, I came up with the novel title.
I turned away from technology.
I usually have to do this to get anything of importance accomplished, regardless. Yet in isolation and with news reports changing by the hour, I found my phone constantly in my hand. While it was important for me to be informed and feel connected, at times it left me feeling drained, sad, and increasingly anxious. More than ever, I used the Downtime and Do Not Disturb features on my phone. One day, I even went so far as to lock my phone in a safe for an hour.
I engaged with what inspired me and what challenged me.
I hold firm to the belief that in order to be a better writer I must be an avid reader. I believe this to be true of any interest. If you’re an artist, look at art that speaks to you. A musician, listen to songs you love. A gardener, stroll through a garden or seek inspiration on Pinterest. I found myself reading passages from my favorite novels and underlining what resonated with me. I purposefully read writers that I aspire to write like. I used their work as guideposts for my own.
I created for the sake of creating.
I allowed myself to write without expectations. I wrote outside of what was required. I began a few short stories, I wrote a poem, and I even dabbled in songwriting. Doing this with no expectations or promise of quality felt freeing. I had fun and was reminded of why I enjoy doing this. Allow yourself to create freely and without judgement of yourself.
I sat.
I stopped being busy. I stopped pursuing distractions. I stopped finding excuses. I shut my door, opened a window, and sat at my desk. Just as I was feeling restless and ready to quit, I put my fingers on the keyboard and I wrote. The pages from that day endured many revisions, but I had prevailed and pursued.
I was reminded that the world needs creation in all forms to keep evolving, to witness emotion, and to continue healing.
[Photo by Daria Shevtsova via Unsplash]
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Rebecca Padgett spends her time with either a pen or book in hand as a full-time freelance writer/editor and lifelong avid reader. She was born and raised in Florida, but the music of Nashville lured her to call this city home. Her passion lies in the transformative power and empathy words can evoke, whether through magazine articles, poetry, creative writing, songwriting or her blog about books she’s currently reading. If you like words, traveling, your wine red and your coffee black you should keep up with her via Instagram @rebeccapadgett.