Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Ten Years From Now

In a podcast with Tim Ferriss, Debbie Millman posed a method for directing self-progress structured as a writing exercise:
“It is Winter 2027. What does your life look like? What are you doing? Where are you living? Who are you living with? Do you have pets? What kind of house are you in? Is it an apartment are you in the city are you in the country? What does your furniture look like? What is your bed like? What are your sheets like? What kind of clothes do you wear? What kind of hair do you have? Tell me about your pets, tell me about your significant other, do you have children? do you have a car? Do you have a boat? Talk about your career? What do you want? What are you reading? What are you making? What excites you? What is your health like? Write this one day ten years from now. So one day in the winter of 2027, what does your whole day look like? Start from the minute you wake up, brush your teeth, have your coffee or tea, all the way through until minute you tuck yourself in at night. What is that day like for you? Dream big, dream without any fear. Write it all down. You don’t have to share it with anyone other than yourself. Put your whole heart into it. Write like there is no tomorrow; write like your life depends on it because it does. And then read it, once a year, and see what happens.”
This is an improvement over the typical "New Year's resolutions" in so many ways that I don't know where to start. Most importantly, she notes that there should be no holding back - the purpose of imagining an ideal future is to make sure we don't remain anchored to the present, and both this encouragement and the ten-year timeframe make it feel more possible to me, even now, before I have started writing.

To be the blue-sky optimist that assumes, all at once that this is basically a good idea, I immediately find myself considering how often I should read it, and how often I should revise it, but I guess those can be problems for later. For now, I'm simply going to attempt writing it.



In ten years, my enduring joys come from the people I love. Each day I try to elevate my own life as a means to elevate theirs. I am patient and kind because I have practiced being so, and because neither will ever cease to be important. Comfort and pleasure are lesser virtues, whose existence I only consider when I have first done what I can for my loved ones.

My thoughts are clear because I am healthy. I am healthy because I eat well and am physically active. I eat well because it tastes good, and because I listen to my body. I am physically active because I like to have fun, and because the world is worth exploring. Neither "diet" nor "exercise" are obligations I monitor or goals I set.

I work because it challenges me and I enjoy it. I am good at what I do - if for no other reason than that I could never enjoy doing something I was poor at - and my colleagues know that I can be trusted at my word, and trusted to excel at my duties. To be good at what I do is to better those around me. The amount of work I do is in natural balance with my life.

I am seldom in a hurry - I enjoy being in one place for long periods of time. I read to learn and I write to better know myself and the world. I travel, by myself and with my family, to see the world, to understand it better, and to have new experiences. People know they can trust me, ask me anything, confide in me. I enjoy routine but am never beholden to habit. I give my things away because there is almost nothing I want. I am prudent in the things I do - I avoid unnecessary risk - but I do not fear what the world may bring us.

Gratitude for what life has given me protects me from despair. My constant wish is for time - I will always want more time.

Monday, January 23, 2017

Trying To Write As A Busy Person

It is hard to write as a busy person. But, to describe why, exactly, I have to admit that I don't fully agree with a certain prominent quote on writing:

"Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working."
- Pablo Picasso

I have to admit, I do find writing inspiration while writing. But, I also find it when I am neck deep in busywork at my day job, or stuck in traffic, or on a walk. I have, actually, never found a way to prevent it from coming to me, at any hour of the day or night.

Perhaps I am "working" in the sense that my mind is simply turning all the time. I do, after all, drink quite a bit of coffee.

If others find themselves in the same boat as me - which is that you may wish to write at any time, day or night - and if they are a busy person, than the proposition of writing as a productive enterprise probably often feels like a certain narrow form of torture to the self-actualizing impulse that some of us are fortunate to find ourselves experiencing on our Maslow-ian stairway. But, maybe any perceived inconvenience - the feeling that time and inspiration actively oppose each other - is more than bad luck.

I spent a couple weeks writing what I guess you could call a first draft of a short story, then spent a month or more staring at it, repeatedly, trying to dissect what was wrong with it that made it limp, and formless, and searching for how to shape it around a more compelling narrative arc. This week, a number of things have come together in a perfect storm to make it essentially impossible to write productively, but the frequency and strength of inspiration I have felt has simultaneously exploded.

But first, to make one small aside - it's not just quantitative time that is the raw material of productive writing - it's also the presence of mental clarity, focus, and energy, and the absence of stress and distraction, and especially distractions that are mentally taxing. Well, the world we inhabit is not random. It is exceedingly complex, but there ARE correlations between all these things. So what is the correlation between inspiration - those nuggets welling up from the void that give us something worth saying - and those tranquil periods of free time that, at least on paper, would seem so ripe for use in writing?

It would be bad enough for it to be neutral (perfectly random), but my guess is that it's negative, which is to say that periods of turmoil are probably MORE likely to correspond to inspiration. It's terrible for the modern writer who sees the world analytically (as I have laid out above) but has visions of engineering their life to optimize writing. But, it makes a certain amount of sense. Turmoil breeds new experiences, new feelings, and lots of introspection. Sitting in a dark closet for a month might represent a virtual explosion in free time, but would it really produce more inspiration, and thus more writing?

For now, pre-scheduled time for writing remains a canard that does not correspond to inspiration. Perhaps I am looking at it wrong, or looking at it right but missing something in my analysis. For now, this is a problem I'll punt. Writing will happen when it happens!