Begin again
There was an attempt.
[I have lost a few pearls (detail), Andrea Kiss, 2016]
Hi friend,
Recently, I’ve been trying to make some tiny, subtle shifts with an eye toward slowing down. I’ve noticed that I often tend to rush through my days, particularly during the work week, never stopping to really enjoy all that is good around me. And there is so much good around me.
Since I seem to do better with small changes rather than grand gestures, I decided to sprinkle my day with just a smidge more mindfulness.
First, I’d try to eat one meal a day mindfully, paying attention to my senses as I ate and not multi-tasking as I often do when eating alone.
Second, I’d stop listening to business, health, or other useful podcasts on my daily walk in the mornings, just paying attention to the world around me for those 40 minutes. Just walking. No striving.
Friends, this was easier said than done.
The meals haven’t been too much of a problem, but walking for 40 minutes and not getting lost in my head the entire time has been a struggle. I’ll be walking along when suddenly a cold wind will tickle my ear. I’ll look up and realize that I’ve been in a trance for the last 10 minutes, totally ignoring the towering forest around me, the gold and russet quilt of leaves under my feet, the frost-tipped vines at the edge of the path. I’ve been thinking about when I’ll next go to the grocery store, or whether I need to reschedule a meeting. It’s a very boring trance.
It’s then that I try to remember one of my favorite helpful phrases from meditation: begin again.
When you’ve lost yourself, you can begin again. When you’re in a trance, just begin again. When your attention has waned, it’s no problem. Begin again.
In fact, this is mainly what meditation is for me, a practice of beginning again, over and over. It has trained me that this is natural and normal, this constant need to re-center. There is no end to it.
A couple months ago, I started a big writing project at work. I had a general idea about what I wanted to create, but limited time to do it. So I set a schedule for myself, vowing to write 1,000 words a day until it was complete.
A third of the way through, I realized how much I hated it. I’d put in all this work, but I’d been rowing in the wrong direction. The writing was lifeless and dull. I wasn’t excited about it, and I didn’t feel other people would be either.
I was frustrated that I’d spent so much time working on something that I couldn’t seem to make right. I was embarrassed that I’d committed to do this project to other people, and now might have to scrap it. It felt awful.
My choices were to create something mediocre, or to go back to the drawing board. I’d have to begin again.
When we are creating something, there is a big part of us that desperately wants the process to be predictable, linear, and progressive. We want to be able to map it all out and meet our goals. We want to see constant improvement. This is the part of us that excels at execution and getting stuff done, but is endlessly frustrated by the fits and starts of the creative process.
Luckily, there is another part, something that I think is even deeper. This is the part that understands that discovery requires wide open attention and a willingness to experiment. It doesn’t start with a goal, but with curiosity. It lets us explore and see what we see.
When I lose track of that part of myself, I know it’s time to begin again. And I will do it again and again, because that is the true nature of things. Not a straight line, but one loop after another.
I’ll end by sharing this poem by Rainer Maria Rilke, which I first read in college and still love dearly:
“I live my life in widening circles”
Rainer Maria Rilke
I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I will give myself to it.
I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I’ve been circling for thousands of years
and I still don’t know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?
Magic Moment
This was the insanely beautiful view from my office window at sunset yesterday. Sometimes I look up from my laptop around this time and wonder why I don’t just spend the day staring out the window instead.
I mean… seriously. Look at that.
Head, Heart, Hands
Things to make us think, feel, and do.
Why we need rituals, not routines. And if you love reading about how great writers work, I definitely recommend Mason Currey’s books and newsletter,
And continuing the theme of imbuing creative work with a bit of mystic power, some tips for creating sacred focus.
Who gets “quality” leisure? Woo boy, lots of thoughts here. The comments are excellent too.
We all want answers. Sometimes finding answers limits your creativity.
This is a gratitude practice I might actually try out. If I do, I’ll report back.
When I was a kid, I was sort of obsessed for a while with the question of how we could know whether other people saw color the same way you did.
Some insightful tips about limiting what you say yes to.
I’ve been craving thumbprint cookies, and threw these together when my parents stopped by for a visit. We ate the whole plate.
Question of the week
What words do you offer yourself when faced with a failed attempt? Share them and maybe they’ll help someone else.
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I love these posts! An opportunity to see the world through someone else’s eyes. They always make me stop and think deeply, like a little gift that arrives in my inbox each week. Thank you 😊
One thing I learned from working with graduate students was that so many of us, so often, can’t see how we have succeeded because we are focussed on the parts that didn’t work out as we imagined they would. I might read a student paper and be astonished by some ways of thinking that were brilliant and original, while the student thinks the whole paper is a failure. Often they would just need help in recognizing what parts are worth retaining and working on, and what can be left out. Another persons’s eyes can be so helpful, so we shouldn’t shy away from sharing our work in progress.
Also, I loved the link to the value of rituals. Partly because I focus so deeply on whatever I am engaged in, I’ve have always had trouble shifting gears, moving from one activity to another. This article helped me reflect on one ritual that does work for me. After cooking dinner and serving it at the dining table in the same room, I turn off all the bright kitchen lighting, light candles set in my mother’s silver candlesticks and sit down to eat with my partner. This ritual helps me shift from the bustle of cooking and turn to the pleasure of eating and my partner’s company.