The Whale Belly

Last week I wrote about pushing through the mind’s resistance when writing. But this week reminded me that my mind’s resistance is much stronger than I give it credit for.

My usual routine is to write immediately after eating breakfast. But on Tuesday morning I gazed forlornly into my oatmeal and considered plunging my face into the mush instead of ever writing another word for the rest of my life.

In the past, I might have shrugged my shoulders and told myself that today was just not my day and given myself over to distraction, but with the coming of middle age came an anxiety that has since robbed me of the joy distraction used to bring. Today when I even contemplate watching television, surfing the internet, or playing video games during the day, I think of the grave and of regret.

So, back to me gazing forlornly into my oatmeal. Since I couldn’t distract myself, and I certainly couldn’t write, I decided to climb into my recliner, to close my eyes, and to wait it out. In ten minutes I was at my desk writing — with great vigor!

I’ve learned a couple of things about myself over the years. First, I’m obstinate like a mule that’s riddled with insecurity. You tell a mule that’s riddled with insecurity to move and not only will it refuse to move, but it’ll stare with a trembling-lipped face out into the horizon, as if it’s pride is waiting for it out there, exiled by you, the terrible mover of mules. For me this becomes markedly evident whenever I decide one day to get a haircut, but just before setting out my wife suggests I do the very thing. I will then proceed to not cut my hair for six months and do my best to balance it on my head each day like a water carrier.

The second thing I’ve learned is that when I’m feeling resistant the thing I need most is to be quiet and still. I long made the mistake of quelling my anxiety with food and messing around on the computer. But this was like tossing a box of Oreos at a kid refusing to eat his vegetables. Not only is it bad from a nutritional standpoint, but it trains the mind to churn up those resistant feelings instead of working.

But, as I said, this week the fear of dying a meaningless death had graciously liberated me from the desire for junk. When I sat in my chair with my eyes closed, I didn’t struggle with my resistance to writing. I instead listened and I tried to define my emotions. By doing so I created separation from them, and I perceived them as impish homunculi causing turmoil in my head instead of being reflective of my true self. I would not feed them with justifications. Without sustenance, the homunculi eventually calmed down, and like children who begin serenely playing after a violent tantrum, they began generating creative impulses, of which I took advantage.

Building on this newfound understanding of my resistance, I experimented by applying its principles to the Pomodoro Technique for the rest of the week. I’ve long gone back and forth on this technique, because it just seems like one of those marketable fads that promises more than it delivers. But the key to making most creative techniques work is to have a good philosophical understanding of it, as Ann E. Berthoff said about writing in Thinking/Forming/Writing. Doing so makes it a meaningful method instead of a technique performed mechanically. It seems that this meaning-making aspect of doing things is crucial in determining whether or not they are successful.

For example, one meaningful understanding I created was in the way I approach taking the five-minute breaks between working sessions. They can be done in a way that makes the act of writing, or whatever the task may be, more pleasurable in comparison. Instead of doing something fun or relaxing during breaks, I just stood in the middle of the room. Five minutes seemed an interminable amount of time to stand still, so it is with great relief that I got back to work. This worked even better when I would cut myself off in the heat of writing well, because I would be chomping at the bit to return to it. For an additional benefit, I suppose I could try doing this in a coffee shop. Not only will I feel relief from getting back to work, but from no longer having to look like a weirdo.

While I still think rationalizing resistance is an important first step, the next step isn’t to deny or repress irrational desires, but to learn how to harness them. The desires are a potent source of creative energy, they just tend to be aimed at what’s immediately available. But if I don’t give in by rewarding them, or inflame them by forcing effort — if I choose instead to do nothing — then these desires will realize they’ll have to aim higher to gain satisfaction, and will naturally align themselves with nobler goals.