Jen Knox's Blog, page 9
October 23, 2024
On soaking up the sauce & week 23 of 52
The Italian expression Fare la Scarpetta (to “do the little shoe”) means sopping up the last bit of pasta sauce from a plate with a piece of bread. It’s a feeling akin to eating an ice cream cone and getting to that little pocket of chocolate in the last triangular bite.
Why is the last bite so good? Maybe the economic concept of scarcity value—which suggests humans value things more when there is less to consume or enjoy—explains it. That last bit of sauce or last bite is often as good - if not better - than the first because we know it’s our last.
This is what we’re doing here, with AYTL, only with the clear knowledge that we have no control or insight into what day, month, or year will be our last. We can only tap ourselves on the shoulder with a reminder — “Hey, pay attention here, this might be the last bit of sauce.”
This might be the last hug or the last twirl. It might be the last time we feel the surge of heat in our bellies after someone cuts us off in traffic. By reminding ourselves that we can’t know when the last bite will come, perhaps everything we taste will be all the more sweet.
This is equally true of our attention and interest.
Have you ever been passionate about something or someone, only to look back years later and laugh? Do you still love the same music you loved in 9th grade?
In a few years, will we still have a taste for pistachio ice cream, or will we want chocolate? Hell, for all we know, we might have a cold sensitivity that makes ice cream torturous. Will we still want to watch a stand-up comedy show? Attend a __ concert? Will we still have a taste for docudrama or science fiction novels?
Maybe. Maybe not.
The idea of changing tastes or levels of access is interesting because it suggests that we are always experiencing unexpected and unemotional loss—loss of appetite, interest, access, and sometimes even understanding. The world is changing, we are changing, and the way we consume changes constantly.
Sometimes we agree and welcome this change, sometimes not. Or not at first.
Photo by Mae MuTo savor what we enjoy as though it is our last time is a delicious reminder of the richness of life and how that richness changes. It’s a way of respecting and honoring what’s in front of us.
A poet friend decided he would soon stop writing, not because he was giving up but because the act of writing poetry no longer interested him in the way it once had. So he wrote a few final poems for a final collection. Once that collection was complete, he put down his pen. Other aspects of his life fed him more. Family. Reading. Travel. Art.
I like to think the months leading up to this poetic retirement were romantic, and that my friend savored every word and looked at life through a crisp, poetic lens that was all the more accurate. If you knew this would be the last work you’d write, how would you write it?
The more I embark on this journey, the more I believe our control over anything beyond perception (and maybe even that) is an illusion.
In other words, thinking we might have the chance to Fare la Scarpetta tomorrow is not a productive thought.
Sop the bread! Taste the salts and sugars sifting on your tongue! Feel the textures as they shift and the satisfaction of the final bits as you digest the world. Digest the world!
AYTL challenge: Find something you love, and Fare la Scarpetta.
Writing challenge: Write about two people competing for the last little bit. Make it fun.
October 17, 2024
On legacy and impact & week 22 of 52
Today’s post is simply an exploration. I have been thinking a lot about legacy, and below are a few observations.
Legacy is about impact, not recognition.Kafka is one of my heroes. While I’m not the biggest fan of his work, I’m a fan of his lifestyle. He had an uncanny dedication to his art without sacrificing his responsibility as a citizen of the world. He was disciplined and dedicated to a strict health regime, family obligations, writing, and his day job.
I wonder if this would have changed if he knew how popular his writing would become after his death. Would he have been more self-aggrandizing? Would his dedication to excellence at work have suffered? Would he have been more or less happy?
Legacy is a dream and matters little, if at all, to our genuine experience of life.David Whyte says, “No matter the self-conceited importance of our labors we are all compost for worlds we cannot yet imagine.”
These words would only be diminished by analysis, so, enough said. And again, as Whyte likes to repeat lines.
“No matter the self-conceited importance of our labors we are all compost for worlds we cannot yet imagine.”
Humans are driven to create a legacy story, whether it has meaning or not.
For better or for worse. What is your best version of leaving a legacy? (Supporting others? Your kids carrying on your best values?) What is your worst? (The dream that one names a building after you? Kids carrying on worst characteristics?)
Our true legacy is uncontrollable.A woman can do nothing but uplift and still be torn down after death. Another can do nothing at all and be regarded as a hero. Yet another can harm and be considered a necessary evil. The way we are perceived is not in our control and will not be consistent.
We want to be remembered (notably artists and writers, in my experience) because there is value in communicating our perspective. And we often think about legacy when we acknowledge our ephemeral nature. The idea of being a living legacy would be nice to propose here. After all, what we could hope to leave behind must be created today. We have no true control over perception, but we can control what we do. Right now. It’s an interesting concept to explore.
AYTL prompt: If there is a legacy you want to leave, how can you enact it today?
Writing prompt: A character wants to leave a very specific legacy. What is it, and how does it impact their behavior and their influence on those around them—for better or worse?
October 10, 2024
On reverence, art & week 21 of 52
Urbino, Jen Knox (2024)Over the last few days, I met many artisans in Le Marche, a region of Italy nestled between the Apennine Mountains and the Adriatic Sea. Small, remote towns in this area overflow with passion, tradition, history, art, unforgettable food, and a sense of community and camaraderie that (it seems) those in the States can barely imagine outside of our guarded social circles.
These Italian towns have their own issues, of course. They are sparsely populated and, due to climate change, many face uncertain harvests year-to-year, which impacts crop and product production. As a result of the low population, hospitals and schools have moved, and people must learn to rely on the few others around them, along with those like me who float through town to visit, teach, and learn to make a living or expand their reach.
I wonder whether we must trade high-touch human connection and fresh food for exponential growth, fast-paced abundance, and comfort. Whether the either/or of life holds weight, it is undeniable that the artists in these towns live and create with personal and relational reverence.
The remoteness and the focused nature of a life not overwhelmed by noise allow for the patience needed when seeking artistic mastery and honing craft. It also seems a smaller town reliant on interconnectivity naturally lends itself to more hugging, smiles, and greetings; more celebration of creativity.
I remember reading about how the small daily interactions, even with strangers—especially with strangers or people you only know from seeing around the way—add to our overall sense of contentment because there is no exchange beyond the niceties and kindness of the moment. With strangers and those we barely know, there is merely a recognition of a shared existence. It is a beautiful recognition.
The artists I’ve met in Italy, including iconic papermaker Sandro Tiberi and printer and artist Carla Luminati shared their wisdom with a group of strangers — writers and artists they may never see again or whom they barely know. They did so with generosity and an obvious reverence for their art. It is not always the way with artists, academics, and writers I know, and I found it uniquely inspiring.
"LA CASA DI CARTA" by Sandro Tiberi (The House of Paper - an installation entirely made of paper - yes, including the purses and lamps inside.)Anyone actively living in this interconnected world and practicing with intention and care can make their lives and creations ART. Anyone who challenges or stretches their perspective by dedicating to mastery (attained or not) is an artist. Anyone tackling the same question from endless angles is an artist. But all of the above when combined with connectivity offers more rewards than we can imagine when we’re just concerned with something like getting the book deal (or selling as many books as the other guy, etc, etc).
This leads me to a few prompts …
AYTL prompt: Greet someone you wouldn’t ordinarily greet. Or share the knowledge you have without any expectations. In person. High touch.
Writing prompt: Write about combining new perspectives with unexpected connections.
I am still on the road, so here are a few pics. If you’re interested in joining me on this Italiana Tour in the future (which includes a week of writing workshops), do let me know. Ciao!
October 2, 2024
On final chances & week 20 of 52
Writers get this opportunity. It’s called a galley. Receiving your galley marks the proofreading stage before a book goes to print. It’s when you add the final polish. It’s meticulous work, and I am grateful I got my forthcoming publication back from my publisher before heading to Urbania, Italy to teach. There is nothing better than writing and editing on a plane.
Nonetheless, it’s a lot of work. This particular galley is for my forthcoming novel, Chaos Magic (still no publisher for the essays). I’m excited to dive back into this manuscript for the final time before it’s released, and Tony Burnett, my publisher at Kallisto Gaia Press, has done beautiful work with the layout.
There’s pressure associated with knowing this is the last time I’ll get to make changes. Just like when I walk out my door before heading to the airport and I won’t get to go back and double-check if I forgot something. Did I pack my socks? Yes. Underwear? Yes. Chargers and converters? Yes and shit.
The feeling of letting go and risking unfinished business or incomplete tasks is unsettling; it puts the body on high alert, and the mind churns on the “loading” setting—the way it might when you can’t quite place a name.
But the truth is, we don’t always know.
Unfinished business was a theme in my younger life, and it was more intense than forgetting a toiletry item or misplacing a comma.Not long ago, I wanted to write about a mentor I’d lost contact with. I began to research online, hoping I could find her. What I found was a tribute page to her memory.
This woman, S., was gone and all that remained, for me, was an invitation to plant a tree in her name, which I did. While we had not been close for years, I’d missed the opportunity to say goodbye to her. I had no idea that the last time we spoke would be the last time we spoke.
Photo by Mert Yüce Unfinished business is not the same as regret. It feels like something you haven’t yet completed, a to-do that has not been checked. One of my social to-dos was to reach out to this woman after I returned to Ohio, but nothing about it felt urgent. We hadn’t spoken in over a decade, so I thought I had time.
Now, I wonder at these moments or missed possibilities often. S., to me, was someone I hadn’t found the maturity to appreciate when I knew her. Now that I have it, I can only plant a tree.
In my early twenties, I began a long journey centered on healing. I didn’t know this, but I was on the verge of changing everything about my life, and like many people on a healing journey, I was very self-centered (one needs to be, to be fair). I was drawn to therapy, yoga, and meditation. I began to write introspectively and ask the hard, philosophical questions in fiction and with a slow-growing group of new friends.
I was also broke, and emotionally fragile. I was working at a drugstore and self-conscious about my smile, a smile I wanted to fix. But I was good at customer service and kind to people to a fault.
When S. struck up a conversation one day, I felt special. She was taking an interest in me, wondering why I worked at the drugstore and if I had ever thought of trying another line of work. We began to speak regularly when she’d pick up her prescription, and she’d always ask me questions about my ambitions (I wasn’t yet sure what they were).
She’d tell me about her family, and I’d listen. We became friends.
One thing led to another, and S. offered me a job at her hair salon as the receptionist. She paid me more than the drugstore and offered flexible hours. I loved it. And as I got to know my friend and mentor better, I learned that more was possible for me. More as in: life didn’t have the look the way it did then forever.
S. was in her early 60s, and her humor was irreverent. She was completely at home in her skin, which modeled a new possibility.
When S. first invited me to her house, I was shocked. She was very wealthy, which confused me because she spoke like someone who lived somewhere like where I did. I remember shaking when I first shook her husband’s hand and introduced myself to her daughter.
At that point in my life, I was living in a battered little apartment near a goth-themed nightclub. When S. came to pick me up for work one day, she suggested I try living somewhere else.
Me, early 20s, rarely smilingBefore I knew it, yet again, S. was investing in me.
She offered to rent me a room in her house for next to nothing so I could save. I lived with S. for almost a year and worked at her salon, and we became closer, almost like family. But over the years, I wanted to attend community college and reclaim my independence. After I moved out on my own, we slowly lost touch; when I reached out, she seemed angry I’d left but not entirely closed off.
S. was more complicated than the benevolent mentor figure, but without going into that story, I will say that I loved her. I love her. I tried to get back in touch with S. once when I lived in San Antonio, but I couldn’t get ahold of her. When I came back to Ohio, I figured I’d try again. I never did.
I thought I had time.But when I was finally ready to have the conversation I hadn’t been able to find the words for before, when I was finally ready to thank her and tell her how much her support meant at a time when I could barely see past my nose, she was gone.
I would love to tell her how much I smile now.
The unfinished or the things forgotten or put off to another day will not always be there. I may arrive in Italy with no bras, and Chaos Magic might have a glaring error on page 14. I have no way of knowing.
Here’s what I do know:
I know this trip will be met with presence.
I am thankful for the opportunity to write this post and maybe connect with you. Thank you for being here.
Chaos Magic may or may not be my final published book, but I’ll read and proofread it carefully.
I will forget something on my travels. I always do.
If nothing else, I’ll make it a point to appreciate every smile and offer mine to others—even those not yet ready to receive it (see pic above).
Thanks, S.
AYTL prompt: Treat one ordinary and everyday interaction with a loved one as though it could be the last time.
Writing prompt: Write about what happened.
September 25, 2024
On style & week 19 of 52
Kafka’s short story, “Poseidon,” depicts the God of the Sea as disgruntled and bored by overwhelming administrative tasks. Meanwhile, Poseidon’s followers see him as a showboat, always “idling through the tides with his trident.” What they never see is the endless paperwork and managerial duties associated with managing the waters. Poseidon, as Kafka explores him, is misunderstood due to his title and adornments (damn trident!).
So much for appearances.
Our beliefs and reality may or may not be reflected in our attire, but how we dress and express (see: everything from tattoos to glasses frames) is seen as a creative message to the world, intentional or not.
When I started teaching leadership to undergrads, a successful local businesswoman told me that she wore the same basic outfit every day so as not to be judged by her appearance. She wanted to keep her message clear and consistent, and her dress emphasized this intention. She considered variations on her theme mere distractions, both to herself and those she led.
Dr. Ngozi Okonjo Iweala, the former Minister of Finance in Nigeria and WTO Director-General has been analyzed and praised for her dress. Known for wearing traditional Nigerian wax print fabric rather than dressing in imported colonial business attire or imported fabrics was originally seen as a statement of rebellion or a political stance. Dr. Iweala dresses in a way that reflects her culture and taste, and simply because it was unexpected by some, this was news.
The way people dissect others’ personal fashion choices is fascinating, but I’m also curious about the way our style choices influence how we feel and show up in the world. For some of us, our dress may be a reflection of—or reflected by—our art.
The reasons we select what we do to show up in the world can be seen as a statement or a way of hiding, a way of pledging allegiance or denying harmful trends. It can also reflect association, such is the case with uniforms that advertise company slogans or keep us safe from factory parts falling on our feet (ah, the steel-toe boots).
I remember my factory work with fondness. It was a little heavy, but a lovely shade of dark blue and flush with pockets. I worked at Aramark Uniform Services for a time, where I’d move other heavy uniforms from line to line (I wrote about it here) prideful that I boasted a very similar vibe to Rosie the Riveter. At other jobs, I’ve been tasked to wear khakis, all-black, a variety of polos, sequins, and, finally, business casual attire.
How we dress can have a surprising impact on how we feel, how we show up, and how others see us (whether we want it to or not).
I’ve recently decided it would simplify my own life if I adopted a monochrome closet. Not just storing clothes by color but wearing blue with blue and black with black, playing with shading the way my artist father taught me. With accessories, of course, I will go the route of least resistance to save time. But I also find the simple elegance of monochrome a statement in of itself.
I am not trying to hide but rather simplify and focus. We’ll see how it goes. As I pack for Italy, where I’ll be teaching writing workshops in Urbania, I believe this new wardrobe will serve me well. I was told that Americans are appreciated in this part of Italy but that shirts with words and slogans on them (with the rare exception of certain sports) are seen as rather tacky. I like to think that my “childless dog lady” tee might be akin to wielding a fake trident on the sea.
The way we adorn ourselves should be purposeful, even if we lack resources. When I was living in an apartment that cost $300/month (I’m not that old - the apartment was just that bad), I had two pairs of jeans that I rotated with solid shirts, and when I had a job that demanded a uniform, I appreciated it. I hated walking to the laundromat more than I had to.
I have more choices now, perhaps too many. But I’ve decided that I will soon journey to Italy in monochrome. I believe this to be sleek, but more, I want simplicity and to reflect a sort of blank slate.
I will bring a notebook and focus on my students, not my appearance, and in so doing, I am sure assumptions will still be made. But hope to soak in the culture and simply be. You might find me in all black or all brown or shades of green and taupe — not because I’m trying to blend but, rather, to observe and learn. This is my vibe right now. It might change.
What is your current modus operandi for getting dressed in the morning? What assumptions do you make based on the way others dress or present themselves, especially those who identify as creative?
AYTL prompt: We often hear about spring cleaning, but there is a similar opportunity in the fall as climates shift (even slightly for some). Take this equinox time as an invitation to explore your choice of dress and adornment. What’s missing? What’s overdone? What’s with meaning, and what has emerged as a mindless pattern? If you fancy doing so, mix things up a little. The artist is, after all, a reflection of her art.
Writing prompt: Write about a fashion norm violated.
September 19, 2024
On desire & week 18 of 52
Photo by Tim MossholderWhat do you desire right now? Is it personal? Professional? Romantic?
Grappling with one’s desires seems to be a foundation of many religions and spiritual practices. Discipline and personal responsibility help us dodge corruption or destructive temptations. But while personal responsibility is important, denying our desires is boring and unreasonable.
Since desire is a part of the human condition, let’s look at it from multiple angles. We don’t only desire consumption or power or sex. Desire can make us want to love others, do good in the world, develop our minds, and connect in a way that goes beyond mere physicality.
It’s a TRICKY emotion. We could probably turn it over in our hands, holding it up to the light to see desire in a thousand ways, but let’s begin with five.
Desire can be a catalyst when the feeling is detached from expectation and met with patience.
If you tell me that you desire a fig. I answer you that there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen. —Epictetus
To treat desire as though it were avoidable or suppressible is to deny the human condition and set ourselves up for failure. There is a famous marshmallow study in which children’s willpower around sweets is linked directly to their quality of life and academic success later in life. But this study is controversial and followed by another study that suggests we can use up our willpower in one aspect of our lives, only to sacrifice another.
Human behavior flows from three main sources: desire, emotion, and knowledge. —Plato
We might not even know what we want.
There is an invisible strength within us; when it recognizes two opposing objects of desire, it grows stronger. —Rumi
Our desires might cloud our ability to see the beauty that lies within our current existence.
“Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea,” said the fir-tree. —Hans Christian Andersen
Sometimes we don’t know what we want, or we want what we don’t fully understand.
“Sometimes the most dangerous thing of all in matters of love was to be granted your heart’s desire.” —Alice Hoffman
Philosophers break desire into intrinsic or extrinsic/instrumental desire, meaning we have desires motivated by a larger life goal or by seeing what/who we want as a means to an end.
Either way, even the best intentions can only carry us so far. Desire often leads us toward the unexpected. Consider the unexpected, the lack of guarantee, for a moment.
It might be a strong enough argument to see the value of exploring what we want right now, and making that exploration of our desires a practice. True compassion means not judging, and this is what I’m suggesting here. It is a very healthy self-study to question our desires and ask if they’re even really ours. Do we simply want something because we think we should? Because we’ve been conditioned to react in a certain way?
I am writing about my personal and professional desires—exploring how they line up with reality and where their abstract nature taunts my rational mind. It’s an oddly beautiful process because the path turns in unexpected ways. I invite you to do the same.
AYTL/writing prompt: What do you most desire right now? Is it intrinsic or a desire for things to go well, so you can feel […]? How does that desire feed you or feed on you? What does it suggest about your self concept now?
Creative prompt: Write about a desire realized, despite all odds, and its outcome (good, bad, or in-between).
September 11, 2024
On creative devotion & week 17 of 52
I was once told that devotion is more important than focus or goal setting because devotion is something we can practice every day—through the highs and lows.
Creative devotion (which I previously broached with my post on “creative confidence”) mirrors our beliefs and subsequent actions. This topic is imperative for writers, myself included, who have discouraging days.
My personal discouragement story goes like this: A VERY credible and successful literary agent said she “loved” my essay collection and found it “special” but worried she couldn’t sell it because at least 1 of the “Big 5” publishers required a minimum of 100,000 followers across social media platforms for creative nonfiction projects.
I have about 10,000 connections online, and most of my followers are on Insight Timer and Aura, so I’m nowhere near that. To emphasize how much she wanted to work with me (?) and maybe make me feel better, this agent suggested I set the goal of getting to 50,000 followers, and she’d help me with the rest.
I know me, and I know this will never be a goal of mine. If I reach 50,000 followers in my lifetime, it will be because the book came first or it just happens.
Discouragement comes in myriad forms. It’s not just being told that you need a prefab audience. Some writers take hits because we feel we should be creating more, others wonder if writing even matters in a time of automation and acceptable plagiarism. Still other writers and artists believe they don’t have time to create and release what they take in.
"On the one side were techno-optimists who foresaw a utopian future. AI would eliminate workplace drudgery, diagnose diseases more effectively than doctors could, and save humanity from one of its most loathed burdens: paying writers for anything, ever." —Brian Phillips
Whatever the source of our discouragement, we must believe in ourselves and our messages to practice creative devotion. When we start putting pressure on ourselves (or feel external pressure) to meet unrealistic timelines or compete with others (or hit x # of followers), it seems the work responds with rebellion.
“As any classically trained singer or actor can tell you, trying to make your voice sound like someone else’s can do all manner of damage to it.”
—Lauren Elkin
So here we are.
Individually, we can’t change larger trends or industry standards, and many don’t have the luxury to create more time, but we can change our mindset about the whole deal. Easy to say, I know. But this is why fostering creative devotion is the order of the day.
We should all acknowledge that we live in a time that pressurizes artists and tries to diminish contributions by replicating them en masse. Got it, got it! but! Here’s my message to counter such perspectives. If you hit a wall, try these reframes:
The lack of creative intellectual property (IP) or the prevalence of AI can force us to adopt the “write for myself” mindset.
Lack of time might add momentum if it is not forced.
Thinking we should be creating more might mean we believe we have more to give.
There is only one of us, and the only true way of wasting time is by trying to be like someone else.
And if the reframes aren’t enough for you, here’s a firm pep talk I used in my confidence post.
Stop wasting time trying to become what and who you already are.You are where you need to be. You are creating what you are supposed to be creating, and you are creating it at the perfect pace and in a way that will allow the result to find its ideal timeline and audience—be that small or large, be that what you think will meet your current expectations or not. Despite what you sometimes think, you are on the right track, and it matters, and it matters in the way it should. Share your messages in the way you are sharing them, not from a place of pressure or guilt or fear or competition or even urgency. Share what you are called to share and nothing more.
Again, stop wasting time trying to become what and who you already are.This is a bit of self-talk, but I thought I’d share it here with the intuition that it might resonate with a few of you. Yes, our voices matter, but perhaps the more important message is that we will say exactly what we need to say and release what we observe in our own time. We must remember not to get in our own way or psyche ourselves out.
AYTL prompt: In the week ahead, wherever and whenever you feel small or marginalized, or left out, meet that feeling by doubling down on your devotion. Reminding yourself that it’s not about setting goals and hitting metrics (the needle always moves) but devoting today to what matters.
On creative devotion & Week 17 of 52
after my confidence took a hit, I revisited some thoughts and decided to think about creative momentum in a new way.
I was once told that devotion is more important than focus or goal setting because devotion is something we can practice every day—good or bad. Creative devotion (which I previously broached with my post on “creative confidence”) mirrors our beliefs and subsequent actions. This topic is imperative for writers, myself included at times, who have bad or discouraging days.
My recent discouragement story goes like this: A VERY credible and successful literary agent said she “loved” my essay collection and found it “special” but worried she couldn’t sell it because at least 1 of the “Big 5” publishers required a minimum of 100,000 followers across social media platforms for creative nonfiction projects.
I have about 10,000 connections online, and most of my followers are on Insight Timer and Aura, so I’m nowhere near that. To emphasize how much she wanted to work with me (?) and maybe make me feel better, said agent suggested I set the goal of getting to 50,000 followers, and she’d help me with the rest.
I know me. If I reach 50,000 followers in my lifetime, it will be because the book came first. So my discouragement remains.
Discouragement comes in myriad forms. Some of us feel we should be creating more, others wonder if writing even matters in a time of automation and acceptable plagiarism. Others believe they don’t have time to create and release what they take in of the world.
"On the one side were techno-optimists who foresaw a utopian future. AI would eliminate workplace drudgery, diagnose diseases more effectively than doctors could, and save humanity from one of its most loathed burdens: paying writers for anything, ever." —Brian Phillips
Whatever the source of our discouragement, we must believe in ourselves and our messages to practice devotion. When we start putting pressure on ourselves (or feel external pressure) to meet unrealistic timelines or compete with others (or hit x # of followers), it seems the work responds with rebellion.
“As any classically trained singer or actor can tell you, trying to make your voice sound like someone else’s can do all manner of damage to it.”
—Lauren Elkin
So here we are.
Individually, we can’t change larger trends or industry standards, and many don’t have the luxury to create more time, but we can change our mindset about the whole deal. Easy to say, I know. But this is why fostering creative devotion is the order of the day.
We should all acknowledge that we live in a time that pressurizes artists and tries to diminish contributions by replicating them en masse. Got it, got it! but! Here’s my message to counter such perspectives. If you hit a wall, try these reframes:
The lack of creative intellectual property (IP) or the prevalence of AI can force us to adopt the “write for myself” mindset.
Lack of time might add momentum if it is not forced.
Thinking we should be creating more might mean we believe we have more to give.
There is only one of us, and the only true way of wasting time is by trying to be like someone else.
And if the reframes aren’t enough for you, here’s a little firm pep talk I used in my confidence post.
Stop wasting time trying to become what and who you already are.You are where you need to be. You are creating what you are supposed to be creating, and you are creating it at the perfect pace and in a way that will allow the result to find its ideal timeline and audience—be that small or large, be that what you think will meet your current expectations or not. Despite what you sometimes think, you are on the right track, and it matters, and it matters in the way it should. Share your messages in the way you are sharing them, not from a place of pressure or guilt or fear or competition or even urgency. Share what you are called to share and nothing more.
Again, stop wasting time trying to become what and who you already are.This is a bit of self-talk, but I thought I’d share it here with the intuition that it might resonate with a few of you. Yes, our voices matter, but perhaps the more important message is that we will say exactly what we need to say and release what we observe in our own time. We must remember not to get in our own way or psyche ourselves out.
AYTL prompt: In the week ahead, wherever and whenever you feel small or marginalized, or left out, meet that feeling by doubling down on your devotion. Reminding yourself that it’s not about setting goals and hitting metrics (the needle always moves) but devoting today to what matters.
September 4, 2024
On how you might change if . . . week 16 of 52
Is there a memory that keeps reminding you of your past? That same one, attached to a story, that arrives more often and urgently than others? This could be the come-up story, the war story, the story of regret or remorse.
It could be a story about how introverted and smart you are or how you could never learn to dance because you’re too uncoordinated. It could be about how childhood bullying led you to find solace in books.
At one time, I was attached to a story of comparative lack. As a child, I told myself that big things could happen, but I’d have to create them in my mind. In the physical world, they were probably going to stay somewhat less-than-adequate.
This wasn’t depression exactly because I was always able to find beauty in life and ideas. But it was a story that served more world-weary thoughts than any notion of hope or belief in others and bettering my conditions.
Slowly, I saw that others had found fulfillment despite adversity, so I dove into human stories. In literature but also life. Memoirs and documentaries were always my favorite. Even without meeting the people, I’d learn about (at the time, athletes like Gail Devers and Steffi Graf were heroes), I could see how others had dedicated themselves to the seemingly impossible, often despite the odds.
These were not people I knew personally. They were not in my neighborhood. But they were models of action. They helped me redefine my story and think of it more as a journey than a consequence. Likewise, they taught me to abandon thoughts of limit and grandiosity alike. What made them compelling was the journey.
I was given a prompt recently by a mentor and teacher, : Write about a person who is self-defined by a story, and then explore what would happen if they forgot that story, good or bad.
AYTL: What a brilliant prompt, no? Thank you, Scott. And what an interesting question for ourselves. If you could forget any notion of needing to have x, y, or z or wishing a, b, or c would’ve happened instead, how would that change who you are? Would it be for the better or worse?
August 27, 2024
On rhythm and writing and rhythm and life & week 15 of 52
Averages:
Our hearts beat 60-100 beats per minute
We take around 12-18 breaths per minute
We sleep an average of 7 hours a night
Adults type around 40 words per minute
Our brains process around 70,000 thoughts each day (Cleveland Clinic)
4/4 time is the most common beat in popular songs
Rhythms dominate our lives, and when we feel out of sync, it’s usually because an expected rhythm is disrupted. Or we can’t fully access it.
In my early twenties, I loved Hunter S. Thompson’s writing because he could discuss everything from the absurdity of politics to the inner workings of a motorcycle gang with a cadence that kept me poised to read more. I didn’t realize it then, but it was less about what he was saying and more about the rhythm of his prose.
Thompson’s writing was easy for me, a person who has always been a slow reader for a few reasons. It wasn’t an “easy read” in the classical sense of simplicity and predictability, but his writing had a cadence that was easy to follow; this rhythm supported my ability to feel and focus. So many of my favorite writers do this: Rachel Kushner, Barbara Kingsolver, Louise Erdrich, Edwidge Danticat, Toni Morrison, and Vladimir Nabokov—to name a few.
Poets probably know a lot more about rhythm than I do.
Yes, I’ve written a poem or two, but I can’t claim the poet’s expertise. I can speak to the prose authors whose rhythmic writing grips me, and I believe they do this the same way a song does.
In rhythmic prose, there is a flow, a tell, a freedom, then a hook. There is a give-and-take that is purely language and feeling-based and not reliant so much on what is happening in the storytelling.
Much like a charismatic speaker, well-versed in the art of rhetoric, can make people feel so much that they forget the meaning behind their words, a writer can use rhythm to seduce a reader into other worlds or scenes or ideas in a way that no clever plot could touch. Maybe this is my bias, but it could be what people mean when they use the term “literary.”
I wanted to share this because while I read for many reasons: insight, small moments of immersion, getting lost in another world … it is getting lost in ideas and stories with a deliberate and delicate placement of words that allows me to dance with words. Images and marks on the page become feelings.
I innately revise for rhythm. Sometimes it comes out naturally, sometimes I feel it lacking when I read something aloud.
In light of the AYTL experiment, I was thinking about rhythm and where it is evident and missing in my life. Routine can be rhythm; we can hear it in birdsong or the clicking and buzzy call of cicadas. The low rumble of nearby toads or the traffic you hear each morning from your front porch.
Rhythm brings comfort, it resides within. We have a heart rate, sleep cycle, and brain waves measured in hertz and patterned based on experiences and repetition. We find comfort in watching rhythms, which is why we are tasked to return to our breath in mindfulness practices and meditation. The breath and the heartbeat are our natural rhythms.
It can be comforting when we pay just a little bit of attention.
While I think our lives have greater rhythms, such as the yearly celebrations or seasonal mood shifts, the immediate rhythms can be more accessible. And when we entertain the idea of living with more awareness of the rhythms in our lives, we can find a lot of new realizations.
Prompt: Rhythm is often where meditation or mindfulness begins because rhythms give us something to return to. Write about a single day, and focus on the sounds and rhythms in the scene.
AYTL prompt: Observe the rhythms of the day.
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