In Greek mythology they were called muses. In ancient Rome there was a guiding spirit called a genius. And a contemporary author calls it an externalized collaborator. The persona of creativity takes many forms.
The Radiolab podcast 'Help' from March 2011 tackles the issue of encouraging ourselves to make changes, including tapping the creative force. As an aside, if you have never heard a Radiolab podcast, I highly recommend their program. My sister introduced it to me last year and it has given us both a plethora of interesting facts for almost any topic at parties.
Back to the issue at hand.
While figuring out my driving passion and how that can translate to a career, the answer I want to see is not coming quickly enough. It sits in an idealized and unclear format with the added pressure of needing to make the break "worth it". In leaving a job obviously ill-suited to my nature, I want the next one to be an amazing fit. That has created an unnecessary burden to figure it all out before taking a step and my creative mind is hiding from the pressure.
It echoes how I have approached my blog and even how I think of adventure. After months of not publicly writing, I want my next adventure to be monumental. But what makes the cut? Especially when compared to the entity that was Australia. Do my trips to the Caribbean count? Or volunteering with Habitat? Or freelancing with exciting event and start up companies?
Of all the suggestions given in the podcast, the one I most enjoyed was the concept as creativity as a muse, something tangible. Maybe because it is the only optimistic idea in a sea of pills that make you sick and burning the boats. Getting in touch with this muse takes different forms. Sometimes you need to speak to it in a soft voice. At other times being like a parent threatening to ground a stubborn teenager is required. But you always need to create the right environment. The light bulb had a series of other developments that had to be in place before it could even be in the mind of inventors. Once the environment was right, multiple designers starting working on it at the same time.
With that in mind, I began to think of my favorite inspiring environments. I can easily shift to spend more time in these type of settings without knowing any other puzzle pieces. By being around inspiring people and ideas, I will either get inspiration (the likely scenario) or at least have a lot more fun with the confusion (which isn't a bad second option).
My Muse Environments:
The moment in dancing, specifically in a graceful waltz, where everything else fades away allowing the beauty to shine and each step just happens without thought.
Watching someone who is terrified of something take the first step in overcoming it. Bonus points if I somehow get to help.
Looking at great photography. (Shameless plug, the link takes you to my Dad's amazing work)
Anything that involves play, especially if everyone involved can let go of appearances and true laughter spontaneously erupts.
House parties with lovely random conversations from the mundane to life changing, with board games thrown in for good measure.
Picnic on a warm day with a light breeze. In the shade as I burn in two seconds.
Strategic planning with a great team in laid back surroundings. Like around a bonfire while drinking warm apple cider. That sounds marvelous.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Sum
I recently came across one of those Facebook quiz posts. This particular one was not what flower I am (sunflower), bird (dove), or fruit (pear). This quiz was about how I spend my time, specifically TV.
You enter the name of the show and it calculates how many hours (days) of your life to date have been spent in front of the tv. I stopped at 111 days. Although that was not the complete list, after a few nerdy calculations on my way to work, I came to the conclusion that I would be much farther along in my life goals if I used my time more wisely.
That was only two days ago. Now, the first thing I learned in these two days without my TV shows is there are plenty of other things that easily take its place as prime procrastination tools: Moving files around on my computer, making a new playlist, and listening to my favorite podcast Radiolab.
Which is how I came across the same concept of summation of time written as a beautiful short story Sum by David Eagleman. There is also a visual representation Shorts:16 Moments.
"In the afterlife you relive all your experiences, but this time with the events reshuffled into a new order: you see all the moments that share a quality are grouped together.
For instance, you spend two months driving the street in front of your house, seven months having sex. You sleep for thirty years without opening your eyes. For five months straight you flip through magazines while sitting on a toilet.
You take all your pain at once, all twenty-seven intense hours of it. Bones break, cars crash, skin is cut, babies are born. But once you make it through, it's agony-free for the rest of your afterlife.
But that doesn't mean it's always pleasant. You spend six days clipping your nails. Fifteen months looking for lost items. Eighteen months waiting in line. Two years of boredom: staring out a bus window, sitting in an airport terminal, waiting in line. One year reading books. Your eyes hurt, and you itch, because you can't take a shower until it's your time to take your marathon two hundred day shower. Two weeks wondering what happens when you die. One minute realizing your body is falling. Seventy-seven hours of confusion. One hour realizing you've forgotten someone's name. Three weeks realizing you are wrong. Two days lying. Six weeks waiting for a green light. Seven hours vomiting. Fourteen minutes experiencing pure joy. Three months doing laundry. Fifteen hours writing your signature. Two days tying shoelaces. Sixty-seven days of heartbreak. Five weeks driving lost. Three days calculating restaurant tips. Fifty one days deciding what to wear. Nine days pretending you know what is being talked about. Two weeks counting money. Eighteen hours staring into the refrigerator. Thirty-four days longing. Six months watching commercials. Four weeks sitting in thought, wondering is there is something better you could be doing with your time. Three years swallowing food. Five days working buttons and zippers. Four minutes wondering what your life would be like if you reshuffled the order of events.
In this part of the afterlife, you imagine something analogous to your Earthly life, and the thought is blissful: a life where episodes are split into tiny swallowable pieces, where moments do not endure, where one expereinces the joy of jumping from one event to the next like a child hopping from spot to spot on the burning sand."
You enter the name of the show and it calculates how many hours (days) of your life to date have been spent in front of the tv. I stopped at 111 days. Although that was not the complete list, after a few nerdy calculations on my way to work, I came to the conclusion that I would be much farther along in my life goals if I used my time more wisely.
That was only two days ago. Now, the first thing I learned in these two days without my TV shows is there are plenty of other things that easily take its place as prime procrastination tools: Moving files around on my computer, making a new playlist, and listening to my favorite podcast Radiolab.
Which is how I came across the same concept of summation of time written as a beautiful short story Sum by David Eagleman. There is also a visual representation Shorts:16 Moments.
"In the afterlife you relive all your experiences, but this time with the events reshuffled into a new order: you see all the moments that share a quality are grouped together.
For instance, you spend two months driving the street in front of your house, seven months having sex. You sleep for thirty years without opening your eyes. For five months straight you flip through magazines while sitting on a toilet.
You take all your pain at once, all twenty-seven intense hours of it. Bones break, cars crash, skin is cut, babies are born. But once you make it through, it's agony-free for the rest of your afterlife.
But that doesn't mean it's always pleasant. You spend six days clipping your nails. Fifteen months looking for lost items. Eighteen months waiting in line. Two years of boredom: staring out a bus window, sitting in an airport terminal, waiting in line. One year reading books. Your eyes hurt, and you itch, because you can't take a shower until it's your time to take your marathon two hundred day shower. Two weeks wondering what happens when you die. One minute realizing your body is falling. Seventy-seven hours of confusion. One hour realizing you've forgotten someone's name. Three weeks realizing you are wrong. Two days lying. Six weeks waiting for a green light. Seven hours vomiting. Fourteen minutes experiencing pure joy. Three months doing laundry. Fifteen hours writing your signature. Two days tying shoelaces. Sixty-seven days of heartbreak. Five weeks driving lost. Three days calculating restaurant tips. Fifty one days deciding what to wear. Nine days pretending you know what is being talked about. Two weeks counting money. Eighteen hours staring into the refrigerator. Thirty-four days longing. Six months watching commercials. Four weeks sitting in thought, wondering is there is something better you could be doing with your time. Three years swallowing food. Five days working buttons and zippers. Four minutes wondering what your life would be like if you reshuffled the order of events.
In this part of the afterlife, you imagine something analogous to your Earthly life, and the thought is blissful: a life where episodes are split into tiny swallowable pieces, where moments do not endure, where one expereinces the joy of jumping from one event to the next like a child hopping from spot to spot on the burning sand."
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