This week I've been paying attention to the old patterns of limited thinking that creep into my brainstorming, both in my writing practice and in my personal life design.
It kind of floors me how automatically this happens. For all my interest in personal growth and the tools I’ve amassed, I’m almost always subconsciously limiting my imagination to what I perceive as the "available options." Like, I have no idea what I want to eat until I’ve read the menu.
I get why we do this. Learning from past experiences is a good way to stay alive. Assessing the value and viability of the possibilities available to us is how we navigate the world. We eenie meenie miney moe our way through life, selecting and settling rather than imagining and creating. This is understandable, and probably necessary for getting day-to-day shit done, but it's a terrible way to make our best art or follow our heart’s desire. Whether it's our work, living space, or relationships, we can't reimagine any of these things if we insist on ordering off a menu curated from our own past experiences.
I think we often do this without even noticing. I know I do.
Consider the "Ideal Day" exercise, in which you envision a perfect day as the first step to designing your dream life. I love this exercise but I often find it super hard to do because I get hung up on the details and wind up self-editing the vision without even realizing it. If I see myself in, for example, a large, wood-frame house with a picture window looking out over a lush green valley, my brain will poke holes in the vision even as it’s forming. Wait, this doesn’t look like California! But I don’t want to leave California… I should only be visualizing California things! And then the whole thing disintegrates as I start arguing with my own imagination, trying to control the process and dictate the outcome instead of surrendering to it and discovering anything new.
Do you do this too? Try it and see what happens! Ask yourself what your ideal life would look like. Let’s say you imagine a life with more free time with friends and family, more money, maybe a better house. Now, notice whether there are sneaky little caveats and clauses running in the background. Are you subconsciously thinking, “that fancy house isn’t going to pay for itself, so I guess I need to put a job in the picture”? Hot on the heels of this thought might come another one like “Realistically, I'm going to make the most money doing more of what I’m already doing, so maybe I can just imagine doing it a bit better…” and before you know it, your “ideal life” is looking a lot like the life you're in now, including its frustrations and imbalances.
I'm not suggesting we should disregard real-world considerations when making decisions. But I am suggesting that if we want to create from a truly inspired place, and if we want to discover what’s in the deepest chambers of our hearts, we should look beyond what we think is possible and open ourselves up to unavailable options—those that don't even exist until we dream them into being.
This applies to creative work too, because our ideas for writing or any other artistic medium come from the same wellspring of inspiration from which our vision for our life path issues forth. When you sit down to write, build, draw, or design something, consider how limited-option thinking may be subconsciously reining in your possibilities.
I got more likes on my how-to articles than on my poetry. I guess that’s what people want more of.
I don’t want people to judge me, so I should stick to “appropriate” topics and avoid anything too vulnerable, revealing, or creatively risky.
I feel like I want to try X, but that’s not going to make sense to anyone who knows me.
This compulsion to “make sense” according to past precedents dramatically shrinks our zone of possibility. Enthusiasm and inspiration evaporate because we're not truly being creative in this mindset, we are just regurgitating and recombining the “available options”, like a wimpy, analog version of ChatGPT.
How can we discover our true appetites, no matter the menu?
What would happen if, instead of letting my cautious, rule-bound ego dictate what is and isn’t possible, I sat down to my creative process with a curious listening ear?
I might wind up writing some weird shit. People might not get it, or they might get it but not like it. It might make them view me differently. It might not fit with my “body of work”. It might even take my life in an unexpected direction.
And guess what? That unexpected direction would take on a life of its own. “People” (whoever they are) would get used to it. And that new direction would be more aligned with my purest creative spark instead of clinging to an old version of me that no longer feels true or real.
The ego is risk-averse and reluctant to yield control to the inner artist, an unpredictable imp who loves discovery and surprise. It takes courage and faith to listen instead of dictate. It means admitting you don’t know it all. And thank god we don’t know it all!
There is nothing on earth more satisfying than giving pleasing form to the formless; the very definition of creativity. To begin, we first have to enter into that formless place ourselves.
Here’s what this process looks like for me: Initially, there’s an indescribable thing moving through me. I can sense its contours even if I can’t see it clearly. It’s made of stories and images, stitched together by the meaning that I make of them. This thing wants to be born. Meaning, it wants to exist in the physical world, as a piece of writing, or a drawing. How can I give form to this feeling, these ideas? What is this feeling? What color and shape is it?
My inner artist-spirit whispers its directives so softly that it is easily drowned out by my bossy ego. But if I really tune into it, I find that it does indeed have answers to these questions, answers far more innovative and expansive than the ego could ever supply.
I kind of want to call myself out here. I realize that this intuitive approach to writing goes against much of the pragmatic writing advice I normally give to nonfiction writers of how-to books: Do your research, start with an outline. These tools certainly have their place. Market research and comp analysis are great for designing successful products. Outlining is great for efficiency and predictability. But they are not great for pure creativity or truly generative writing.
For that, we need to write from the inner self outward, rather than from the outside in. We can make art — and design our lives — from a void of infinite possibility, one in which there is no past precedent, no context, and no external demands or expectations.
The sweet bonus truth about this is that writing as a listening practice is much, much easier than writing as a deliberate process of premeditated, preplanned construction. It flows rather than pushes. Its results are fresher, more alive, more unique. And damn it, it's more fun.
So today I am asking myself not what would make sense to write about, but what wants to come through me?
I am telling myself: don’t try to write. Don’t try to be clever or witty or wise. Just sit down with a listening ear tilted toward the heart, and record what you find there. What wants to be spoken into being today?
You do not have to “come up with” anything. You do not have to “figure out” what to say. Don’t grab at your writing with an arrogant, prideful hand. Don’t show up with an agenda to impress anyone. All you need are your curiosity, your patience, and your receptivity. Surrender to the thing itself, be its servant and midwife.
It starts with getting still, remaining open at the top, and listening for the resonant hum of congruence. You know it when you hear it. Then, all you have to do is follow it.
xo
Mmmm. I like the idea of an unexpected direction taking on a life of its own. ♥️