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Tag: work

Commitment

I was speaking with a fellow writer today. He has two kids, a humongous garden, several horses, two rambunctious dogs and a wife. “Commit to a schedule,” he said. “It’s the only way to get anything done.” He told me that we have to trick our minds. That by establishing the practice of sitting down and writing every day — even if it is two hours of futzing around with one paragraph — is important.

We commit to partners and pledge to causes and sign contracts. Why can’t we make a commitment to ourselves, to our art?

If you want to finish anything you’re proud of, you have to commit to it. Reserve that hour, set up a monthly schedule, make your work a priority. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t pay. It doesn’t matter if it feels selfish. This is your art. Commit to it.

Let’s go to an art residency for one hour, every day

Writing residencies spoil people.

I just finished one month completely devoted to artistic creation. The schedule was up to me, when I wanted to work, for how long and on what. I was surrounded by other energetic artists who were on their own programs — some stayed up all night holed up in their studios, others spent afternoons baking cakes and cookies in the communal kitchen. I could go for long walks in the morning or take a yoga class at night. Aside from a weekly group check-in, the agenda was totally up to me.

The setting was magical (Woodstock, NY) and buildings historic (founded in 1902), but the greatest gift was time. I was taken from my day-to-day responsibilities and placed in an entirely new environment. My sole aim: To focus on the creative pursuit of my choosing.

It was luxurious.

And I realize, not entirely practical.

Two days before the residency ended, I panicked. How am I going to finish what I started? I am going back into the “real world” where tasks and duties and meetings and schedules and a full email inbox await. I understand residencies are temporal and intermittent and not everyone can take a month out of their life to do art.

A fellow writer at the residency had a invaluable answer I want to share with you.

One hour.

One hour a day, she said, whenever it suits you. In the morning, in the evening, in the late afternoon. Set a timer and write. No more, no less. One hour. When that alarm goes off, you turn off, put the pen down, close the computer and walk away.

I can do that, I think. And so can you.

For this next month, let’s commit one hour every day to focus on our goals. To create. To write. To do the work, whatever that means to you.

Note: I’m not saying a finished piece in thirty days. We’re only holding each other accountable for clocking in time. Sixty daily uninterrupted minutes. We’re creating our own artist residency together, and it doesn’t require travel or communal living or time off from work/school/family.

Let’s do this. Tweet me, message me, let me know what you’re working on.

Not every day is inspirational and not every work is inspired

This month I’m participating in an artist residence program. It’s my first experience like this, and I’m surrounded by trees and beauty and very talented creative people. When I first arrived, I was intimidated. Listening to the other artists’ stories and experiences and seeing their work made me feel like the outsider. I never went to art school, I’m a social worker, I’ve been living in Nepal, I’m a writer.

Determined, I pushed past my insecurities to focus on my work. I came with a goal in mind: it doesn’t have to be amazing, it doesn’t even have to be good, but I want to leave here with a solid first draft.

Most days feel like slogging through a forest. I’ve had moments of brilliance and inspiration, but more days have been clouded in despair and frustration. I decided it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if I think it’s a good story or whether it IS a good story. My work is to simply show up, put in time, and keep going.

If you sit around waiting for moments of inspiration and creative spark, you might be waiting a long time. I want to tell you to fight through it. Fight through the urge and don’t sell yourself short. You deserve to create. No matter your background or experience, make something. Build something. Dream something.

(And if you need more encouragement, check out Liz Gilbert’s Big Magic.)

Keeping the flame alive

A student saw KEEP THE FLAME ALIVE on a movie poster and asked me, “What is flame and why does it need to be alive?” The movie was about a married couple inviting a stranger into their home to try to spice up their fizzling love life.

I described fire, from the moment you flick a match until the last wisps of smoke float away. “You know how happy you are when you get a new shirt?” I asked. He nodded enthusiastically. “But in time, the shirt gets old and you don’t like it as much?” More agreement. If you don’t take care of fire, it eventually burns out.

Not only fire. Energy, projects, teams, excitement, zest, flavor, curiosity. What’s new is exciting and mysterious. In time, mystique and interest become be replaced with comfort and familiarity. It’s up to you to decide which characteristics best serve you.

Relax, everything is going to be OK

If you knew everything would be OK, would you spend more time with your close friends? Take more time for yourself? Eat differently? Leave the office earlier?

If you knew the outcome would be OK, would you relax, ease up? Work harder?

How would your strategy change?

If everything was going to be OK, would you save more? Worry less? Sleep at night?

Of course there’s a chance it won’t be. If you’re doing work that’s risky and creative, you’re pushing edges. Emotions become linked with success and failure, and instability tests resolve.

Ease into it. You might surprise yourself by worrying less and making different choices. Change doesn’t happen overnight.