Just tell me what to do, wouldya
Dr. Oma's current prescription for jump-starting the creative engines
I have felt deeply enervated since early November. Weary, worn-down, waning like the sun receding into the solstice. Unlike the now-returning light, I haven’t yet felt an upswing. Jen’s recent thoughts on the possibility of established rituals pulling us through a tough time touched a nerve I hadn’t realized was raw:
“I’ve been leaning on rituals I have already built, that carry me on the current of muscle memory … using that sweet gravitational pull of what has sustained us before and will, fingers effing crossed, continue to do so.”
It’s a good strategy. But when I sat down to think about the things that normally ground me and provide some sense of peace, I realized that many of them have instead felt heavy lately, stones rather than lifelines.
Looking back, I realize, too, that I have been feeling STUCK a lot this year. Politics and the state of the world have, for sure, amplified the feeling. But, I think it’s also this stage of midlife. Big things have shifted (one fledged off to college), and my internal techtonic plates don’t feel as stable as they did a few years ago. Maybe the fault lines are gearing up for a more seismic shift.
There’s a part of me that's grumpily, stubbornly uninterested in doing a whole lot about any of this. I don’t consider myself change-averse, but we humans are, by nature, creatures of habit, prone to attachment when it comes to the status quo. On the other hand, frankly, I’m sick of this feeling of stagnation.
Maria Popova quoted this line from Annie Dillard in her end-of-year “Best of The Marginalian”1 round-up, and it punched me in the gut:
“How we spend our days is how we spend our lives.” —Annie Dillard
The shape of these days is not how I want to spend my life.
So, what to do if the muscle memory of comforting rituals won’t pick up the weight and carry me? How can I slough off some of the mud that seems to have caked itself around my psyche?
One of the approaches that has helped me in the face of a lack of motivation is to find a way in that does not require much initiative or “creative control,” shall we say.
Basically, give in to the inertia and let someone else drive the ship.
When it comes to exercise, for example, I pretty much want someone to tell me exactly what to do, step-by-step. When I shared a trainer with a few other friends some years back, the secret sauce (at least for me) was that every time we met he wildly changed up what we did — I couldn’t quite dread the impending burn, ’cause I never really knew what was coming. These days, the pre-programmed e-gym at our local Y offers a similarly passive-active autopilot workout (if not the impressive results — Julio, I miss you!).
This isn’t really all that different from leaning on established rituals, it’s just that maybe I need a little more of an external pull, like the rope tow on the bunny slopes. And I need to get my hands into something new.
So, here’s my prescription: all-inclusive art kits.
You guys, these things have gotten so sophisticated! The two below were under the tree for me, and I’m counting on a little guided achievement to get me through the first weeks of this year. Hoping the creativity embers will be stoked into new life — dab-by-pre-measured-paint-dab and stitch-by-patterned-stitch — that putting my hands into motion will kick my mind and heart back into rhythm.
Here’s to finding whatever coping mechanisms help you get unstuck and on through, and wishing you radical pockets of joy in the weeks and months ahead.
P.S: 2024 Quickfire Wrap-Up
I love to read my friends’ elaborate Christmas letters, with their humorous recaps, but I’ve never been motivated to write one of my own. But this week, I was drawn into writer/bookseller Emma Straub’s Substack by her shorthand 2024 Wrap-up. It made me want to look back over the year with an eye on the highlights. There’s a reason those gratitude journals work, it seems. The simple act of making a quick list and scanning the year’s photo reel was like a little bag of pop rocks for my soul.
In 2024… I took my daughter to NYC, to the Whitney and the Met. We ate cacio e pepe and overly decadent marshmallow hot chocolate. We bought vending machine art in at least two states. I visited Santa Fe for the first time since before the pandemic; saw the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and Lake Superior for the very first time. Bought a porcupine in Tucumcari and had an incredible Blue Sky burger in Amarillo. Witnessed a near-total solar eclipse from our driveway, but mostly missed the aurora borealis’ southerly tour. Ate so many cherries in Door County and the most delicious soft serve in Duluth and Minneapolis. Cheered for my son when he ran a 5k personal best and when he made us homemade bagels. Lost a good friend but was able to hug another especially tight in the aftermath. Made wonky pots and tied elaborate knots around stones tumbled smooth in the Great Lakes. Dipped my toes in the Pacific and watched the sun set over the Manhattan skyline.
If you need a readymade reading list to stimulate your heart and mind, this is an excellent place to land. Thanks again to Jen for putting The Marginalian at the top of my inbox again. The preassembled reading list fits nicely with step one of my proposed plan for getting out of psychic quicksand — let someone else tell you what to read to get you over a slump hump.
I'm into the needlepoint looking situation. You know I've been on a stitch roll. Love ya, OBF.
"little bag of pop rocks for my soul" is brilliant, and i now have a they might be giants medley in my head. here's to good, unstuck things in the year ahead!