Time Out
Author’s collage using magazine cut outs
Images on journal cover
“My goal this weekend,” I said to my husband, “is to finish writing my novel by the end of next week.” After this twisted sentence came out of my mouth, we both started laughing. I was only pages away from finishing this huge creative feat I started two years ago. It honestly would have taken me only a few hours to accomplish this tangible goal. Yet, nanoseconds after saying “My goal this weekend is to finish. . .” some synapse in my brain fired and I tagged on “at the end of next week” because I was afraid I wouldn’t finish. That I was setting myself up for failure and that the bar was too high. I didn’t want to be held accountable even though there was no one or no deadline to be held accountable to in the first place. Just me and my creative writing project.
It’s safe to say, I’m a procrastinator. I even own a pair of socks that read “I’m going to get shit done. Later.” I’m a very focused, well-organized, hardworking individual. In fact, I thrive under pressure and can problem solve and meet deadlines with ease. Yet, when it comes to my creativity, writing in particular, I avoid it at all cost. I will be in the middle of writing a scene, for example, and I will open up another browser page and search “North Carolina wildflowers” or search for a Spanish to English translation of a word. I will type in a city I want to visit and look up “things to do”. None of these topics remotely relate to my novel’s setting or to character development. It all boils down to this: I’m uncomfortable spending long periods of time alone with my imagination. I haven’t lived in that realm for a really, really long time. So, there’s an urge to alleviate my discomfort.
My imagination is very rich. Fertile even. Although, I have buried it for so long that to uncover it and thrive in it seems daunting. Self-sabotage enters in to my consciousness and the next thing I know I’m scrolling through Facebook or Instagram and clicking “like” on ten different memes. I’ve put a ban on my phone, shutting it off or leaving it on silent in a different room, but then I find other means of escape from my craft, like cleaning or walking the dog and taking a nap. All valuable activities but they tend to be in succession and the next thing I know five or more hours have passed and the inspiration is gone. It’s sad when that happens. I usually wrestle with self-anger and resentment at those times.
I swear to myself that I’ll change the next time I sit down to create. Then, have to pull myself out of the rut whenever I find myself choosing to bake cookies or organizing my sock drawer instead of playing in imagination world. One thing I have learned from this, however, is at the root of my procrastination is the fear of messing up. Of getting it wrong. Of offending someone, somewhere (although I have no readership or actual audience so how is that even possible? And even if I did, why does their approval matter above my own?).
I wish I could say that I have thwarted the devious and dubious trickster Procrastination. My intuition tells me it may be something I will always have to contend with. I’m not sure. What I can be sure of is that I am increasing my awareness around my procrastination. I have gotten better at observing my thought patterns and behaviors whenever I procrastinate (or feel the urge to do so). In those moments, I shower myself with love. I let myself take a “time out”. I laugh when I notice my monkey brain has picked up the phone and posted a photo of a flower. Gently, like a mother watching her toddler explore and tumble over while walking or running, I meet myself in the moment. “It’s ok,” I tell my fumbling writer self. “You just fell. Let me help you get back to writing. Good job. Look at you. You wrote a whole entire sentence. I’m so proud of you. Keep going.”
Other times, I honor the need to procrastinate and see it as a physical and mental break. I’m building up memory muscle in the imagination realm. It takes time to rewire one’s brain. In those moments, I choose the outdoors. Breathing fresh air is the best way for me to hit the reset button. The point is, I’m learning to access my mindfulness tools and self-nurturing skills to cope with self-doubt and self-sabotage. And by doing that with compassion, I’m finding that I’m more able to reconnect to my imagination and able to stay inside the magic and flow with inspiration for longer periods of time. And enjoying it.
I also finished my novel this weekend.