by Naomi | May 10, 2016 | Creative Life
In just a couple weeks, I’ll be taking a sabbatical. The word, from Latin (sabbaticus), Greek (sabbatikos), and Hebrew (shabbat) means “ceasing.” Or in other words, a sabbatical is a rest from work.
Here’s what I’ve noticed. The first question people ask after hearing about my sabbatical is: “What will you do?”
A tempting question, indeed, especially for an artist.
The minute this question is asked, my mind starts to spin. Six weeks with no external commitments! I could go do this, or create that, or learn this, or work on that …
Hmmm.
Isn’t the point NOT to work?
And yet, I can’t picture myself lounging on the couch eating bon-bons. Nor do I think that laying around and binge eating will produce the benefits a sabbatical is meant to bring.
And that brings us to the heart of the thing. Here’s why I want to take a sabbatical in the first place. I want to learn how to be purposeful without being my own personal task master. I want to let the dust settle so that in the quiet, I can observe the path I’ve traveled so far, see clearly where I am now, and glimpse where I’m headed.
Honestly, I’m not sure how to find my way to the quiet.
That quest will be my first task on my sabbatical. I’ll experiment, and see what happens. I’m sure that some attempts will be false starts. For me, work is so tightly woven into play and vice versa. Mindset is a huge part of the puzzle. The reason I’m drawing or playing guitar or hiking is likely more important than the activity itself.
I fully expect to learn all sorts of things that I can’t nail down clearly right now.
I like the idea of a quest. That’s not surprising, I’m sure, to anyone who reads this blog regularly. Maybe my very loose plan should be to take on a quest with three tasks, the first of which is finding the quiet. Wouldn’t it be lovely if I could find a doorway that remained, even after the sabbatical? Like a secret doorway behind ivy, maybe once found, the passage into the quiet could be forever known. That quiet space could be tended and nurtured until it blossomed.
I plan to post one more time before my sabbatical, and then I’ll be away for a while. When I return, I look forward to sharing about my quest, the tasks I discovered, and what I learned along the way.
In the meantime, here’s to you and to your journey.
by Naomi | Feb 26, 2016 | Creative Life
Dorothy wanted to find her way home. Harry Potter longed to have his parents back. Luke Skywalker craved an epic adventure. These desires were strong, strong enough to cause Dorothy, Harry and Luke to take action and say yes to the unknown. But by the end of these stories, the goals the characters started out with had changed, grown, and transformed.
One of the most important things my writing has taught me is about the dynamic nature of goals. Namely, I’ve learned that in the best stories, the adventure transforms the goal. Characters may not end up with everything they originally wanted, but they do end up with what they need. Let’s put that a different way, into real life terms.
When we set out to pursue a goal, we may not gain everything we originally wanted, but if we commit fully, and hold our goals with open hands, we will likely end up with what we need.
I have to say, if there is a way for me to gain “what I need,” I’m definitely all for diving in fully. How about you?
Let’s break this down a bit and take a look at what dynamic goal setting looks like.
DECIDE TO TAKE A JOURNEY: First, we check in with ourselves and listen to what is calling our hearts. We ask: What am I longing for?
DRAW YOUR MAP: Then, we set the best goal we can, given the information we have. We write the goal down and post it visibly.
START AT THE TRAILHEAD: Next, we commit fully. We aim for the goal and give the process our full effort. We research and discuss our goal with experts and learn and take action.
LISTEN TO FELLOW TRAVELERS: Now here’s where dynamic goal setting differs from traditional goal setting. Rather than putting up our blinders and pushing on no matter what, we listen. We pay attention to unexpected opportunities that arise. We don’t put in our ear plugs when people we trust challenge us to see our blind spots.
NOTICE THE SIGN-POSTS: We are thoughtful about sidetracks, shortcuts and complete re-routes. We don’t follow every shiny object. We watch for patterns. Most importantly, we take time to slow down and reflect on the question: Is this where I need to go next?
JOURNEY ON: We continue to move forward confidently, allowing our destination to shift as needed, and making sure to collect all of our learning along the way.
CELEBRATE EACH VISTA: When we reach a vista, we stop and reflect, noting how far we’ve come. We write these down too, or record them in some way, so we can keep a running travelogue of our journey. Sometimes a vista is a good time to start the process over again, setting a new goal. Other times, the journey continues onward.
A final thought for travelers …
Often, what we need doesn’t match what we want because our deep, true needs usually involve change and growth. Growth nearly always requires discomfort, and sometimes is even downright painful. In an ideal world, we’d want life to be easy and pain-free. And yet, to me, a pain-free life that I drift through, never growing or learning, sounds miserable. I don’t want to be the same person I am today in ten years. I’m grateful that my experiences to this point have added a richness to my life that it didn’t have when I was 20.
I love how Henry Cloud describes the pain of growth in is book, Necessary Endings. He points out that while we might not describe having a tooth pulled as “good,” once the infected tooth has been removed, we can then heal and move forward. The experience was a positive one, even if we wouldn’t choose to repeat it.
What if, a year from now, you could look back and say, “I’ve had an Alice in Wonderland year.” or “I’ve had a Bilbo Baggins year.” Would you be willing to risk the hardship if you knew you had the opportunity to gain whatever it is YOU truly need?
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by Naomi | Feb 17, 2016 | Creative Life
I’ve been flying through life at break-neck pace, and that’s how I ended up in New York with hardly an inkling of a plan. I knew I needed to be in town by Thursday mid-day for a meeting, and that the conference spanned the weekend. Other than that, I’d hardly consulted the schedule. I figured I’d find nooks and crannies in my schedule to explore New York, particularly since my husband was joining me for the weekend.
So, I flew in late Wednesday night and woke up Thursday morning with an empty slate. What to do?
My first thought was: I wish I’d made a plan. But my second thought was filled with curiosity: I wonder what’s around the corner from this hotel?
And the adventure began.
It turns out that around every corner in New York, surprises wait. Cathedrals, libraries, museums, unusual shops, coffee bars, restaurants, artists, musicians, a kaleidoscope of people–each a walking story in and of themselves. As I stepped onto the sidewalk in New York, I was swept into the bustling, vibrant flow.
If I’d had a plan, I’d have been frustrated. I can picture myself, head down against that cold New York wind, struggling toward my destination, missing all the surprises along the way. But without a plan, I could soak it all in, see what I didn’t know to look for, discover the richness that isn’t in the tour books.
I wonder how often my plans keep me from being in the flow?
Flow is quite different than drift. It’s true that without a plan, we have the potential to drift through life and find ourselves where we never would have chosen to be. But flow is a shortcut. Consider a character in a book who sets out to achieve a goal. By the end of the book, she nearly always finds that what she really needs is something deeper, more meaningful, than the goal she originally set. The plans she sets launch her into motion, but soon, the plan tends to get in the way. Why? Because she’s so focused on her idea of how things ought to go, she doesn’t allow margin for surprise. She doesn’t allow herself to be swept into the bigger story of what’s happening all around her. She’s struggling against the flow.
So how do we strike a balance between plans and flow?
- Start by not being afraid to set a goal. Take into account what’s true in your life, and using those givens, set a goal that points you in a specific direction.
- Head out boldly. Let your goal inform the questions that you ask and the experiences you seek out.
- Listen closely. Pay attention. Allow yourself to follow your curiosity. I wonder what’s inside that cathedral? Go ahead, wander a bit. Your goal will still be there waiting for you, but maybe you’ll see it in richer color through the stained glass windows.
- Look for secret passages and hidden doorways. Drift happens when we lose our way by following every distraction. Flow is being caught in an ever-increasing current and heading deeper in. Why did I set this goal? What’s underneath? What’s urging me onward?
- Keep in mind that “plan” is a noun and “flow” is a verb. When you’re in flow, there’s no destination. No one can stay in flow indefinitely. You’ll find beauty and joy along the way, and have a grand, meaningful adventure. And every now and again, you’ll get tangled in the weeds. When that happens, it’s time, again, to go back to the beginning and set a new plan.
Where are you right now? In a planning phase? Drifting? Flowing? Do you have particular questions you ask yourself that help you find flow? If so, I’d be so grateful if you’d share them. Share below, or feel free to connect with me on Twitter (@naomikinsman) or Facebook.
Here’s to you and your grand adventure!
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Psst… Do you know about Naomi’s Writerly Play Kit: a weekly collection of curated resources, inspiration and encouragement? Keep your creative spark ablaze … sign up for exclusive access here.
by Naomi | Feb 4, 2015 | Creative Life
What’s so frightening? What’s causing me to halt in my tracks and ask myself if I really want to accept the call, after all?
It’s this bothersome set of questions which should have simple answers, but when considered honestly, have the power to block me entirely.
What questions?
Will I, or will I not, dare to put my heart on the line–literally–put my passion for letting play into my creative process online for all to see? Do I, or do I not, believe that learning to play, and thus, Writerly Play, will transform writers’ lives? Am I, or am I not, willing to share my ups and downs as I continue to learn to dive in and play, myself? Will I commit to show up regularly online? Do I believe in this message enough to invest time, effort and courage in sharing it?
Here’s what I realized, looking at my cards from this past month. I’ve been dabbling. I’ve been cramming Writerly Play, and what I feel I’m supposed to work on creatively into the nooks and crannies of my life. And those nooks and crannies continue to shrink, and shrink and shrink. Life calls, after all. Someone asks me to take on a quick consulting gig. Someone else asks me to add a project to my list. I’m getting paid–and asked directly for–what others see I’m capable of doing. This isn’t their fault, not one bit. I haven’t shown them what’s deeper. I haven’t shared, truly, my vision. I’ve got it all bottled up inside of me and I keep hoping and wishing and dreaming…
So, today, I’m headed out to toss my coin into Los Gatos Creek, and then I’m coming home to start spreading the news about Writerly Play–and to face all the fears and challenges that go hand in hand with that journey. I’m committing to dive in and dive deep–for real this time. Even when I doubt that anyone is listening, I’ll keep the vision in mind and keep writing, keep creating. Most importantly, I’ll keep playing, even when play seems like the least important thing on my list. Because that’s the thing about the most important things in our lives–they’re not the ones that shout for our attention. And yet they need our attention most of all.
by Naomi | Feb 3, 2015 | Creative Life
As I’ve been working through my hero’s journey process, I’ve been reading The Writer’s Journey by Christopher Vogler. After the chapter on the Call to Adventure, there’s a chapter on Refusing the Call, which I assumed I’d skip. Since I set this process out for myself ahead of time, I knew it would feel false to purposely “refuse the call.” Obviously, I planned to accept the adventure. I committed to taking the journey when I created my travelogue journal and bought the coins for each stage and found the hollow book in which to put my daily notes.
But low and behold, a surprise! I shouldn’t have been surprised, given the fact that no one has ever heard of a simple hero’s journey. The point of setting out was to tackle something challenging, to grow personally and creatively, to wrestle those parts of myself that derail me and get in my way. A hero’s journey stretches a traveler’s courage, patience and hope. Often, a hero’s journey leads a traveler to the brink of despair.
In fact, this epic nature of a hero’s journey was the reason I wasn’t sure setting the process up for myself ahead of time would work. How could I be sure I’d face something authentically challenging? If I knew ahead of time I was headed to a difficult place, wouldn’t I avoid the worst of it or act as thought I were facing a true challenge when in point of fact it was more of a speed bump?
Nope. Turns out there is plenty of room for surprise.
On Saturday, I took out my cards from this past month and laid them all out on the floor. These cards, in case you haven’t read about them before, are notes I’ve been writing, one per day, on a key thought or discovery from the day. They read with sentences and phrases such as “Big projects are best tackled one step at a time,” or “Exercise patience,” or “Story matters. It’s how we make sense of the world…” I organized my notes and found that they became a sort of narrative that flowed one thought to the other. Rather than flowing in a chronological order from day to day, re-ordered, the cards made a kaleidoscopic picture of where my mind has traveled, and gave me a sense (which I couldn’t have otherwise articulated) of what the call to adventure truly is, right now, in my life.
And once I realized what the call was, I thought I’d simply move forward. I’d already planned to toss my coin into water to cross from one stage of the journey to the next, so all I needed to do was to go out and do it. But, that was when I stalled out. All day, I had a myriad of excuses. Maybe I’d do it tomorrow.
On Sunday, it was the same. Maybe tomorrow.
Monday? Yep, you’ve got it. Total avoidance.
So, I read the chapter on refusing the call, and my reaction (and resistance) started to make more sense. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow.
