Listening to inner knowing and sail, don’t row
Last month I wrote about how for years I shunned my innate love of ordered routines and habits, and how to do so was to go through life with one arm tied behind my back. I inadvertently handicapped myself because of a preconceived notion of what I was “supposed” to do.
Writing that piece got me thinking about the other ways I have inadvertently sabotaged myself along the way. The thought that has consistently floated to the front and centre of my mind is rejecting a gut instinct on the basis of how it may look to the outside observer.
I want to start by acknowledging that absolutely nobody is thinking as much about ourselves as we are, so the very idea of “how something may look to the outside observer” is a little ridiculous to begin with, but we humans are by our very nature consumed with what other people think of us.
Second, confidence trumps reputation. If you have confidence in yourself, it truly doesn’t matter what anybody else might think of you, so what I’m admitting by writing this post is that I’ve gone through much of life without much confidence, and that’s something I’m working on.
So what do I mean by rejecting a gut instinct on the basis of how it may look to the outside observer?
I’m a crafty so-and-so, and the (often insatiable) desire to learn new skills is a attribute I treasure. That desire often leads me to go hard on new crafts, plunging headfirst into a rabbit hole of research and practice, fixating on honing, to the best of my ability, each new thing I turn my hand to. It’s my nature, and it gives me great joy to add a new string to my bow.
But then comes the imagined outside observer to rain on my parade. “Jack of all trades,” they say, “master of none”.
I fear that far from an impressive bow-full of strings, I’m considered a flake. I fear that when I inevitably move on to the next rabbit hole those pesky observers will assume that I’ve lost interest, or quit before the arduous work of mastery kicks in, or just too lazy or fickle to stick at something long enough.
In reality, these worries have often encouraged me to stick at something far longer than I should have. Sometimes I’ve tried something and it’s not been a good fit for me, often because of my physical limitations living with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, but I’ve stayed the course despite the pain and long term damage I would go on to suffer. I’ve rejected that gut instinct about a job as a video producer, a job which was especially damaging to both my body and mind, because to quit would be seen as lazy.
That gut instinct is something that I have finally begun to listen to and value above all else, and learning to hear it and heed its advice has brought me not only confidence, but a whole load of healing. Those imagined jibes from imagined observers? Lazy, flakey, jack of all trades, a quitter? I know I’m none of those things, regardless of what others might think.
Rick Rubin is ready with another choice quote:
“As we lose enthusiasm, we often continue to labour on a seed, believing that the work has to turn out for the better because we’ve invested so much time in it. […] Perhaps we need to step away for a time and shift perspective. We may choose to start over with it, or set it aside for a while and sift through others.”
- Rick Rubin, The Creative Act
Notwithstanding getting carried away due to hyperfocus, because that still definitely happens, but I’m glad to say that nowadays if I feel my body tiring, I find the next exit ramp and down tools. I know that to push through is to steal vitality and motivation from future-me. If I find myself running out of steam on a project, I lovingly set it aside to return to when the mood strikes. If I hit an obstacle, I have no issue with stepping away and allowing the passage of time to aid me in shifting my perspective.
I’ve come to learn that this mentality has a lot in common with the concept of wu wei.
“Many people who study the Taoist doctrines think that wu wei means ‘do nothing’, in the sense of laissez faire, be lazy, always be passive. It doesn’t mean that. There is a time for action. When you study judo, you use muscle only at the right moment, when your opponent is hopelessly over extended and off balance you add a little muscle and throw him across the room. But only then! You never use muscle at the wrong moment. The drift of things; get with it. Wu wei is the art of sailing rather than the art of rowing.”
- Alan Watts
Learning to listen to my instinct and not force action has led to a beautiful increase in the trust between my body and mind, and interestingly has led to more productivity and harmonious existence. When once I would have favoured ‘pushing through’ in order to not be perceived as lazy, I now celebrate when the little voice inside says “Not today, this isn’t the time”. And you know what? It’s not been wrong yet. All those years when I silenced that voice instead of silencing the critic, inner or otherwise, did me no service whatsoever. When I try to paint when the voice has called for something else, say, a rest, or a walk, or woodworking, or cooking, or fibre arts or whatever else, I never make my best work. It’s always an uphill battle.
Nurturing that voice is taking a lot of self awareness and diligence, but in the name of not only a sustainable art practice but also a sustainable life, it’s worth the effort.
