Inspiration is one of the greatest con's of creativity, especially for writers.
What's the number one question writers are asked at a reading- "Where do you get your ideas?" The idea being that one of the elusive goddesses appears out of the mist of creativity endowing a fortunate few with an elixir that keeps them prolific masters.
New writers often get caught up attempting to lure the Muse and it's no wonder when you read interviews with writers who treat writing as though it is a religion only entered into by those with faith. For these writers words are supplied by the Muse and they are nothing but passive vessels. These are the writers who chant, burn incense, pray, meditate and treat writing as an ineffable act/
All of these rituals might work for the privileged few but for the rest of us the Muse is found in rolling up our proverbial sleeves and getting to work.
My Muse doesn't care that today I was writing on the damp chilly porch while the rain fell and I was buried under my daughter's electric blanket. My Muse doesn't care that I don't have a dedicated writing space anymore. I write wherever the mood and time hits me. If that means I'm typing out a paragraph or two during half-time at a soccer game then that's where she'll find me. The only thing my Muse cares about is whether I'm writing or not.
We've a simple relationship. If I don't write, she doesn't particularly give a damn about me. If I'm writing then she's there like my dedicated corner team in a boxing match or pit crew at the Indy 500.
The relationship between the idea and creativity only occurs from action. Not just any kind of action but consistent daily grinding away until art is created. It won't happen if you're plan is to wait for some fickle god of inspiration to sprinkle fairy dust on you to get you going. It won't happen tomorrow or even the day after tomorrow. It only happens in the now.
So I write, my Muse shows up. Tonight she's brought a glass of Pinot Grigio with her and has turned on the soccer game for me knowing the words flow with a good game in the background. If I'm lucky she'll send me off to sleep dreaming about the story and wake me up first thing in the morning with the first sentence of the day. But this can only happen if I keep my part of the bargain- keep writing.
I never thought I could it. I tried it dozens of times to no avail. I would find myself in a quiet house, cross-legged at an un-godly time before dawn. I'd breathe in and out attempting to shut off my brain and the more I attempted to shut it down the louder the thoughts would intrude. I suddenly felt as though my brain was covered in adhesive and a wind storm had kicked up, every possible thought would stick as I flailed helplessly trying to swat them all away.
Meditation became a lesson in frustration, so I simply gave it up as a task beyond my feeble abilities.
Then one evening, I took my son to a soccer tryout on a chilly evening. I stayed in the warm car, crossed my legs, and began to slowly breathe in and out. Before I knew it I lapsed into a state of consciousness, I can only describe as hyper-awareness. Coming out of this state, I was relaxed and free of the stress and fear breathing down my neck for years.
After that evening, I found a meditation app for my iPad and I meditate at least twice a day. Instead of the blankness I had desired in my early attempts, now I seek to simply be. As thoughts enter my head, I allow them to pass through, accepting and releasing. The thoughts change but the breathing is constant, anchoring me to the present in a way I never took the time to appreciate.
Before meditation stress would hold me in a death grip and I sacrificed my peace of mind to it. Time poured out in a flood overwhelming me and I drowned in the endless turmoil. With meditation, my days are fluid and stretch out before me. I am productive. I am relaxed. I breathe in and out and I am here and now.
I've always been petite. I was always the annoying friend who could eat an entire pizza and down a nice healthy dessert and never gain weight.
Even after giving birth to two children, I still maintained my petite figure.
Then I began life with my then boyfriend and now husband and suddenly I began putting on a pesky pound or two here or there. After I gave birth to my youngest, I couldn't seem to shed my baby weight. I thought it was simply nature's cruel trick since I was of AMA (advanced maternal age- the crappy terminology for getting pregnant after 35).
But no, it wasn't nature.
It wasn't even my love of caramel lattes or the fact that as a mother I wound up eating my kid's leftovers.
Nor was it the fact that my running ranged from sporadic to non-existent for some months.
Weight crept on to my thin frame because cracks formed in my husband's emotional facade. The moodiness he blamed on his food sensitivities escalated. He gained weight. He was exhausted all the time. He was dissatisfied, he complained. He no longer smiled and my kids were uncomfortable when he was around.
I did what any one who loves their partner would do, I tried to make things better. The more I tried the more work there seemed to do. I completely lost myself to this emotional nightmare. I stopped writing, I stopped growing, I'd start projects and then stop them because I was juggling too many balls in the air trying to keep him happy and reminding him how blessed we were in our lives.
Weight piled on me until I was over 38 pounds overweight. I was in shock when I stepped on the scale. I tried everything to lose the weight- getting back into running, going to the gym, Weight Watchers, Paleo Diet, tracking every bite I ate... to no avail.
Then when my husband's careful disguise fell away to expose the raw emotionally distant and mental illness he'd been hiding, I realized I couldn't help him. He was beyond a pep talk, beyond love and support, beyond even therapy. If I continued trying to save him, I would lose myself.
So I stopped.
I let go and suddenly... the weight began to fall off. I started taking care of myself. I began running regularly. I started back to writing. I started enjoying my life again without the shadow of his mood swings. To date, I've lost over 22 pounds.
Today people who hadn't seen me since the spring were amazed by my transformation. I glow! There's a spring to my step. I smile a lot. I sing again. I laugh.
What's my secret? Living a life of awareness, letting go of fear, and handing someone's emotional baggage back to them to deal with. No matter how much you love someone only they can tackle their burden. Every person has to find their own peace.