The Space Between

“The space between
Your heart and mine
Is the space we’ll fill with time
The space between…”

Dave Matthews Band

 

The week between Christmas and the new year is a wondrous time, a state of limbo and a nebulous preamble.

There are memories of things done and left undone, places visited, goals reached and projects unfinished. Loves gained and loves lost.

There are regrets about things that might have been. Could have. Should have. Would have. Might have. Needed to. Wanted to.

There is  bright hot anticipation, reflected in the two thousand six hundred eighty eight triangular Waterford crystals of a ball not yet dropped, one that in its slow, inexorable perpendicular slide to Times Square defines the space between one year and the next, one dashed hope and a myriad waiting dreams. At the top, three hundred sixty five days seem endless. At the bottom, with the tic of the first second of the first minute of the first hour of the infant year, we know that we will be doomed to meet here again, God willing, to bask in the reflected light of hope once more, one year hence.

Modern day Illuminati we are, striving to write something that we will never be able to read, build a structure that we will never inhabit and control a universe that will never bend to our collective will.

And yet, we are excited. We are hopeful. We make plans. We set goals. We dare to dream. While feeling wistful about the last grains of sand slipping into the bottom of the hourglass, we feel buoyed by the infinite possibilities of a new year.

2018 will be the next in a long progression of blank canvasses ready to be transformed.

We have only to pick up the pencil, the pen, the brush, the knife to craft words that incite, art that transforms, music that fills the soul.

We have only to connect, to form a bond, to fill that infinitesimal but incalculable space between hearts with something that will transcend time.

We have, only, to perfect the pristine new year by soiling it with life’s messy palette.

Welcome, 2018.

 

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Boredom

I want you to do something for me.

I want you to sit quietly for one full minute before you start reading this post. Still. Quiet. Hands in your lap. Doing nothing but timing yourself for one minute.

I’ll wait.

My hunch is that this little exercise was extremely hard for most of you. Almost impossible. You were feeling silly at fifteen seconds, antsy at thirty seconds, twitchy at forty-five seconds and downright anxious at fifty-nine seconds. A minute is a very long time to sit quietly and do nothing.

I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday about my weekend activity plans. Part of these plans include taking time, consciously, to be still, to sit and watch TV or read or do something that is slower than my usual pace.

Let’s just say that this is hard for me. Really hard.

I proudly exclaimed to her, “Look! I’m being bored! Watch me!”

She told me that that this kind of boredom is good.

What was she thinking?!? (Of course, she was right.)

We don’t know how to be bored anymore. We’re raising a generation of kids who are antsy, distracted, energetic, fidgety, impulsive and don’t know how to amuse themselves. Many of us adults have lost control of this scenario to the point that all we know how to do is bring the kid in and have him medicated for ADHD, which he may or may not have.

Why is boredom, planned boredom, good? How does it help us?

1) It rests our body physically. Let’s face it, we all burn the candle at both ends way too many days out of the week. We rest too little, sleep too little, and we are not very kind to ourselves. Have you ever been afraid to let yourself slow down, sit still, and do something quiet for fear that you would simply fall asleep, exhausted? (Raising hand with sheepish grin)

2) It rests our mind. When we sit still and let ourselves be undirected for a while, our mind can be free to wander, to dream, to think, to scheme, to plan. It can unplug for a little bit. It can disengage. It can also pay attention to the things around us. Funny, the birds chirp, the wind rustles the leaves on the trees, motorcycles roar by, and there are spectacular sunsets, even when we are tremendously busy. We just don’t notice them.

3) It allows us to be creative. Down time, physically and mentally, gives us that extra little bit of capacity to see things differently, to notice the colors and the sounds and the ideas that get pushed out by our frenetic day-to-day lives. We can do some pretty spectacular things when we give ourselves the freedom to do them.

4) It lets us get reacquainted with ourselves. You’ll have to trust me on this one. I see patients day after day who are chasing after other people or jobs or material things that will make them whole. That will make them feel good about themselves. That will make them okay. The thing that they don’t get is that they ARE okay, but they are not in touch with who and how they really are. If they gave themselves that little bit of time, that boring few minutes to sit and have a heart-to-heart conversation with themselves, they might find that they were actually pretty good people.

Give yourself some time to be bored today.

If you read my post from yesterday, yes, it’s okay to schedule it on your calendar if you want. That means you must do it!

Rest your body.

Rest your mind.

Be creative.

Get to know yourself again.

Change-Up

Image

 

I love to write.

I have written in journals, in diaries, in Field Notes paper notebooks, in Moleskines, in sumptuous orange French Rhodia notebooks and on sketchpads. I have written two line diary entries and I have written three novels. I have written formal reports, essays and clinic notes. I am writing this blog post. I have done mind-mapping for a project on the large whiteboard in my home office, and I have written lecture outlines on old fashioned blackboards. 

The way I write changes constantly, though the content and themes of my writing, when you get right down to it, don’t vary that much. The fact that I look for the best text editor for me or the paper notebook that fits the hand just so or lies completely flat on the table or the pen that has just the right heft and balance are all parts of the writing process for me that are in constant flux. I may love the flow of a gel ink pen for a few months and then go back to the rough scratchiness of a needle-pointed Hi Tec C that, if not careful, cuts actual grooves in the paper under it. One month, a white-capped Mont Blanc may do it for me, and the next month a green Uniball Signo fits the bill. One year, I may take all my patient notes in a Rhodia web notebook, but come January first the Year of the Clipboard is ushered back in. A Mirado Black Warrior soft lead may find its way out of the cup on my desk and into my hand during those times that I want the maximum connecton between my brain and my hand and the paper under it. 

Why all this muss and fussiness? Why the constant change of paper and pen and pencil and room and board? Why not just pick out a box of clear plastic Bic pens at Staples, grab a yellow legal pad (I have been known to do just that on the front porch at the beach, many years ago) and be done with it?

For me, it’s about the process. It’s about the feel and the flow of the thoughts and the ideas that sometimes come so rapidly that I can’t keep up with them. It’s about having the least amount of friction between brain and publish. It’s about the pursuit of perfection on the page while at the same time arguing with oneself about whether that concept is even valid. 

It’s the fact that even though I try different media and inks and papers and keyboards and fonts and styles, the ideas almost write themselves. 

I show up every morning at the same time, in the same place. I set my coffee cup down after that first satisfying, life-giving, brain-jolting swig. I wait. My muse is always there. Sometimes she is loud and boisterous and excited and won’t stop talking until my fingers start flying, and not even then. Sometimes, she whispers so sweetly to me, so softly and earnestly and so physically close to my ear that I can feel the kiss of her warm breath on my skin. She rarely takes no for an answer. Oh, I’ve tried to ignore her. She is having none of that. She does not care if the hand is on the keyboard or the Mirado or the silver Tornado. 

She will allow me my fun, my change-up. 

Then, she will demand that I get down to business.

What will we do together? What ideas will float to the top?

Out of mental health, and sometimes out of madness, comes creativity. 

What will you create today?