A colleague mentioned to me today how she hasn’t had time to process any of her experience in the last week or so. To her, this meant that last week may as well not have happened. If she couldn’t reflect on it, what good was it? That is, if she couldn’t integrate her past into her present mental architecture, how would she know what to do with it? Or perhaps it was a concern about sacrificed agency in letting experience wash over her without any reflective filter. I don’t know.
But what it prompted me to realize was that I haven’t spent enough time reflecting on what I’ve been doing recently. In the process, I’ve avoided: posting on this blog, revising my young adult novel, completing my “morning pages” (3 pages of ideally uninterrupted production), and writing comedic material consistently. If artistic work is 90% perspiration, 10% inspiration, I’ve avoided sweating and instead soaked up the minimal inspiration I’ve felt to write.
I’ve rationalized this artistic stasis by believing it’s because I want to maximize my presence at Putney while I’m still here, but since I’ve had my fair share of absurd time sinks, it’s not like I’m carpe diem-ing enough to justify my creative labor evasion.
So consider this is a small step toward mentally* sweating again.
*I’m doing Shaun T’s Insanity Max 30 – again – right now, so physical sweating has not been a problem. Chances are I’m doing it to avoid the mental work.