Electrical Cord Shock Manual

Some days I sit down to write and nothing comes out. No matter how many thoughts float through my head, I cannot seem to figure out how to put the thoughts into words and how to put those words on paper. On those days I want to slam my head against my desk and never try again.

A few days ago I sat down to write with the semblance of an idea that I wanted to place on paper. Everything I wrote just read as ‘bla bla bla’, boring, trite and needlessly critical.  I tried to drown my sorrows in chocolate and move on, but an hour later I still could not coax the right words to the page. In those moments, I always feel overcome by a very real fear that I will never write again. I lost it. Whatever “it” was. “It” is now gone and I have no more words to say.

My bad writing day escalated very quickly. I immediately spiraled into a deep pit of self loathing and comparison. Everything felt like a disaster.

The website I was building did not behave the way I wanted it to; I compared my interior photographs to a professional’s and hated my work; I doubted my ability to navigate this world of build it and do it yourself.

In that place, I would have given anything to be sitting back in my office, with my assistant in her desk in front of me, working on an assignment that I didn’t have to create myself.

Confession. When I worked a 5 day a week, 8-5 pm job, I harbored all sorts of envy and resentments against creatives who worked flexible hours. How hard can it possibly be to work from home and generate your own content? I lamented. I only get the chance to do that during my short lunch break! If I had all that time I would be unstoppable force! What a life those creatives lead!  Do they even understand what it’s like to report in 5 days a week to a cranky boss? They get to build something of their very own! That sounds like a total breeze!

After just a few short months of working with my mom as an interior designer and also working on a writing project, I now know that I was flat out wrong. Totally naive and mistaken. The pressure to self motivate and generate original content drives even the most motivated people to moments of complete desperation.

No matter the field, generating your own content is emotional work. Digging deep for new ideas, words, vision, designs demands a stamina for risk and vulnerability. The work is an offering, a piece of your heart out into the world. Every new vision, photo, room design or chapter will require all of you and the reward is very rarely immediate.

When I worked as an attorney, I never felt this pressure. My work never required that I place a piece of my own heart out into the world. I advocated for someone else, helped them follow protocol, worked within the law to achieve a goal. I finished assignments, wrote memos and briefs to argue a certain position. The pressures of the job were very different.

In this new field, the stress surrounds the task of creating quality, original content. Creative work is an outpouring of the heart. I am learning how to feed myself and protect my heart, so that I am better equipped for the emotional work it entails.

I have learned that I produce my best, most original work when I immerse myself in original art, soul stirring music, design books and vulnerable prose.  Half of the job is protecting my heart from the cynical, trite and dull. I must guard against perfectionism in order to garden soils of creativity. I cut out all trash, stopped binge watching the Real Housewives and made a concerted effort to read more books.

The work that is produced from a good heart space is always worth the strife. Because truly nothing compares to the satisfaction that results from the generation of an emotional product.

The desperation, the self doubt, the comparison, the self loathing. It can be ugly-  hard- the flip side of the bright shimmering, gold coin.

But nothing beats when you step into the flow of an idea.

I can never quite shake the feeling that I am holding onto an electrical cord. Every time I touch the cord, the energy pulsates through my body. I feel afraid, alive, full and I cannot let go.

Holding onto that electrical cord, I feel the synergy of who I was created to be and the ability to use the emotional strength within to bring it to fruition. The power, all that zeal, pulses through and that-  that is the feeling, the moment that makes it all worth it. Holding onto an electrical cord is insane but you keep holding on because you can’t quite let go.

Once you experience that thrilling surge- see your name in that byline, your home displayed in that magazine, your photograph across that page- you hold onto tight to that electricity. Because sure enough there will be another day of despair where everything you produce feels trite. You will question everything, again, and the cycle will continue.

I would like to kick the 2016 version of myself in the butt, as I sat in that office, and assumed that life on the other side was all sunshine and rainbows. Just like everything else, there have been really good and also bad days. This time I am just holding fast to an electrical cord and praying that I don’t succumb to the power of the shock.