Creativity

I recently moved from a house to a small apartment in the city. I had to prioritize my routines. Routines necessary for my health maintenance were first in line: Up at an early hour, yoga, medications, breakfast, going to the gym. These essentials were modified minimally while I was packing, unpacking and organizing on both ends of the move.

The process had an impact on my writing. The basic variable was one of time. I have come to understand that I need a lot of time to produce writing which I consider worthy of being shared with others. That time isn't always spent in front of a monitor at my desk, by any means. The time that was missing while I was moving was my time for walking in the woods or on the beach. It was the time I spend writing long emails to friends with whom I regularly correspond. And, it was the time I routinely spend reading on the Web and in print.

As I grow older, I am very impatient about and careful with my time. This comes with the daily mindfulness that my window of existence is closing and could slam shut at any moment. My creativity flows from the conscious use of my time to stimulate a creative response in my brain. I call it "playing with my brain".

The impatience about wasting my time becomes a problem in some relationships. I used to suffer fools gladly. My work for many years entailed spending time trying to decode the garbled thinking and impaired communication of mentally ill and impaired people. This builds personal habits, which I have been trying to unlearn for over a decade. Those habits were a major impedance to my creative process for many years, despite the fact the work which developed them provides me still with grist for my stories and poetry.

Entering relationships for me now requires quickly assessing the worth of each relationship in terms of my creative process and my need to maintain my vitality in order to be creative. This is a challenge to my precept of generosity of spirit: I have tried for decades to be open to everyone I meet and their needs, as part of my humanist practice, born out of my Buddhist studies. The by-product of this struggle has been an increased skill and creativity in developing the relationships in my life which enhance my creativity. Those people who obstruct my creativity by wasting my time get less of it.

So, my creative process does not exclusively entail externalizing ideas and emotions into art. It also entails sculpting my own daily human experience into an artful being. The synthesis of these two processes is very powerful. To live creativity, as a mindful person, brings a value and spontaneity to writing, drawing and movement which surpasses intellectual art. Every fiber of the day becomes a piece of the work.

This recent move has brought a realization that I have made progress in this process. While I found that my routines were disrupted and impacted my output of written work. I also found that my new and old routines easily melded into functional and creative days, in which I accomplished quite a lot without being overwhelmed or hypercritical of myself for not doing more.

The result is an appreciation of what is and who I am. This is a creative, living place in each moment from which to move through space and time. What is simply is. I am there in the moment to use whatever it is in a creative and positive way to the best of my ability. I believe this is the core of being creative and of simply being, in a mindful and compassionate way.

Equilibrium

I'm rebooting, clocking slowly, monitor blinking. The harsh adrenaline edge of unpacking and repositioning has softened with the gradual return of deep, healing sleep. Another Monday, more like the good old Mondays past, begins with a list of to-do's.

Moving is like running. You have to persist until your pace kicks in sync with your breath. Then it's automatic, less painful. But, when you stop, you must stretch before you can walk comfortably into the rest of your day. So, today I am stretching, reminding myself to breath deeply and proceed with mindful caution.

There is so much to be learned from daily life, if you simply pay attention.

Packing

There is an art to moving. If there were a degree for moving, I'd have a doctorate. In the past forty years I have moved about thirty times, usually by myself, since I have lived alone for most of that time.

My house is now packed neatly into one large room here on the first floor. Fifteen medium boxes of moderate weight/density. Twelve plastic crates, smaller with more compact weight of wrapped dishes, glassware or books. Boxes are stacked for easy access, since they usually go into the truck first. Larger furniture is next. Small items are last. They are tucked securely into holes left by larger items.

More often than not, I hire movers. I have great admiration and empathy for the men and women who lug the weight of the materialism of others for relatively low pay. They represent a vanishing segment of the population of developed countries: Those who labor against gravity and friction for their living. They provide a truly valuable service.

I have known people who enjoy brutalizing paid laborers. These selfish bullies feel that they are entitled to insult the dignity of a person who has to work hard for their money. What could be more cowardly? There may come a day when those who labor at basic services, like moving, will be considered worthy of more respect. I hope that day comes soon.

All in all, while I struggle with my muscles and joints, exerting myself against the weight of my own possessions, I find moving tremendously invigorating. My heart races at the prospect of new habits, new walks, new acquaintances. Many people seek this exhilaration in travel. I learned many years ago that travel does not satisfy my need for shaking out the cobwebs as well as moving to a new neighborhood, where I will live for a year or more.

In The Dhammapada, the translated sayings of Gautama, there are repeated references to moving or movement as a method to diminish attachment and to spread the word of liberation. I must concur. My moving is motivated as much by economics as by philosophy, but the net effect is the same. Weeding out, packing up and lifting your life, box by box, requires having your feet firmly planted on the ground. Breathing deeply with the mind wide open helps a lot.

Downsizing

In this day of hoarding awareness, my natural propensity to live sparsely has flourished. As I pack for my new home, I am tossing and giving things away enthusiastically.

Pots and pans, associated with so many evenings of conversation and good eating, have outlived their purpose in my current life. They are trash now. There are fewer flat walls in my new garret. Paintings and prints are being reviewed and deemed essential or redundant. Later this morning, men from a charity will be toting away two sofas I have had for the last 16 years. I never liked their color, chosen by a former artsy housemate. This is a truly joyful evacuation.

The sheer weight of it all reminds my vintage body that it's best to keep things simple in future. Yesterday, I took apart the guest bedroom. The new place has no guest room. So, I stood and calculated what has to go and stay from that pile of things. As I stripped the guest bed, I realized I could easily count the number of nights it had been used in the past five years. I had to laugh at my own ritual curatorship of a relatively unused room over those years.

Discarding things which once held significance in my life is a reminder of its transitory nature. Perhaps moving many times in my life has aided my practice as a humanist, focused on people instead of possessions. I have been guided for years through my life's changes by a saying given to me by an elderly patient many years ago. "Hey, kid," he said, after he overheard me telling a fellow worker about some minor trauma in my young life, "don't sweat the small stuff!"

The more I understand that life's daily quality is the "big stuff", the less anything else matters. The alchemy of turning treasures into trash, or another's treasure, is a skill which will serve me well as age brings its changes and inevitable economies of scale. Letting go and moving constitute the shared destiny of us all.

Moving

Those who awaken

Never rest in one place.

Like swans, they rise
And leave the lake.

On the air they rise
And fly an invisible course,

Gathering nothing, storing nothing.

Their food is knowledge.

They live upon emptiness.

They have seen how to break free.

---The Dhammapada, Canto VII, The Master,

Shambhala Pocket Classics Edition, 1976

My propensity for moving house frequently is a matter of endless amusement among my friends and family. I have moved about 30 times in the past 40 years. As a single man in an urban setting with a job which paid a moderate salary for most of my career, I often moved out of economic necessity. Rent increases motivated me to look for more affordable digs. Sometimes I moved for environmental reasons: Noise, rough neighbors, homophobia, bad plumbing, sparking electrical systems. These various factors threatened my serenity and/or my person. Since I value both, I moved.

After certain events prompted my early retirement from nursing, I utilized my moving skills and my real estate skills to secure better housing and some financial security simultaneously. Not an avid capitalist, I was not a flipper for the thrill. I turned over property in which I lived to achieve peace with myself as well as some financial independence.

I am now moving again. Having placed my house under agreement, I have taken an apartment in a location that suits my current aspirations and relationships. I have been fortunate that my pursuits have placed me in the hands of a responsible and personable property owner. And, I feel this move has advanced my inner journey to be at one with myself so I may continue to try to become the human being I would like to be through my humanist practice.

A substantial part of the beauty for me of this move lies in the realization that the people who are purchasing my house are experiencing an advancement in their life journeys as well, from what I have been told. To achieve a sense of harmony between commerce and humanism in my life is important to me. While I have always held to a personal code of ethics in business, I have not always felt harmonious in the process of buying and selling. So many who buy and sell are obsessed with winning. And, where there is a winner, there is a loser. I have been in both roles, and I have not found much sustainable happiness in either.

I find now that I am able to see the role of consumer and the role of vendor as potentially cooperative, as opposed to competitive. This is rather antithetic to modern capitalism in the U.S.. I don't care. I relish being an odd ball in most things.

So, I intend to keep moving. My grandfather often said, "Stay where you are; keep moving." I believe he meant internal movement was more important than changing the external or circumstantial. He lived in the same apartment for decades. I am learning to cherish moving in itself, internally and circumstantially. It just seems to agree with me.