The Idea Midwife

My Unsung Song

"I have spent my days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung."  -- Rabindranath Tagore

I've been "gonna write" for weeks...months...a really, really embarassingly long time. I have treasured colleagues saying "Oh, please write about ..." "I'm so looking forward to your post about ..." And all kinds of lovely appreciation for the words I use in sharing my wondering, and my learning on this creative path.  And then today I received this profound invitation, disguised in an email from the creative heart behind Heron Dance "Pause for Beauty" (and if you don't know Rod MacIver's beautiful work, please check it out here!).

"I have spent my days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung."

Can you feel the power -- the yearning of these words?

"I have spent my days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung."

What did you do today?
"I have spent my days stringing and unstringing my instrument...

• organizing my email
• doing laundry
• running errands
• researching strategies for "making time to write"
• downloading a free trial of writing software
• re-reading and savoring past writings
• wondering if my song is "just right."
• browsing the "new and improved" options for my instrument
• tweaking the strings, strumming a little, tightening, loosening, adjusting
• hoping to find the magical combination that let's me exclaim "There! That's perfect! Once I do this, then I can sing."

...while the song I came to sing remains unsung."

I find my ear is tuned to small failings -- the notes a bit off key, the rhythm not quite perfect. "I'm not ready. Just a little more tuning." Time and time again, I lay my instrument down and walk away. Yes. The instrument needs care, loving attention, nurturing. But remember, the instrument is not the song. And music can be made with the meanest of tools. Perfection is not necessary. Only the bright, shining joy of singing out.

I notice the pressure of this music, this song I came to sing, building in my solar plexus. This melody -- rich with harmony and dissonance, complexity and simple beauty. A paradox and a wonder. I can feel the bird-heartbeat fluttering fast with desire, pressing against my clasped hands. Asking to give birth to the song. To relax the constraints and let the notes fly out from me and into the world. Soaring.

Weeds! Weeds! Weeds!

My garden has become just a bit overrun with weeds. What's that got to do with bringing your creative work to the world? Quite a lot, it seems.

Inspiration is everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Yes, even in the clumps of what I lovingly call "the devil weed" which has roots that go clear through to China, and a stem that breaks just easily enough to guarantee that said roots remain in the ground, where they can, and most surely will, sprout again; only next time, even thicker and in more places.

So what can this tracheophyte teach us? Here's just a bit of a weed's wisdom to apply to the creative process:

1. You can create a lot when your your roots are deep.
2. When you need to, you can easily let go of something on the surface, secure in the knowledge that what really drives you, what is really at your core is deep, unchanging, Source.
3. Sometimes what others see as your most annoying trait is in fact your greatest strength. It is what makes you, You.
   

You know...it's got me thinking. These plants just might be food for the creative spirit. I wonder, what else can we learn from the lowly weed?

The Day the Earth Stood Gently Still

I'm not usually one to look backwards, but today I am experiencing a gentle yearning to turn the clock back, just a little bit, to yesterday and the loving gifts of the 2007 Valentines Day Blizzard.

I awoke to nearly three feet of new snow, mounded high to create a puffy, fluffy landscape. And while the snowfall really did not impact my plan for the day (I had no appointments that were going to take me out of my snug home), something felt profoundly changed. Maybe it was the combined glee of thousands of school children joyously free for the day to play in the best snowfall this state has seen in some time; or perhaps the added giddy pleasure of skiers, snowboarders, and other winter sports enthusiasts looking forward to cutting first tracks in virgin powder. But, I think it was more. I think the profound difference I felt in the day was brought on by a community in gentle surrender.

We weren't in crisis or overwhelm. There weren't any reports of bad accidents or deaths (though sadly this morning some of our farmers are dealing with the real tragedies of barn roofs collapsed by snow). No state of emergency. No widespread power outages. It's just that you couldn't hurry. And in most cases, you couldn't actually go at all. You just had to stay put. So, we sighed a collective, and even happy sigh -- and we stopped.

People stopped to share stories. We reminisced about the big storms of our childhoods. We checked in with each other. We joined forces to help someone else dig their car out of a six foot snowbank. Our little neighborhood spontaneously created a behind the scenes hotline to help make sure everyone got plowed out after our venerable plow master found himself in the dreaded "half-on/half-off-can't-move-an-inch-gotta-wait-
for-a-tow-truck" stuck that snagged many -- novice and well-seasoned alike. Shoveling the walkway became somehow an act of love. And joy...some of us may even have ridden our snow shovel like an improvised sled down a steep and blazingly fast driveway (or maybe we just imagined it...).

No, this wasn't a plodding, grumbling, complaining kind of coping. It was surrender, tinged with wonder and awe. It was flavored with warm wood fires and steaming hot cocoa. All of a sudden the world around me was moving at my meandering pace. It was divine.

What Are You Waiting For?

Grace Judson, friend, colleague, cool coach and founder of Svaha Concepts sent me the article she wrote yesterday in which she shared the raw impact of learning about the unexpected death of her friend's sister. And how the Universe tapped on her shoulder with the question: What are you waiting for?

What are you waiting for?

In the face of the undeniable truth that your time in this life is finite, what are you waiting for?

As Grace shared "What is shockingly clear to me in this moment is that all of my hesitations, fears, uncertainties, and thoughts about "As soon as X happens, I'll be happy, or be able to do Y, or stop worrying, or whatever" are meaningless."

What are the stories you weave that say...no...I can't...not yet...I don't have time...I can do it tomorrow; or I'll do it when (fill in the blank)?

If there is something beating at your heart that wants to be shared with the world, please, start now. Pick up the pen and start to write the manuscript. Let someone see that painting you are hiding in your studio. Pick up the phone and get yourself in front of whomever it is that needs to see you and your work. Share your unique perspective. Step fully into life -- not out of fear that it could end at any moment (even though it can) but out of love for the unique and powerful capacity you have to bring that special thing to the world.

So hug your child; call your mom; tell your partner you love him/her; send gratitude and light and love from your Source, through you and back out into the Universe.

And then get to work. The world is waiting for you.

Can't get going? Get sparked!

We all lose track of inspiration and lose touch with our creative gifts from time to time. Trouble is, in the midst of it, it feels like a permanent condition! And when you focus on what's missing, it is like someone has swapped your wide angle creativity lens for a narrowly fixed 10X zoom. As your focus zooms in, the field of possibilities you see is smaller and smaller. And, when you can't see alternatives, you can't choose them.

What we need here, my friends is a pattern breaker that kicks in automatically -- a pre-programmed "whack on the side of the head" (courtesies to Roger Von Oech) to shake things up.

But how? I've got an idea. Are you up for an experiment? For the next 30 days, I am running a beta test of "The Daily Spark." This is a daily email that gives you a creative kick-start for your next step, in the form of a provocative question, a fun metaphor, an inspiring quote, or some other playful perspective shifter that tickles my fancy (and my fancy is very ticklish!). Why not sign up (use the easy subscription box at the top of the left column) and give it a whirl?

Finding Passion

Got a call from a dear friend I haven't spoken with in some time. You know how it happens -- you get caught up in the busy-ness of life and before you know it three years have gone by. As we caught up with each other, I shared with him the evolution of the The Idea Midwife™. And he shared that he loves his job and has a great life, and he "still" wants to get his PhD, and teach, and especially write -- if only he had something valuable to say.

This friend wants to make a contribution to the world. He wants his contribution to help others make their contribution to the world. He has an intuitive sense that writing and teaching are his pathways for this. He wants to move this desire from a hidden wish to something that has weight and substance in the world. And, when it comes to naming exactly the contribution he will make, he gets stuck. Because he isn't sure he has found what he is passionate about. Yet, when I talk with him, I feel the strength of his passion like an immense, deep, still pool. So it got me wondering...is he not recognizing the depth of his passion because it doesn't look or feel how he expects it to feel?

Perhaps we expect our passion to always feel like a frisson of excitement -- a grand buzz -- to send us to the heights of energy and enthusiasm to fuel our work. And, sometimes, it is like that.

And, I am finding more and more that our long & deeply held passions are more like a powerfully glowing ember than a crackling spark or raging fire. It can be so quiet that we miss it if we are expecting something else. It is a deep, still sense of knowing...a quietly whispered "Yes" that resonates in a space where sound, and feel, and sight are as one. Shhh...listen very closely...you can almost hear it...the voice of your greatest gift, your genius, your true contribution, whispering your name.

Need a little space?

A few days ago, I had a very odd computer occurrence. No matter how hard I pressed the space bar, Ihadnospace. Allmywordsrantogether. I noticed how very hard it is to get work done if you have no space. And how frustrating it is to have to very consciously insert a tiny space where it was needed. To fix this challenge, I needed to remove the space bar, and clean out all of the gunk and cat hair that had accumulated. Hmmm...could this be a wise invitation from the Universe?  Looking at my desk, the message seems pretty clear: restore your capacity for creating space by cleaning out what has accumulated and is getting in the way. I love how this works!

False Labor and Fresh Starts

Well, I suppose as The Idea Midwife™, I should have recognized the signs. They are so easy to see with other people's creative births. The telltale indicators of a false labor. The enthusiastic declaration "This is it! Now is the time for the big push to (finally) get my creative idea out there. I just know it!" Then some frenzied pushing, accompanied by a rather emphatic denial of the fact that there are no diapers in the house and the nursery is in disarray. All of this followed by...nothing. I'll say it again, the creative process has its own wisdom and its own timing.

I think false labor in the birth of creative ideas is, in fact, an invitation to notice what really needs to be done to support your creation in the world. Now, I'm not talking about having everything figured out and arranged just so. If you wait for that the world will never have the benefit of your brilliance. A false start tells you that you are on the path and getting close, so now is the time to take care of the one or two critical things that your idea needs in order to thrive, which you have been putting off. 

So, while I was stuck in the mud waiting for that friendly farmer I mentioned last time, I decided to ask my business what it needed. Here's what I learned: my business taught me that it wants to be born. It wants a real birthday, a moment of realization -- an undeniable indication of commitment to its existence rather than some vague morphing from what came before. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, my creative business wants the opportunity to become Real.

OK. I can do that.

Here's Mud In Your Eye!

Ahhh...spring! The longer days, the warm sun, the returning birds, and...the mud. Yep, mud. Just at the time we are "raring to go" to break free and dance into the new possibilities that spring promises here in Vermont, Nature again shows her balanced wisdom -- providing us with ample opportunity to stop, to notice, to experiment, to wait. I agree with Vermont essayist Will Baker who suggests "Perhaps Mud Season in Vermont is all about constructive tension, when we find ourselves poised between where we were and where we are headed."

Unleashing the Imagination

Earlier this week, I saw an article in the April 2006 issue of Wired magazine in which Will Wright, the creator of The Sims, makes the case that electronic games are a powerful means for unleashing the human imagination. While he acknowledges some of the negatives widely attributed to electronic games (violence, addictive nature, etc.), he makes a pretty compelling case that gaming provides actual benefits to society through the expansion of "creativity, community, self-esteem, and problem-solving."

In the interest of full disclosure...while Will Wright is legendary in the computer gaming world, my gaming "pedigree" pretty much begins and ends twenty some odd years ago with my pac man spinning uselessly in a corner with the "bad guy" ghosts looming -- game over in less than a minute. All the while, my darling husband shaking his head in disbelief. It might have been the lowest score in the history of the game.

But in this article, here's a guy speaking my language. I'm so intrigued I may even give one of the new generation of games a try. The "gamers mindset" as described  by Wright, just may be the hope of the future of an innovation economy. Here's why...