Last week, I was traveling for Shopify’s yearly summit for a week of hacking, bonding, and playing. It was wonderful and whimsical. It always is. But being away from home also meant that I was away from my routine.
The 5am walk with my dog to gently ease my mind into the waking world. The notepad and laptop scattered across my living room couch, as I carefully sip on a fresh cup of hot, black coffee. The slow few hours I spend daydreaming, writing, drawing, and tinkering before diving into work. Those early hours are mine, to be with my own mind.
I’ve always been fairly adaptable to routine changes. Using train rides and hotel rooms and coffee shops as surrogates, where I freely indulge in my creative practice. Unbothered, unshook.
When your own mind blocks you
But this week was different. I couldn’t write on the train because I was blocked. The person beside me was fidgeting non-stop and I couldn’t ignore them like I usually do. I wanted to write an essay about self-awareness but I couldn’t put one thought down. As if I lacked the awareness I was so desperately trying to observe.
The hotel room was the same story. I hung up all my clothes in order of color, and I placed all my toiletries in a neat line, as if it mattered that my toothbrush was seven steps to the left of my face wash.
And the coffee shops, well there simply wasn’t time for those. I had somewhere to be, people to see, new experiences to experience.
That’s why I’m here, writing to make sense of this block. I very briefly pondered not posting at all, but my goal is to be consistent. I can’t diverge from it just because I’m blocked, or else I’ll make writing about feeling, which it is not. Writing is about showing up. As is growth in any skill.
So if this essay reads more like a journal entry, then maybe that’s what it needs to be. Where I observe my creative block, mine it for substance, and share it with you.
And the substance that is coming to mind is, strangely enough, the word intermission.
Intermission
A pause of interval between the parts of…
The space of time between…
Pause
Interruption
Sitting in the in-between
It’s funny that my subconscious needs to remind me of this. Because I know, theoretically, that stepping back is key to any creative work. And yes, you, scientist, software developer, admin assistant, barista. You’re doing creative work too. I’m not using that word as a label to an exclusive, VIP club of elite thinkers. I’m using it as a matter-of-fact baseline part of human consciousness. It is what it is.
We all need to step back. To leave the painting on the easel, half finished, until we can return with a rested mind. I know this. I’ve told people this over and over again. So why am I blocked?
Because I keep stepping into other things. I’ve been feeling extra curious. Extra energized. Extra inspired. For a long time actually. Perpetually shifting my mind into different substrate. But I realize now, by writing this, that I haven’t taken a proper intermission. Shifting into something else is not sitting in the in-betweens.
Sitting in the in-betweens is… just thinking about it makes me uneasy. Jittery. Like I want to move. I want to move. But sitting in the in-betweens is waiting. Like in a line. It takes patience and trust that movement will come. It doesn’t need to be forced.
Sitting in the in-betweens means accepting to do nothing. But how long until it becomes unproductive? How long until you start going backwards on your goals? No. That’s not the way to think. Sitting in the in-betweens is like taking a bath. You won’t let yourself drown, and you’ll get out when the water is cold and the tips of your fingers look like tiny prunes. You know what in-betweens feel like, and you know what procrastination feels like. They are not the same. Trust your judgment, don’t avoid the white space.
Sitting in the in-betweens means to make space. But the space is invisible. And the making is silent. You make space by not filling your schedule with things. By not turning on the TV. By not opening up the phone. By putting the book down. Don’t fill. Not even with things that feel leisurely. For how long? Trust your judgment on that too. But don’t avoid it.
Then step back in. Move out of the waiting room and take part in the play again.
Blocks are normal
This post isn’t grounded in evidence and research like my other essays, but it is grounded in the years of experience I have inspecting human consciousness, including my own. Today, I’ve given you a small peak into how I observe myself. How I let one sentence reveal the next, and unearth the hard truths that I need to hear. And what I heard is that blocks are normal. They are teachers.
For some of us, the blank page is the hard part. Starting the creative act is daunting, heavy, scary. Paralyzing. That might be you. And if that’s the case, it will require another type of introspection. I’ll likely write about that another day.
I realize that for me, leaving the page blank is the hard part. The creative act is learning through action. It can be about anything, so I get inspired by everything. I realize now that in-betweens use to appear in my life quite naturally. Whether it was fatigue or trips, sustained moments of nothing found their way in.
These days, I’m always connected to something. A device, a book, a person. I have energy. And that’s wonderful. But it also means I need to cultivate the conscious habit of building in-betweens into my routine. And that’ll take work because it clearly isn’t something that I do out of habit.
If that sounds like you too, the best way to build a habit is to start small. Schedule brief moments of whitespace and let yourself be uncomfortable in it. Or comfortable in it, maybe you’ll be surprised by how you feel. Stay consistent with the things that matter. For me, it’s writing. But prune out the things that don’t. Like the phone.
On that note, happy intermission to all those that need it ;)