So, maybe I shouldn’t say I learn too much. I consume too much. The facts and ideas that enter my brain aren’t necessarily learned. Often, they pique my interest for a moment, but then they are lost when the next compelling thought comes around. This is especially problematic with podcasts. The audio just keeps coming at you. And while I could try pressing pause, that’s not my usual strategy. I’m consuming, but I’m not leaving enough time for digestion. I’m not allowing enough to soak in. And this isn’t just an issue with the ideas of others.

I don’t leave enough time to reflect on what I have running around in my own brain.  I try to make note of ideas when I have them. I try to record somewhere the incongruity or juxtaposition that grabbed my attention, even if just for a moment. But I am not dwelling on them. I am not mulling them.

This is a problem.

Creativity requires downtime. Space. Stillness. Like the reflection in a puddle. So much can be seen in a smooth surface of water if there isn’t constant agitation.

But when we are constantly feeding the machine with inputs, we don’t allow for the processing. We don’t give our minds the opportunity to make strange connections, to find commonalities in unusual places. These connections, these spaces are the source of creativity. They allow us to say something different rather than just list the interesting facts we heard or read somewhere else.

Writing itself can be a great way to explore these intersections. We can think through our ideas on paper, or on the screen, in an attempt to determine if there is any validity to them. Sometimes the great insight we had turns out to be just a mundane observation. Or our analogy falls apart under closer scrutiny. At other times, we are able to really delve into an idea and explore its depths. But we can’t do that if we are too busy reading someone else’s ideas or listening to them talk. To explore our ideas through writing, we have to leave space and time to foster this inquiry.

On the other end of the spectrum, we never look outside ourselves for ideas or inspiration. We are completely introspective and have no space for outside opinions to shape our own. This has it’s own set of issues, of course. Generally, we want to strike some sort of balance between the two.

Hopefully that has happened here, but I am open to criticism.

from Wikipedia

I recently (like just a few days ago recently) wrote about how Qwerty vs Dvorak isn’t really a productive discussion when it comes to writing. Because typing is only one, somewhat insignificant aspect of the process, if you even type at all. But then I wrote yesterday about the Five Karate Moves for Success, and I started thinking about the Try Something New move. And here’s where we get into the weeds, or leaves of grass in this case because I think maybe a little Dvorak experiment could payoff for both typing and writing. “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.” I’m pretty sure Whitman Whitman was referring to keyboard layouts.

If you read more than a few posts of mine, after I actually have more than a few posts available, you’ll likely recognize that I don’t always argue the same side of an issue. In part, that’s because I’m often exploring my own ideas through writing, and I don’t have them set in stone. Or, I might come across some new information that causes me to reconsider an earlier position. If I were a politician, I would be accused of not knowing what I think or changing my mind when it’s convenient. Since I’m just a person who likes to ask questions, I’m comfortable in my flip-floppiness. I also happen to think that an adherence to resolve, an inability (or unwillingness) to consider new data, is a major source of our currently bitter political discourse. But that’s really a topic for another day.

For now, I want to say the following. 1) I like experiments. 2) I like the possibility of self-improvement. 3) After reading up on Dvorak a little more, I realized it’s not just about speed but also about ergonomics and stamina; a more efficient keyboard can lead to fewer finger problems and allow you to type fast for longer periods. 4) I’m second-guessing my hypothesis that faster typing doesn’t lead to better writing; I feel like it could, especially if it allows you to enter more of a flow state, especially if you’re working for ugly first drafts.

So, I’m going to see where this leads me. I’ll report back, maybe once a week, maybe biweekly. Here’s a screenshot of a very informal typing test I did on typingtest.com, which will serve as my benchmark. If you want to play along, I’m starting with the exercises at http://learn.dvorak.nl/ It has a little web app that allows you to learn the Dvorak setup without changing your keyboard settings. Some people recommend just switching cold turkey, but since my day job (and my night job and my in between jobs) relies heavily on my ability to write/type coherently, I’m going to start a little slower. I don’t know what type of daily schedule I’ll hold myself to, but I’ll relay that in my first report. Let me know if you have any questions, or if you think this is totally dumb, or if you really just don’t care about my typing (I think that’s probably valid).

Wish me luck.

By this point, the grass was fairly thick where there was still grass, and where there wasn’t, the weeds had started to get a little too comfortable. Dandelions spread out in all their invasive glory, and other plants whose names I do not yet know grew thick with an unperturbed arrogance. Overall, it was a bit of a mess.

The thing about mowing is: a) I don’t really like doing it, and b) it gets harder when you put it off. I know this. I grew up mowing lawns: as a chore, as my first job, as a way to make extra money in college and grad school. When you wait too long to cut the grass, the lawn develops in a number of undesirable ways.

The grass itself grows tall and wants to clog up the mower. It’s harder to push because you’re actually bending over tall blades of grass before whacking them off with the blades. That also means it doesn’t cut as evenly, so you often have to revisit a swath that has already been cut.

Weeds that are usually dormant, unable to gain a foothold because they are kept short, shoot up and start to spread quickly. When they grow large, the only recourse might be to remove them with a shovel (or some fancy gadget you can buy off an infomercial). While weeds come in many varieties, with different recommended solutions, the general advice for almost all of them is to mow regularly to prevent them from taking over.

Silver-lining side note: when you do have a whole host of weeds and a toddler who loves to be outside, you can make a game of the clean up. To take advantage of Theo’s fondness for putting things in containers, he and I played a game where I would dig up a weed and he would carry it to a trash can across the yard. He seemed to have a decent time with it. (I’m always on the lookout for ways to make him a little more useful, so feel free to make suggestions.)

All these problems are compounded and make the mowing more difficult. The edging/trimming takes longer, and there’s more grass to sweep/blow away. Leaves are more of a problem when there are leaves. And so on. It just feels worse. While I know all this, I still find myself waiting too long. Sometimes it’s just the nature of the weekends; sometimes I get involved in other tasks; sometimes it’s the weather. But once the pattern begins, it’s difficult to break because I know it’s going to be tougher. So, I put it off, which makes it even worse, and you get the idea.

Once I finally do get out there and mow, however, it isn’t actually that bad. It’s just something that has to be done, and I appreciate the clear, visual progress of turning unmowed into mowed. Like much physical labor, there is a certain satisfaction to seeing your finished work. Plus, it doesn’t hurt me to get outside and move my body around a bit. Double plus, I typically listen to podcasts while working, so I enjoy that aspect. I also appreciate knowing that I was able to save us some money by doing something simple, a task that is almost second nature by this point.

I find this to be a pretty decent parallel with writing. When I do it on a regular basis, when I make a point of putting in some time, whether for a specific project or not, it comes much easier. The wheels are greased, and things move as they should (just to mix our metaphors a bit). But when I start to put it off, it begins to feel like a chore. I begin to forget the mechanics and dread the idea of looking at a blank page. This happened to me last year, and it took almost an entire year to get myself straightened out. (The HOA never would have let such a grievance stand.)

Inertia is a powerful force. You can use it to your advantage, or you can let it hinder you. When you create some momentum, it’s easier to keep it going, whether that momentum is productive or destructive. Every time you stop, you make it more difficult to get moving again. So, if you’re currently moving in the direction you want, even if it’s slowly, be sure to keep that going. If you’re stuck, look for small actions that can start pushing you again; allow small victories to build on each other and increase your momentum.

Just one more piece of advice: if you see mushrooms in your yard, pull those suckers up! Do it when they’re small or you’ll be doing it for a while.

What tasks do you put off and then regret? How do you find your way back?