Minimize Boring Tasks with Flow

The Sisyphus Series, Part III

If you have to push a boulder up a hill, when do you want to do it?—And by “when” I mean right after doing what and right before doing what? The modern day Sisyphus might choose to do it after work, before arriving home, exactly when he’s not going to the gym he signed up to be a member of. Or he might want to do it first thing in the morning, to get it out of the way and wake himself up. The principle here is choosing the timing that’s easiest for you.

I choose not to scoop my cats’ litter box in the morning, because I want as little responsibility in the morning as possible; morning isn’t a good time for me. I scoop at night, but not last thing before coming to bed, because I’ve just concluded my ablutions, and ick, gross. I prefer to do it some time (an hour or more) before my pre-bedtime routine, because otherwise getting ready for bed feels tedious enough that I begin to avoid it and stay up too late. So I scoop shortly after dinner, at exactly the same time that my wife feeds the cats. The argument has been made that this is illogical timing, as soon after they eat they will effectively undo my work. But I don’t care. Having poop in the box overnight is tolerable, and doing the chore when I mind it least makes it substantially less avoidance-worthy.

Another example. I coached someone who decided to take a rigorous professional exam that requires months of study. We explored the question of how he wanted to do his studying in terms of when and where it would fit best into the flow of his day. He found that studying while he ate lunch at work gave him natural start and end times, and the study material became more interesting than he had expected because it was now sandwiched between and in comparison with his job duties, which were less than enthralling.

To choose the timing that works well for you, let’s again (as we did in Part II) call on your imagination. Picture yourself ending one activity—leaving the bar where you hang out with friends on Friday nights, for instance—and then picture what you will probably do next—sleep it off at home, for instance—and then try inserting your task in between them—practicing for your driving test, for instance—and see how it feels to imagine that flow of events. If it doesn’t feel good, try out a different opportunity in your day: getting out of class with your friend who has a car, for instance—insert practicing for driving test—going to your retail therapy appointment with Dr. T.J. Maxx. And now check to see how this new flow feels.

Look for flows that score high on both the Easy and Settled Stomach scales, and low on the Concerning and Agitating scales. To do the scoring, consult your gut, your heart, and your intellect. Look for consensus; i.e. if any one part of you—gut, heart, brain—objects, move on and imagine a new flow.

Sometimes an easy flow is all we need to be able to get something done. Grocery shopping is a typical example of this; most people I talk to don’t despise their local supermarket, they just find going there inconvenient much of the time. Well, when—in between what two activities—is food shopping more on your way? That’s what easy flow is about: slotting a dull chore where it is least in your way and getting it out of the way as effortlessly as possible.


Overpower Boring Tasks with Tools

The Sisyphus Series, Part II

OK, you’re Sisyphus. You’ve got this enormous rock to get up the hill. You can push it yourself, or you can drive it up in your Ford F350 truck. Like crows, humans can use tools! Don’t have a truck? Use a scaffold and a jackhammer. If you’re stuck with low-tech, do what English villagers did to break up ancient megaliths to get stones to build their houses: heat the boulder with fire, then throw cold water on it, causing it to shatter. This is what is now known as “chunking” a daunting task.

Sometimes people feel some resistance to employing tools, perhaps out of a sense that I can do it myself. Pride in ability and work is an admirable human quality. It is not mandatory, nor is it advisable in all situations. I want to take pride in abilities I value and in work I care about. A boring chore that I wish were finished before I even start it, though? Who cares?

I mentioned in Part I that scooping the cat box is one of my daily Sisyphean chores. We actually have a cat tub—higher walls, better containment. The litter I use has a nasty tendency to stick to the sides of the tub, and scraping it takes both persistence and strength. Not once after struggling with heavy, wet litter did I feel any impulse to spike the scooper and prance while flexing my muscles. I just wanted the ordeal to be easier. I bought a cheap mallet to knock the litter loose by banging the outer walls.

The effect of good tools is increased power, smart strength, a form of leverage. With the application of technology, even as simple as a rubber mallet, my power increases and my required effort therefore decreases. The job becomes easier. I grow in stature relative to the chore.

Try this. Pick one of your boring tasks. Now in your imagination picture yourself in the act of doing it. What would augment your powers in tackling this job? What would make it easier for you? If you find yourself thinking rationally about this and no ideas are coming, then close your eyes and return to your imaginative picturing.

Here’s an example of discovering tool power via imagination, from one of my clients. She dreaded having to clean snow off her car. She complained that snow removal paraphernalia for cars are pathetic, and invariably she ended up covered in snow, with some always falling into one or both of her shoes. I asked her to fantasize how she ideally would want to clear her car of snow. Her first image was a giant hair dryer. Her second was a leaf blower she had seen a neighbor using one day. She didn’t like the noise (or the price) of a leaf blower, but she loved the image of being able to blow the snow away from herself instead of sweeping it downward onto her clothes and shoes. This was a key stage in our exploration: noticing what she liked. We put two things together: the usual sweeping of snow off the car, plus moving the snow away from her. She wondered if a push-broom that she had would serve the purpose. After the next blizzard, she gleefully reported using her push-broom to shove two-foot columns of snow away from her and off her car, and being done faster than ever. Her dread of the chore vanished. She even enjoyed a feeling similar to mastery, like she was showing the snow who was boss.

If you allow yourself to imagine freely, and trust your gut feelings about what you like and dislike, you might be surprised at what you can envision. Dare to diminish drudgery!

The tool power principle extends beyond manual labor. If you have a paper to write, a thorny problem to solve, a political situation at work to navigate… think about what resources are available to you. Who can help or advise? What templates or techniques do others use? Expand your resources, expand your power.


What Is Will? (2)

II. How Will Works

In part one of this post, we found that will and intention are two different things. In the “Millie-Willy” plays we saw how easy it is, on the one hand, to intend something (in Millie’s case, to knit) but not engage the will actually to do it, as well as, on the other hand, to persist in doing something with a strong force of will without intending to. In the case of less complex creatures, such as spiders, will without intention is the rule; a spider will weave her web despite having no capacity whatever for mental intention. Hence, the following distinction between will and intention:

  • Will is the force that initiates and sustains action
  • Intention is the idea of an action

This distinction implies something important that goes against common sense, namely that will is not to be sought or found primarily in the mind, but rather primarily in the body. Clearly there is a relationship between an intention and a resulting will-full action—but only when an action does indeed result. Bottom line: a bodily action without mental intention (e.g. a spider weaving a web) evinces will, but a mental intention without any follow-through action (e.g. Millie saying she will knit, but not actually doing it) evinces only thinking, but no will. The proof of will is, as it were, in the pudding, not in the thought of cooking it nor in the recipe for it.

Also in part one we further saw that:

  • Free will = intention + will
  • Humans have free will
  • Spiders1 have unfree—that is, instinctive—will

When mental intention and bodily action are coordinated harmoniously, the result is a freely willed act. Humans can do this. Spiders cannot. A web-weaving spider cannot choose whether to weave her web; the spider’s body performs the act purely on instinct, which, by definition, is unintentional. Humans can do something else that spiders cannot do: procrastinate. Procrastination occurs when mental intention can’t get it together with bodily willed action.

It is my intention in this multi-part post to see where both of these paths lead—the path of human free will, and the path of creaturely unfree will. In this part I’m going to embark on the road less traveled: will as it manifests without free intent; creaturely, bodily, instinctive will. Let’s first examine the characteristics of will on its own, without the complicating factor of intentionality. Intention, after all, appears to be a kind of premeditation—a rehearsal in imagination—of what can only become reality in a bodily act of will. Perhaps unfolding the nature of the bodily act can yield clues about the nature of its mental doppelgänger, the intention. If you’ve ever suffered from procrastination you know from experience that no matter how much you know about your intention, your bodily will remains elusive and mysterious. Let’s head straight into that mystery, and delve into the phenomenon of will in itself. Our purposes shall be to observe the phenomenon of will as it presents itself, to distinguish will from its lookalikes, and to characterize, as faithfully as possible, what we find left standing. In this way we’ll build upon our working definition of will, which currently is: the force that initiates and sustains action.

Spider Will

With apologies to arachnophobes, back to spiders.

The picture of a spider spinning a web is a quintessential example of will. If it’s still difficult to think of spiders as demonstrating will, that’s probably because we humans find it difficult to imagine spiders deciding to do what they do. In other words, we still think of will as one and the same as intention—it’s a stubborn habit of our thought. Will, we intuit, is chosen action. Whatever the reason (and we’ll get into it presently), our habit of conflating will and intention gets in the way of imagining spiders as willful. Taking a closer look at this shall uncover an underlying aversion we have to thinking of spiders as possessing will. If spiders are willful, at least one of these two disquieting propositions must be true:

  1. Spiders behave willfully, so they must also have intention
  2. Spiders don’t have intention, but behave willfully; thus it is possible to have will without intention

One of these notions is impossible, but the other is only counterintuitive.

A spider with intention would be either ludicrous2 or scary. Picture Ari-the-spider crooking one leg at the joint in an “aw, shucks” gesture, and exclaiming:

Golly! I s’pose I’ll trap me a plump ol’ fly, liquify his innards, and sip out his guts while I watch the sunset. Mmmm mm! That’ll be a lovely way to end a long, hard day at the silk mill.

Or, clicking her fangs and salivating neurotoxin:

Today, that fly. Tomorrow, your BRAIN.

Either of these would be a statement of intention before the act. The second spider statement is the stuff of horror films, and our horror is precisely that “aversion” I referred to above: we don’t want spiders to have their own intentional will. Luckily, spiders act on instinct, and part of the very definition of instinct is that it is un intentional. A spider with intention occurring in nature is impossible.

Mere Action (Billiard Balls)

Whew!—spider-acts are unintentional. But in what sense are they willed? Isn’t the action of a spider merely action? If the spider can’t control her own actions, doesn’t that mean precisely that she has no will?—In other words, why attribute will at all to a non-intending being; why accept proposition #2—that there can be will without intention—at all? Why not instead say that spiders simply perform actions without will?

Well, what would activity without will look like?

Billiard balls. Billiard balls move, with no will of their own, in accordance with Newton’s first law of motion, the law of inertia:

Every body [i.e. object] continues in its state of rest, or of uniform motion in a right line, unless it is compelled to change that state by forces impressed upon it.3

But this is only what activity without will would look like, because billiard balls cannot act. Once struck, billiard balls give the appearance of activity; we see them moving, not quite like a spider, but moving nonetheless. But no 8-ball can jump into a corner pocket on its own initiative, because billiard balls have no will. A spider could jump (or crawl) into the corner pocket, uncompelled by any external catalyst, purely on its own power. In order for the 8-ball to move, however, some external force must be “impressed upon it”: a cue ball could hit it, or a hustler-spider (like the infamous Fast Arachne) could whip it with a silk thread. A billiard ball must be moved, because it is passive, not active.

Actor and Form

While a billiard ball can only move when acted upon by “forces impressed upon it” from the outside, a spider, like all living organisms, acts by virtue of “forces impressed” from within itself, namely its will. Let’s refine our working definition, accordingly:

Will is the force that initiates and sustains action from within the actor.

Spiders do seem to be demonstrating will. They are, unlike both billiard balls and supercomputers,4 creating their own activity. And they are doing so without any intention. So we are back to proposition #2, will without intention, and our minds boggle. We watch Ari-the-spider weave silk, and we observe, clearly and distinctly, that this is no chaotic activity, but rather a structured and purposeful one. It looks intentional. In fact, this is true of any willed action; it is non-chaotic.5 We must add another refinement to our definition of will:

Will is the force that initiates and sustains formed action from within the actor.

—Formed, structured, organized… planned, even. Here a paradox arises. The spider’s weaving of her web appears to be thoughtfully formed action—it predictably produces an intelligible structure—and yet simultaneously appears to be thoughtless action: unintentional, instinctive, habitual, like Millie knitting sweaters for no reason. How can spider web-weaving appear intentional and yet be unintentional? This will require some unraveling.

Characteristic Behavior

Any rigorous observation confirms that spiders function in purposeful, evolved ways. Spiders can be said to behave like spiders. Behavior is characterological; naturalists will speak of “characteristic behaviors.” As we noted in the “Willy-Millie” plays, especially the second one, will is necessary to overcome inertia and activate a specific behavior (e.g. knitting a sweater or weaving a web). The will that initiates and sustains the behavior of spiders is directional, if not consciously directed: they will create webs. The will of spiders takes specific form, even without conscious designs: they build spiderwebs, not inchoate masses, and not picnic baskets. (The same could be said of a magnolia tree’s producing magnolia flowers rather than unformed plant mass, and never roses nor daisies nor any other flower than magnolias.) The will of a spider is intelligent in these ways—purposeful, formational, understandable—yet not intellective in the sense of deliberately thoughtful.

Is it any wonder that we tend to think of will and intention as one and the same, even though they are distinct? Whether a willed act is intentional or not, it looks intentional! When we observe the operation of will in ourselves, we notice most prominently our intention prior to the willed action. Millie’s will is most apparent to herself when she first thinks “I’m going to knit” before actually knitting. If we were to ask Millie, “How do you know you willed your knitting to happen,” she would reply, “Well, I thought to myself that I was going to.” And even when intention is absent, as when a spider builds a web, or a magnolia tree flowers, or flamingoes dance… the instinctive behavior bears all the earmarks of intentionality, including organization and purpose. Moreover, when intention is absent it doesn’t occur to us that will is even involved; it seems like the action is just happening on its own, unwilled. A perfect example is when Millie knits unconsciously, out of habit, and Willy tries to stop her. To Millie, she is just doing what she does without thinking about it, completely unaware that her body is acting on will impulses (she might say, “I’m just knitting,” but not “I’m willing myself to knit”). Willy, on the other hand, projects intention onto Millie’s knitting, even when no intention is there. (That he asks her why she is knitting a sweater in summertime betrays his assumption of an intention—i.e. a rationale—on her part that she can explain.) We, watching this play, discover that Millie is acting without intention, apparently mindlessly, and we experience the feeling that she is behaving like a machine; that is, without will, her movements proceeding robotically. The unwilled mere activity that we imagine as well as the intentionality that Willie imagines are projections on our part and on his. But in fact Millie’s will to knit is acting on its own. You know what this implies?

Unintentional willed action is unconscious.


Probably most of our human willed activity is unconscious. I mean this in a basic way. As I compose this paragraph, I am eating a bowl of Cheerios. The fact that I am having a breakfast snack at five in the afternoon is intentional on my part. My stomach growled. I replied, “Right away, sir!”, stood up, walked to the kitchen, put the cereal box, the milk container, a bowl and a spoon on a tray, brought it all back to my desk, and commenced eating. All intended. But right at this moment I’m sitting up straight and holding the bowl above the computer keyboard, and the spoon is right at my mouth, and I’m wondering: How did my arms move into these physical positions? And, for that matter, how are they maintaining this attitude instead of succumbing to gravity or lethargy or both? Is the gliding of my hand toward my maw a consciously chosen motion, or a habit? It’s more like habit; I know I learned to feed myself with a utensil, but I don’t think about it anymore. Once the food is in my mouth I chew, and this I never had to be taught. The only time I ever chew with intention is when I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek and want to avoid biting it again. My movements while I eat—and, for that matter, while walking to the kitchen—are almost always unconscious.

Deciding to go somewhere, e.g. the kitchen, and actually going there is intentional, but each individual act of putting one foot in front of the other repeatedly until arriving is somehow wrapped up in the package-act of going. How many of your actions each day are consciously intended? Package-acts, such as going out to meet a friend for coffee, include within them many—many—unconscious acts. Every step, every muscular flexion, is a purposefully formed action initiated from within; i.e. a willed action.

Will, Not Code, at the Cellular Level

Indeed, I can’t think of a single example in the world of an action performed by an acting organism without the benefit of an inertia-interrupting and chaos-defying force. Can you? That force characteristically matches the description of will. The only objection we might have to calling the daily head-turning of sunflowers willful is that it’s obviously not consciously willed (i.e. intentional). And yet, examples of willed action without conscious intention are so abundant, even in our own daily living—walking, chewing, blinking, swallowing, digesting, and so on—as to be literally countless. Unconscious, unintentional activity that is nevertheless purposeful, organized, and even regulatory is occurring right this moment in your body at the cellular level. We are prone to think of our genes as the code that determines our physiology, but on behalf of code monkeys6 everywhere I must insist that there is no such thing as code that was not coded by a coder. Anyone who has written computer code can tell you that there is no way it can write itself.7 And yet, as Stephen L. Talbott explains in “Natural Genome Remodeling,” writing and rewriting themselves with purpose is precisely what genomes do all the time:

It is now indisputable that genomic change of all sorts is rooted in the remarkable expertise of the organism as a whole. By means of endlessly complex and interweaving processes, the organism sees to the replication of chromosomes in dividing cells, maintains surveillance for all sorts of damage, and repairs or alters damage when it occurs—all with an intricacy and subtlety of well-gauged action that far exceeds, at the molecular level, what the most skillful surgeon accomplishes at the tissue level. But it’s not just a matter of preserving a fixed DNA sequence. In certain human immune system cells, portions of DNA are repeatedly cut and then stitched together in new patterns, yielding the huge variety of proteins required for recognizing an equally huge variety of foreign substances that need to be rendered harmless. [Emphasis added.]

Intelligent Will—with a Caveat

Spooky, huh? Genomes behave not so much mechanically (“not just a matter of preserving a fixed DNA sequence”) as appropriately (“well-gauged action”), responding to chromosomal needs (“repairs”) as well as to environmental dangers (“foreign substances”). It would appear that unconscious willful activity is intelligent.

But wait! Am I implying a doctrine of Intelligent Design? Nuh uh! Don’t even go there. I’m no expert on the varieties of creationism being propounded nowadays, but let’s consider the most simplistic version of Intelligent Design, which is common enough to address. The conception that there is a single, immeasurably vast mind intending the actions of all spiders and all badgers and all coral is severely problematic, if for no other reason than that it projects onto the cosmic ether the intentionality that is M.I.A. in unconsciously willed activity. This is tantamount to casting God in the role of Great Code Monkey in the Sky.8 This in turn raises two further philosophical objections. First, divine intention would be too boring! If you think waking up every morning because it’s “time to make the doughnuts” is Sisyphean, imagine mentally sustaining the activity of all the bacteria on earth. Not even the combination of omnipotence, omniscience and omnipresence in the divine Mind is sufficient to explain endlessly intending such apparently mindless activity. Second, the divine-intention proposition is too brutal. A spider that paralyzes a fly with venom, injects digestive enzymes into its body, and then sucks out everything except the exoskeleton is both gross and scientifically fascinating, and as long as it’s instinctive and unintentional it is amoral. If it is intended, however, it’s brutal; not evil, exactly, because neither malevolent nor against any known civil or sacred laws. It’s just—how shall we put it?—unevolved.

Parting ways from notions of intelligent design, it is nevertheless worth repeating: unconscious, unintended, willed activity demonstrates intelligence. That intelligence is not coded in by an outside coder; neither shall we say that this is merely “the way it is according to nature,” because saying that says nothing useful, and serves only to waive off the matter as a philosophical annoyance. Rather than turn our backs, let us, for now, live with our questions while contemplating that unconscious intelligent action—even without the influence of any brains or nervous system at all (e.g. magnolia trees, sunflowers, coral, bacteria…)—is not only possible but constantly evident all around (and in) us.

With a final refinement we may now say:

Will is the force that, of its own intelligence, initiates and sustains formed action from within the actor.

Where does will’s intelligence come from? We might as well as ask where intelligence’s intelligence comes from, because intelligence, in itself, is not traceable in nature.9 For instance, it’s not our physical brains that guide our genomes; it’s the other way around: DNA is the most basic building block of biology,10 and it demonstrates intelligent activity.

My intended purpose here is not to dive into metaphysics (well, maybe just a little), but to take a wakeful, realistic, and useful view of will. “Wakeful… realistic… useful…” these are three of the paramount qualities of executive functioning, which runs on free will, and doesn’t run at all without it. But will’s freedom doesn’t come free; it must be won. Won from what, we might ask. What is free will free of, exactly?—Mindless repetition; circularity. Surely you’ve noticed how unconscious will tends inflexibly to repeat itself. This is will’s sustaining power in action. The beauty part of intention is that, as the thought-form of an action completely separate from the act of will which it contemplates, intention creates the possibility of a free relationship between thinking and acting. Executive functioning is what we can do that spiders can’t. This is what we’ll look into in the next chapter of this post.

  1. And, implicitly, other life forms that do not demonstrate deliberative cognition, such as butterflies, and coral, and Chicago Cubs’ Cleveland Indians’ fans.… 

  2. Excepting Charlotte (from Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White), of course. 

  3. Newton, Isaac. “Axioms, or Laws of Motion.” Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica. 1687. 

  4. Computers, with no code originating from one or more programmers outside of them, perform precisely zero functions. 

  5. I’m using “chaotic” here in its scientific sense of formless, disordered, confused, rather than in the qualitative sense of carefree and unpredictable as popularized in the Dungeons and Dragons alignment system. 

  6. Computer programmers, especially those working in basements with all windows obscured by stacks of old hard disk drives and defunct keyboards, are sometimes lovingly referred to as code monkeys. 

  7. Some skillful code monkeys might protest that they have written programs that generate code on the fly, but my point is that code-generating programs have to be coded in the first place. Another way of putting it is that computer code cannot mutate and evolve in a Darwinian sense. 

  8. I am by no means making fun of divinity. I am, however, satirizing a poorly thought through idea. In many respects, the doctrine of Intelligent Design is just as materialistic as the framework of biological determinism, which many people of faith revile as spiritually bankrupt. 

  9. In making this claim I realize that I am opening a hotly contested can of worms known as “the mind-body problem” or “the hard consciousness problem.” Briefly the question is this: What is the relationship between the physical organ of our brain and the immaterial thinking of our mind?
        To illustrate the distinction between brain and mind, do this exercise. Think the concept of a perfectly straight line. If you’ve mastered the most basic Euclidean geometry, you are able to think this concept. But there is no such thing as a perfectly straight line occurring in the natural universe (because, for one thing, space is curved by gravity). The concept of a straight line is non-physical; it is purely conceptual. When you think the concept of a straight line, what is your brain doing? It is lighting up in various ways that neurologists could measure by gluing little circles to your head. But one thing your brain is not doing is producing a tiny physical straight line in your skull. The question that the hard consciousness problem asks is: How is consciousness able to conceive that which the brain is not able to manifest?
        My saying that “intelligence, in itself, is not traceable in nature” assumes that there is such a thing as intelligence-capable-of-conceptualizing that is not one and the same as physical brain activity.
        It is a matter of scientific fact that the existence of such non-physical intelligence has never been either proven or disproven.
        I would argue that the provability of numinous intelligence is a self-defeating proposition: satisfactory proof implies physical pudding, after all. Thus, the very definition of provable rules out any possibility of non-physical phenomena. This line of reasoning has always struck me as solipsistic. But this debate is way beyond the scope of this post, and I fear I have indulged it too far already. 

  10. Not being a biologist, I would be grateful for a correction if I’m wrong about this. 


Sanctuary Visualization

Sit or lie so that you are completely comfortable. Let your eyes close.

Focus on your breath. Breathe naturally, and follow the rhythm of inhale… exhale…, as if your breaths were the sea gently washing up and back over the shore.

Relax each part of your body, one part at a time, from your feet to your head. With each breath, imagine light entering that part of your body as you inhale, and all tension draining away as you exhale:

  • Your toes—inhale light; exhale tension
  • Your feet—inhale light; exhale tension
  • Your calves—inhale…; exhale…
  • Your thighs…
  • Buttocks…
  • Pelvis…
  • Abdomen…
  • Back…
  • Chest…
  • Shoulders…
  • Upper arms…
  • Lower arms and wrists…
  • Hands and fingers…
  • Throat…
  • Back of your neck…
  • Back of your head…
  • Jaw…
  • Mouth…
  • Eyes and nose—inhale…; exhale…
  • Forehead and temples—inhale light; exhale tension
  • The top of your head—inhale light; exhale tension

In this state of relaxation, continue your breathing for a moment that lasts as long as you like.

Clear a space in your mind. Just ask everything else on your mind to step back for this moment. Your thoughts need not vanish, only stand back to give you space to be.

Let appear in that cleared space in your mind—a venerable stone stairway. This stone stairway leads down to a place that is solely for you. There are ten steps. When you want to, with one complete breath, in and out, go down the first step and hear a voice inside count:
    With each subsequent breath, descend another step, counting down, slowly:

You may now step into your sanctuary, a beautiful, peaceful outdoor space created by your imagination, your inspiration, your intuition.

It can be a meadow, a lake, a beach, a waterfall, a grove, a mountain—any natural place where you feel completely secure and at peace. Here you are always safe and content. Here everything is beautiful and true.

No one can enter this place except you, and anyone you expressly invite in. Anyone you invite in will leave the moment you think of them leaving.

Explore your sanctuary. Walk around and discover what’s here. Let your bare feet luxuriate in the grass or sand, or whatever is on the ground. Breathe in the fragrances. Taste the air. Bask in the light and warmth. Hear the sounds—waves, breezes, rustling leaves.…

Everything here understands your every thought and feeling. If there are animals, you may communicate with them, and they will always love and obey you. You may have one or more animals who are your special companions. You can send thoughts to the flora, and every plant can soothe and heal you. Any water here is healing and refreshing when you drink or bathe in it. The air invigorates and inspires you. The light is suffused with warmth and nourishment for your spirit.

Somewhere in the landscape of your sanctuary, there is a source of fresh water; perhaps a spring, or a well, a pristine pool, a stream, an ancient fountain.… There can be more than one. The water here washes away pain, regret, error. It rinses away negative thoughts, opens your senses and pores to the light and warmth. Drinking the water cools and dissolves stuck emotions into new, lighter feelings, new understandings.

Somewhere there is a healing garden. You may create it yourself, or find it already in full bloom. You can cultivate anything you wish here: ideas, dreams, forgiveness, positive feelings, health… and anything you plant will grow. You can prune back whatever hinders your growth. You can weed out what you no longer need. You can plant things you’ve never grown before, new possibilities. Here your love and goodwill always increase.

Somewhere there is a seat for you made of stone or wood, or both, and any other material that makes it perfect for you to sit in. It is here that your Guardian—an angelic being dedicated to your welfare and best destiny—may visit you from time to time (and always when you call), and give you exactly what you need at that moment; guidance, insight, perhaps a special gift, and always comfort and reassurance.

You may stay in your sanctuary as long as your heart desires.

When you are ready to return from your sanctuary, you will find yourself at the bottom of the ancient stone staircase. Climb the ten steps, one at a time, taking a complete breath, in and out, at each step, starting with…

You are back at the cleared space in your mind. You are rejuvenated, as you always are by a visit to your sanctuary.

Feel your breathing—in, out.…

Feel the solidity and definite shape of your body.

Feel the surfaces that are contacting and supporting your body where you are sitting or lying down.

When you’re ready, open your eyes. You feel rested, alert, energized, calm, embodied, grounded, safe, secure, assured.

You can return to your sanctuary any time you want or need. It is there, always, for you.


Thanks for the AD/HD!

A diagnosis of AD/HD comes with a lot of can’t s and bad-at s: can’t sit still, bad at getting places on time, can’t focus, bad at finishing projects, and so on. But it comes with plenty of strengths. Sometimes a weakness in one context is a strength in a different context. An example of a deficit of executive functioning in some ADDers is difficulty following recipes or building furniture from a kit with instructions. Grasping the relationship between one step and the next can come slowly, and the experience of having to go step by step can be excruciating. But give these same ADDers a box of Legos and—stand back! Mansions, whole city blocks, Model T’s, cruise ships, flying saucers, crop circles, dinosaurs.… All of a sudden what was a deficit in relating one piece to the next becomes a talent for putting pieces together in unexpected ways.

I sometimes describe the experience of AD/HD thinking as a mental landscape of pools. Thoughts and images sit in pools in the minds of us ADDers, but these pools don’t connect with each other automatically. When we’re kids our mother can march us to the threshold of the disaster area that is our room, and when she says, “Okay, get started, and soon I’ll come help you,” we look at her quizzically and ask, “Get started with what?” We didn’t see a mess, we saw clothes and games and paper and a hockey stick and pillows and cards and legos on the floor. A mess was only one of the many possible ways of seeing the room. We have to intentionally connect the dots, irrigate between the pools, create canals. This requires more effort than if we had a mental matrix of streams and rivers which flowed from one place to the next in a definite from-upstream-to-downstream order. On the other hand, we can link our pools any way we want. We can also see many of them simultaneously; ADDers can be great synthesists, intuitively grasping complex holistic pictures very quickly.

David Giwerc and Barbara Luther, Master Certified Coaches at the ADD Coach Academy, note that “ADHD can… be a strength and gift in the right context.” They have come up with this top ten list of reasons they love their AD/HD coaching clients:

  • They think and function outside the box, which makes them interesting and fun.
  • They are incredibly creative, non-linear thinkers and love to brainstorm.
  • They usually have high energy and enthusiasm.
  • They are quick and spontaneous, often living in flow rather than in the artificial structure of minutes and hours.
  • They make intuitive leaps and connections that make for very interesting ideas and projects to work on within coaching.
  • They absolutely thrive in partnerships.  They can be quite charismatic and empathetic, and they are truly appreciative of a thinking/listening partner.
  • They are usually very bright and interested in many things, so they can be fascinating to talk with.
  • They can concentrate intensely on things they care about, and they usually work well to deadlines they’ve committed to.
  • They may thrive in chaos and change, and they may be very good at juggling multiple tasks at once.
  • They work hard, are adventurous, and are often quite driven.

The deficits in “Attention Deficit” are contextual. This is not to say that the deficits are illusory. (If they were, I would have finished this post hours before 2:00 this morning.) But they tend to be deficits in the context of time-sensitive, linear, pre-defined task-oriented situations. In other contexts which prioritize cognitive feeling, intuition, creativity, imagination, analysis, synthesis, idealism, and the kind of moral sensitivity that revolts at soulless bean counting, executive management deficits can metamorphose into salt-of-the-earth gifts.

And for these gifts, I invite you to join me in giving thanks. May your Thanksgiving be joyful this week on—whatever day it’s on.


Believing & Doubting (and “Negative Capability”)

Believing & Doubting is when you write on two opposing sides of an idea, an assertion, an interpretation—something an author says that can be agreed or disagreed with.

The most basic way to do this exercise is to freewrite a “pro” paragraph followed by a “con” paragraph.

The more difficult (but more rewarding and far more useful) way to do this exercise is really to discover and be able to understand (as in stand under and support) two opposing points of view with equal conviction—allowing yourself to become “of two minds” (after all, two minds are better than one). The idea is to articulate your point of view first, and then to do your best to imagine the opposite point of view as fully as possible. It helps to pretend you are someone who really believes this opposite point of view, and write as if you are that person (use first person!).

This is a very powerful exercise of the imagination, leading to all kinds of surprising insights. One potential outcome is a higher synthesis of the two opposites (which are, respectively, thesis and antithesis): a perspective that rises above and encompasses the contradictions. Another sublime outcome is what the Romantic poet John Keats called “Negative Capability,” which, in a letter to his brothers, he described this way:

… at once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously—I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason—Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half‑knowledge. This pursued through volumes would perhaps take us no further than this, that with a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.


Feed Your Imagination

“So you see, imagination needs moodling — long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering.”

— Brenda Ueland





What is Poetry?

. . . it is not meters, but a meter-making argument that makes a poem,—a thought so passionate and alive that like the spirit of a plant or an animal it has an architecture of its own, and adorns nature with a new thing. The thought and the form are equal in the order of time, but in the order of genesis the thought is prior to the form. The poet has a new thought; he has a whole new experience to unfold; he will tell us how it was with him, and all men will be the richer in his fortune. For the experience of each new age requires a new confession, and the world seems always waiting for its poet.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Poet


Go Fish in
Streams of Consciousness:

absenceacceptanceaccomplishmentADHDaimsanalysisannotationanxietyAPAappearanceappleappreciationargumentartistaskingattachmentattentionawarenessBatmanbeingblank mindblissboatboring!brainstormingbraverycandlescenter of gravitychoicechoosing collegecognitioncommunicationcompassionconclusionconfidenceconsciousnessconversationcreative writingcreativitydawdlingdiagnosisdoorsdramadreamdrinkingecologyemotionenergyessaysessentialevidenceexamexcitementexecutive functionexerciseexperienceexpositionfailurefearfeelingfightfigurationflowfootballfrederick douglassfreewritinggamegedankenexperimentgesturegetting startedgoalgrammarhappinesshealinghearthonorhopehumanideasimaginationimagination_exerciseimplexinnovationinspirationinstinctinterestjubileekinestheticknifeknowledgelogicloudlovemagicmanagemasterymeaningmechanicsmedicationmeditationmetacognitionmilitarymindmistakesMLAmothermotivationmountainnontraditional collegenote-takingnotesorganizeout-of-the-boxparticipationpartspassionpatiencepeak-experiencepedagogyperseverancepersistencephysicalizeplanplayingplaywrightingplotpoetrypositive pointingpre-writingpreferenceprepositionpresenceprioritiesprocessprocrastinationprofessorsproofreadingputteringquestionsreadingrealityreflectionrelationshiprelaxationrepresentationreservesresourcesresponseresponsibilityrevisingsanctuaryself-actualizationself-assessmentself-relianceseptembershort storysocratic methodsoulspacestorystrengthsstressstudyingsuccesssummariessynthesistalkingtasksteachingtechniquetest anxietytest-takingThanksgivingthemethesisthinkingtimetolerancetomorrowtreetrusttruthunderstandingveteransvisualizationvoicewaldorfwelcomewholewillwillpowerwomenwordsworkingwriter's blockwritingyearningyesterday