“Demanding to control a work of art would be just as foolish as demanding that an oak tree grow according to your will.”

— Rick Rubin, The Creative Act

The second week of June, I took an eight-day vacation to Key West. The journey took three days: the first was a train ride from Orlando to South Florida, and the second and third were an overnight boat trip spanning the length of South Florida and the Keys.. The rest of the time was spent at the Key West Bight, with a short 45-minute flight back to Orlando on Father’s Day morning.

It might have been the first vacation where I truly did nothing. Mornings were for strolling and nights were, too (with the addition of ice cream). The heat of the day demanded “Thailand rules,” where A/C, shade, and naps were mandatory. I read a full novel (currently reading The Wheel of Time series) and sometimes just sat and stared at the water, watching the me-sized tarpon patrol the docks for scraps.

Pictured: Me on the boat, looking nowhere and everywhere.

The best part of the day was sunset. Come 7:52 p.m., we would climb to the top of the boat’s bridge, which faced due west. We played salsa, sea shanties, or sat in silence as oranges and pinks were painted across the horizon. Then came the boat parade. Dozens of catamarans, ferries, and dinghies puttered back to dock to release their boozed-up patrons after their prime-time cruises finished. Our ritual was so established that by the end of the trip, the cruise captains shouted out, “see ya tomorrow, gang,” as they tied up their boats for the night.

Between the lack of phone and laptop, coupled with the daily rituals of relaxation and observation, it has been difficult “starting my engines” back on the mainland. It’s not that I’ve fallen behind on my work, but I don’t feel any urgency to do anything at all. And that feels…strange. Am I being lazy? Stuck in island time? But if I’m getting everything I need accomplished, what is that urgency for?

To be honest, I suffer from “not enough” syndrome. Perhaps it’s a bit genetic, or maybe socially acquired, but that hunger of “I have to do more, faster” has powered me for a very long time. It was at its peak when I lived in New York, but it has been present, if not a tad in decline, since I moved to Florida four years ago. It’s not exactly that the place dictated the pace – although trees and green things certainly do help a mind calm down. Rather, it seems to be a release of an identity, a perception of self as it “should be.” Last month, I talked about the yogic concept of neti, or elimination, and how realizing what you are not is a path to realizing what you are. This month, it feels like that vacation helped me to re-structure my value of time. A creative reframe.

I’ve been in this artistic life, post-educational system, for a little over 12 years now. And no matter how much I’ve hustled or pushed or tried to jump ahead, I always get to my destination at the time (and learning) scale it was always going to take. For some projects, it’s lightning fast – a quick stir fry. Others drag on, like an overloaded casserole slowly coming to temp at 350. And some projects are on crockpot time, where I forget I’m even cooking something but miraculously, 12 hours later, end up with a delicious chili.

I’ve been reading a passage of The Creative Act, by Rick Rubin, each night. It’s been a wonderful reminder that, yes, the creative process – the Creative Life – takes real intention, effort, and execution. There is a time to hustle and push, but there is also a time to float and absorb. Every single thing, whether it’s a dish cooking on a stove or a boat pulling into harbor, takes a different level of time, energy, and skill to get to its destination. Applying a one-size-fits-all mentality to the process is a spiritual and mechanical bypassing of the process itself.

As we head into the dog days of summer heat, humidity, and storms, I wonder if we can let the sluggishness of the season be part of the process, rather than an inhibitor of it?

Creative Reframing

In Development