Letting go of perfection and impatience

Lamott, p. 182: "Your unconscious can't work when you are breathing down its neck. You'll sit there going, 'Are you done in there yet, are you done in there yet?'. But it is trying to tell you nicely, 'Shut up and go away.'" 

Lamott wrote this in her chapter on writer's block, and it is so true. The minute I start fretting over if my brain is done yet, if this sentence works right here, worrying about the assignment getting done by the due date, my unconscious works poorly. Exhaustion has a similar effect on me and my brain. That's why I call 11:30 my pumpkin time--I turn into a pumpkin; my brain stops working, it all shuts down, I get whiny and crabby and just can't think.  When I am trying to force something to come about more quickly than it wants to, when I am breathing down my unconscious's neck, I also turn into a pumpkin. I am less accepting of this pumpkin time. I get angry at my unconscious, and I need to find a way to let that anger go. 

I think students of mine need to be able to leave their unconscious alone as well, so that it can do its work. My unconscious, and my students' unconsciouses, does not need constant supervision, just like many children do not really need constant supervision. If you are always on top of your unconscious or a child about being productive or focused, it/he/she rebels, and washes away all creativity that it might have offered. It was suffocated, sheltered, and never had time to try its wings which really probably would have otherwise worked pretty darn well, but since it didn't get enough air, it has caved in on itself, given up the ghost. Sad, I think.

Hearts of Writers

On p. 159 in Lamott's Bird by Bird, she writes the following:
"They've gone from being four tense, slightly conceited, lonely people...to one of those weird little families....They all look a lot less slick and cool...because helping each other has made their hearts get bigger. A big heart is both a clunky and delicate thing; it doesn't protect itself and it doesn't hide. It stands out, like a baby's fontanel, where you can see the soul pulse through. You can see this pulse in them now." She later says something about this is the way writers have to be--and regularly mentions how close to our hearts writing is. 


I like this quote because it so eloquently describes what it is like to give wholly of yourself to things in your life, be they writing or relationships or whatever. I am one of those people who gives wholly at first, and if I am soundly rejected or denounced or if my vulnerability is taken advantage of in some other way, I hurt a lot, and take a while to heal. And if I get to a comfort level following a rejection, where I feel it is safe to put my whole self out there, and it is again rejected, I become very very timid. I have been lucky in personal and familial relationships--I have always been able to recover pretty quickly because I am convinced they really do still love me, but this has not been the case in professional relationships or in relationships I have had as a writer with editors or graders of some kind. 


I think the heart Lamott describes in her passage is the best one to have, overall, and I still have that heart with most things in my life, the more important things in life (family, significant other), but in some parts of my life, my big pulsing heart is still in pieces.