An Exuberant Manifesto
The Fox Gaze 🦊 #90
Some time ago, on The School of Life blog, I read an explanation of why religious traditions so often include the rereading of sacred texts and the repetition of mantras or prayers. It went something like this: our mind is a leaky bucket into which we pour all kinds of ideas. Because it has holes, its contents are constantly draining away, so we need to refill the bucket again and again if we want to hold on to the ideas and values we care about. On top of that, our little bucket is constantly being filled with ideas from other sources as well, such as other people, the media, cultural traditions, social expectations, and so on.
I think about this metaphor often, especially when I catch myself forgetting things that matter to me, just like what happened at the most recent Ninho (my writing workshop) meeting.
I suggested that each participant define, for themselves, a writing project for the month of February – something they felt was realistically achievable within that time frame. It could be a novel chapter, a short story, or even a single scene, if that was all they felt could fit into their life right now. The goal is to move the group toward the habit of finishing creative work, something I consider essential for any artist, and to use the group as a space to investigate that process while it is happening.
Then one participant promptly proposed writing three chapters of a novel they are working on. I jumped in right away, suggesting that it might be better to commit to one chapter and then, if possible, exceed that plan. At that moment, a friend who has been part of Ninho for several years responded:
“Come on, Tales! You’re always saying we should be exuberant and confident. And now we’re doing exactly that, and you’re asking us to do less?”
She was completely right. Somewhere along the way, my bucket had filled up more with caution and restraint than with courage and encouragement. Yes, rationally, I do think it makes sense to start small in order to avoid frustration. But I also want to believe that creative impulses deserve to exist and grow without prior restraints.
I want to fill the buckets of the people around me with radical, unconditional encouragement to pursue whatever it is they want to create. And to do that, I need to remember to refill my own bucket, again and again.
In 2017, I wrote a manifesto for Ninho:
We believe
… in the autonomy of those who write.
… in responsibility for our choices.
… in clarity of intention in every word.
… in the creative power of being welcomed.
… in the collective talent around us.
… in the importance of the reader.
… in curiosity as a way of facing ignorance.
… in commitment and persistence.
… in the willingness to finish what we start.
… in the boldness to say yes. Because in the game, there are no mistakes, only experience.
… in the truth we seek through words. Because what we write is our life, and any one of us can write.
Even today, this manifesto still makes a lot of sense to me. 🌿
With love,
Tales
It's a tough balance for those of us who encourage creativity. I've had people talk about writing a book for ages. I want to shout, "Start with a page! You haven't yet written a page!"
To one interesting friend (not a writer, mind you) I said "I think you have the ability to write a book, but I don't know if you will." Challenge accepted, he said, and wrote the damn thing! Turns out he is a writer!