The Still Point In-Between
I spent a lot of time as a teen and into my early twenties not knowing what I was supposed to do with my life. I would dread the repeated question every adult seemed compelled to ask: “What are you going to do?” I had no answer. It was an early lesson on living in the “in-between.”
Unlike many writers, I didn’t know I was going to be a writer. I wasn’t in love with writing, books, or the whole “writer’s life” so glorified by others.
I attempted to pen a romance novel when I was around 14 or so, hand-written on yellow tablet paper. (This was before computers.) I didn’t finish it. For the longest time as a child I wanted to be a geologist. I grew up in the woods, surrounded by nature spirits and to this day, collect rocks that I’m drawn to. Geology fascinated my 8-year-old mind. The idea that you could spend your life doing something you loved – that there was even a name for people who loved rocks – that was amazing. (My parents were wise enough not to bring the “money” issue into my early career aspirations or any of those “wise words of adult fear” that steer children away from their first callings.)
I grew up deeply spiritual and contentedly quiet. An observer. A listener. I kept my first diary at age of 7 or so. Returned to it at age 16 and have never abandoned the practice.
But the idea of being a writer? It never occurred to me. I come from a long list of ministers, physicians, educators, musicians and artists. The elements of all of these professions have played into my life and continue to do so. And what is even more mystical to me is the fact that I never knew the generations of family who held these professions – never had anyone pointing me in these directions. I knew of them, but there was no direct influence. Yet, these interests have culminated in me. Delivered by physical and spiritual DNA.
No, writing came to me quite suddenly one day. When I realized that as a writer I would have the power to give people a voice. Writing was a tool to do good in this world. To make a difference. And that is how it began. First in journalism. Now as I write for clients and my own projects. It is my natural calling, the culmination of ministering, healing, educating, art – all pulsating through the Stories that present themselves to me and the characters who entrust me with their vulnerabilities. It remains a means to an end – a vehicle for blessing and liberating the human spirit.
But there is still, at times, that in-between. And it’s still just as hard not knowing.
“What’s next for you?” I can answer that in a broad way. But there comes a point, between projects, between phases of life, between the ebb and flow of the creative tides where you have to embrace the in-between.
You have to accept not knowing.
And it’s hard as hell. Because in all of our effort to create the lives of our dreams, and in owning our power to do so, we forget that it’s not always all about us. The Universe needs time to weave its magic, make preparations, work in other people’s hearts and minds. It needs time and sometimes it requires us to wait.
And not know.
You have to be willing to be blind at times. You have to be willing to surrender to the process. Let go. Trust. Keep your faith.
So what can you do when you’re in-between?
- Breathe. The Universe hasn’t brought you this far just to drop you now.
- Take a look around. What haven’t you been seeing because you were so focused?
- Come home to yourself. We’re used to being fragmented and multi-focused. Bring yourself back to your center.
- Let go. Surrender. Stop fighting the process.
- Listen. Get still. Just listen. Don’t “hear.” Listen.
What doesn’t work when you’re in-between?
Pacing. Struggling. Fighting. Demanding. Striving for answers. Taking every little thing as “a sign.” Ignoring your body’s need for rest. Losing faith. Giving up. Falling back into unsupportive practices or habits. Complaining. Guilting yourself out. Trying to jump-start the next project when it’s not ready. Arguing with characters or your loved ones. Thinking there’s something wrong with you. Beating yourself up emotionally for “being blind.”
The creative life takes faith.
All lives take faith. You don’t have to be religious. But you do have to be spiritual, because you are spirit. And there are spiritual realities as real as physical ones – your spirit needs rest, down-time, quiet, nurturance, attention, love and acceptance – just as much as your body does.
In-between can be just the break your spirit and body needs to prepare for what’s next. Because as the Universe prepares for the next step, it also prepares you.
Trust the process. Bless the in-between.
Creative Authenticity: On Being You
Once the great Hasidic leader, Zusya, came to his followers.
His eyes were red with tears, and his face was pale with fear.“Zusya, what’s the matter? You look frightened!”
“The other day, I had a vision. In it, I learned the question that the angels will one day ask me about my life.”
The followers were puzzled. “Zusya, you are pious. You are scholarly and humble. You have helped so many of us. What question about your life could be so terrifying that you would be frightened to answer it?”
Zusya turned his gaze to heaven. “I have learned that the angels will not ask me, ‘Why weren’t you a Moses, leading your people out of slavery?'”
His followers persisted. “So, what will they ask you?”
“And I have learned,” Zusya sighed, “that the angels will not ask me, ‘Why weren’t you a Joshua, leading your people into the Promised Land?'”
One of his followers approached Zusya and placed his hands on Zusya’s shoulders. Looking him in the eyes, the follower demanded, “But what will they ask you?”
“They will say to me, ‘Zusya, there was only one thing that no power of heaven or earth could have prevented you from becoming.’ They will say, ‘Zusya, why weren’t you Zusya?'”
–Mystic Journey by Robert Atkinson, pgs 14 – 15
The question, in all our running around, learning to apply our craft effectively, engineering marketing plans, tapping into what sells, isn’t: ‘What do buyers/audiences want?’
But, “What can I give of myself that they haven’t seen before, through the uniqueness that only I can bring?’
There’s safe art and there’s authentic art. There’s work that pushes through mediocrity, status quo and proven formulas and there’s work that does nothing more than meet expectations. There’s opportunity to tap into our vulnerability and touch the human spirit, and there’s opportunity to say what has already been said in the same way it’s been said before. There’s a difference between listening to the work itself, to the characters, and rushing over it to hammer it into what people tell us it should be.
There’s opportunity when faced with mediocrity, status quo and proven formulas to lift them with something deep, fresh and beautiful that only we can call forth from within ourselves. There’s a malleable, raw opportunity to do something incredible, something important, at every turn, in every project.
And what makes the difference?
You do.
And only you.
Be you.
The Space Between Artist and Audience
There are two sides to creative projects: what the project wants to be, in and of itself, and what we want an audience to perceive and experience. In between there is a space. This space is where the magic happens – where the project communicates to the audience – without us. And where the audience takes over as they create in that space. It’s easy to forget this. Yet, for work to truly live, we need to be mindful of it.
The Work Has Purpose Even Without An Audience
Before we dive in, it’s important to remember that work does not need an audience to matter. As artists, we focus most of our energy in creating the work, giving it everything necessary to survive without us. This is our highest calling, to receive the work, to bring it forth, to nurture it and allow it to emerge through us. The work has meaning simply because it exists. It doesn’t need an audience to have purpose or a place in this world. All those drafts written and put aside in drawers? They matter. They count. Unseen work matters because it exists. (Not to be confused with unfinished work – which may or may not have found its purpose.)
The energy we pour into bringing forth the work is well spent, no matter if anyone sees it or not. On this side of the equation, we allow the work to develop into its fullest form and simply be. When our part is done, we are satisfied and fulfilled because the work stands on its own without us. There is nothing “wrong” in itself with artists bringing forth work that no one else sees. The work’s sole purpose may simply be how it changes the artist.
Yet, most of us want our work to reach an audience.
The Space Between the Work and Audience
Because we want to reach an audience, we usually have an intention behind our work – a reason why we create. We have specific responses we want to elicit in an audience. To entertain, inspire, touch, disturb, raise awareness, incite remembrance, elicit joy, forget, heal, delight, awe – we generally know what we want an audience to experience. So we keep that in mind as we craft our work. We control what we can, calculate where possible, refine and adapt to ensure that audiences respond as we desire. This is our responsibility as artists. What we are paid to do.
But, in our effort to do this, we need to remember the space.
Because the Audience Also Creates
When the work is fully formed and we’ve given it everything possible, there remains a gap. That space between the work and the audience where the audience creates its own experience. The audience interprets meaning, events, intention, and receives the work through the filter of their own experiences and associations. And that’s one thing we cannot control. What is communicated and what is understood can be polar opposites. Which can be why some work fails to generate the response and sales we desire. And certainly why some work, assuming it’s well done, fails to resonate with individual audience members.
But while it is a risk to the artist and investors, this gap is actually something we need to honor. Why? Because this is where the magic happens.
This is where the work can truly touch hearts, minds, souls.
We need to leave audiences enough room to engage in this creation. If we spoon-feed them every aspect, spell-out every meaning, leave nothing of intrigue or uncertainy, we deprive audiences of their ability to receive the full impact of what the work desires to create in them.
As we craft, we need to be mindful to leave spaces where the audience can meet the work on their own terms.
Why We Struggle with Writing: A Natural Law at Work??
Most writers agree: writing is challenging. What one imagines will be easy, simple, fluid, is not. That’s because more than communication goes into writing. It’s not just putting down thoughts and dialogue. It’s crafting, selecting, choosing, being intentional in how one orders and structures a story to give it a desired effect.
Writing requires work. Effort. Putting time in. Not just at the keyboard, but in thought. First drafts may fly on to the page, but after that it’s all rewriting, digging deeper, finding the hidden essence of the stories and characters. Wrestling with fear, doubt, choices, selections and your own writer’s instincts. (Characters won’t tell you everything the first or even the fifth time around. You have to get to know them, spend time with them, listen and listen some more.) Writing is a multidimensional process.
Because most of us who do it for a living (or aspire to) understand that writing is indeed a challenge, I found the following quote particularly intriguing. It’s from an interview with thisiscolossal.com’s founder, Christopher Jobson, on Lifehacker.com. The quote is attributed to Ira Glass of radio show ‘This American Life’:
“It’s like a law of nature… anything that’s written or anything that’s created wants to be mediocre. The natural state of all writing is mediocrity. It’s all tending toward mediocrity in the same way that all atoms are sort of dissipating out toward the expanse of the universe. Everything wants to be mediocre, so what it takes to make anything more than mediocre is such a f***ing act of will.…You just have to exert so much will into something for it to be good. That feels exactly the same now as it did the first week of the show. That hasn’t changed at all. That’s the premise of what it takes to make something.”
I don’t have the original material to pull the quote from, but the concept that writing naturally tends toward mediocrity and requires will, effort and exertion to become something incredible, fluid and beautiful – that caught my attention.
If this concept were true, could it account for some of the challenge and struggle associated with writing?
And, if this were true, how would it change how we approach our work?
Would we fight the process less and give more of ourselves to it?
Change our expectations?
What do you think? Comment. Let’s explore.
Protecting the Actor’s Soul
New York Magazine published an interview with actor Mandy Patinkin in which he talks about the impact of a script’s subject matter on an actor’s soul.
I quote from the interview:
“The biggest public mistake I ever made was that I chose to do Criminal Minds in the first place. I thought it was something very different. I never thought they were going to kill and rape all these women every night, every day, week after week, year after year. It was very destructive to my soul and my personality…I’m not making a judgment on the taste [of people who watch crime procedurals], but I’m concerned about the effect it has. Audiences all over the world use this programming as their bedtime story. This isn’t what you need to be dreaming about.”
Thank you, Willa Paskin (@willapaskin), for including this in your article. And thank you, Mr. Patinkin, for being willing to talk about it.
I’ve written about why writers should respect actors. Much of writing is spiritual in nature. The source of material is rooted in spirit and we draw on the spiritual connections we have to this material to access characters and translate their stories.
Actors do the same. Only more intimately, as they allow characters to embody and live vicariously through them. There is an inherent risk in material that includes graphic violence, crime, loss or torture. And while it is an actor’s job to make these scenes real in the mind of the audience, there is an underlying authenticity that makes them real to the actor’s spirit as well. It doesn’t matter that the mind knows that what is taking place is crafted and not spontaneous.
Without a way to safeguard the soul, actors can suffer from trauma – even to the extent of first or secondary post-traumatic stress disorder. But even more so, exposure to trauma can shift your spirit so that you start to see more of the dark side of life and less of the light. And this can lead to enjoying your life less, feeling fear more, and generally developing a distrust in the goodness that abundantly flows around you.
How do you protect the soul while delivering an authentic performance?
- Know yourself. Know where you begin and the character ends. Know what you believe, value, hold to be true. Separate yourself from the character and the story.
- Be mindful of the real spiritual nature of characters. It’s not talked about a lot, but characters are real and exist in their own dimension. Writers are the first to interact with the character, but actors must physically and emotionally experience a character and their story.
- Remember you are a conduit. Not a character. Why are you an actor? Because you love storytelling? You are a conduit, facilitating a character’s story. You acquiesce to a character’s experience in order to share their story. If that story resonates with you in some way, you will connect to it on a deeper level. Choose roles that call to you.
- Be aware of what a role is asking you to experience. Violence and trauma that serve a purpose in a character’s arch can be dealt with in a way that respects the actor’s soul and well-being. Support in the form of a confidential creative-spiritual life consultant, preparation for traumatic scenes and actions, and taking time to process how trauma affects you are all steps that can allow traumatic scenes and roles to drive inner growth, not damage it.
- Understand that it’s going to impact you. Know ahead of time that violent scenes and acts are going to affect you. It’s going to bother you. It should.
- Put boundaries on antagonists. Antagonists bring values and acts that conflict with moral principles. Their thoughts, desires and actions are not ones that will nurture your spirit. Actors who portray antagonists* are not antagonists themselves. Find ways to connect to things that support your moral beliefs, goodness, and compassion in your real life. Put boundaries on antagonist characters.
- Develop a safe place. One just for you. No character intrusion allowed.
- Don’t forget to create your own story. Your life goes on while you are in character. Keep it interesting and focus on what you do want to experience in life.
What if you’ve already been traumatized?
- Accept that your feelings are real. Emotion and expression are an actor’s lifeblood. But they are your spirit’s lifeblood, too. It doesn’t matter what caused your feelings, what matters is that what you feel is real. If a role or scene bothers you, it’s okay to admit it. In fact, the more perceptive and sensitive an actor you are, the more likely that it will bother you. There’s no shame in that.
- Ask questions. Mr. Patinkin asks a relevant question when he ponders if violent scenes are what we need to be falling asleep to. Violence certainly serves its purpose. But it requires a purpose with context for the human soul to embrace it. I, too, question the point of entertainment that involves senseless, overdone, graphic violence without ultimately delivering a life-giving story. This is a question for culture. But as storytellers, we need to be mindful of why we present stories the way we do and ultimately, the impact those choices may have on the human spirit.
- Seek healing. The farther up the A-list you are, the more complex wounds you’ll most likely have experienced. Navigating these wounds can be a complex process as well. Don’t let yourself lose hope that healing is possible. Don’t lose sight of who you are as a being of Source. Whole. Happy. Safe. Contributing.
What about the crew?
Anyone who witnesses traumatic scenes or assists in designing them is also impacted. You don’t have to be an actor to feel the trauma. Witnessing violence portrayed as real can be very difficult to deal with. Everyone involved in the Story should be mindful of trauma and be empowered with ways to work through the emotions involved.
*A note for actors who portray antagonists. Depending on the depth of evil your character involves, you need to be extra careful to guard your spirit. The things your character may think, feel, fantasize and do may be frightening. As you give this character permission to tell a story through you, you will come up against the dark realm of the soul. One that can be shocking in itself and present some of the deepest questions in life.
You may grapple with questions about human nature, humanity, suffering, and what has to happen to a human spirit and mind in order for it to commit atrocious acts against others. As you physically live out the character’s actions, you may find yourself struggling with your own identity in all of this. Audiences will relate to you for the dark characters you portray – and may not get to see the goodness in you as a person separate from the character. Don’t lose sight of the goodness in you. You are not the character; the character is not you. You are an actor, an artist. Let what you have learned of the dark side shine light on your work.
We are all responsible for tending to each others’ spirits
No matter your role, we are each responsible to tend to each others’ spiritual well-being during the storytelling process. Storytelling is a way to unite, to enjoy the creative calling and responsibility we’ve each been given.
Be sensitive to what others’ may perceive. Be mindful. Be kind.
creative inside out 