the invisibility of creative productivity
on making moves in silence
I have always detested the concept of productivity, this idea that time is something to be “spent” and “wasted”, rather than experienced. I never asked to be born, let alone to possess the never-ending potential of human sentience. Life is what you make it, and why must I make mine “productive”.
I never get too pressed about my purpose in life. Perhaps this is tied to my spiritual belief that this human life is just a blip in the journey of the energy that briefly animates my vessel, my soul. I feel that my purpose is to take care of my vessel so that I may continue to learn and to grow, and in doing so use my agency to nurture those around me.
Recently, I’ve had a bit of an epiphany regarding productivity as a creative person. My motion is often seen to others as paralysis. Today, I woke up and genuinely pondered for an hour. I spent half an hour staring at the ceiling above my bed, then I made a coffee and stared at the wall in my kitchen. Lazy, unproductive. My brain was whirring after a busy few days void of being creative.
I went from feeling uninspired and overwhelmed, to happening upon an idea for a story. I have spent the last hour writing it, but to an outsider it looks as if I have barely moved. If I’m honest, being outwardly paralysed and unproductive is always the precursor to my creative mobility. My biggest goal is to have autonomy over my time, to have as many days where I ignorantly while away the hours, lost in the sauce, as I can afford.
I think that all humans are creative, it is not some elusive quality held by writers and artists, but being a slow creative can look lazy to someone with a faster medium. Some people are creative every day in their corporate careers, some people crave hours of undisturbed pondering to reach manifestation. I feel crazy sometimes, like someone gritting their teeth whilst saying “no really, I’m having a blast”.
My brother is a physics honours student, his motion is obvious. When he talks about what he is working on and his eyes light up, I know exactly how he is feeling. Yet, I struggle to prove it. I lack evidence, I feel fraudulent. I cannot explain the soup I feel slowly brewing inside me to someone who is serving it up every day.
I dread talking about my aspirations to anyone who isn’t also harbouring their soup in secret. I feel pathetic, desperate. When I make the yearly trip to see extended family and try to explain that I am actually working a dead-end job because it allows me to spend so much time reading, writing and travelling, they hear excuses. I know what they really want to know: where is my soup?
They can see my brother’s soup, mine is a secret. A secret I am unsure I will ever stop defending. One of the hardest parts of keeping your soup to yourself, is that you must master the art of self affirmation. Literally nobody is going to tell you that it tastes good, you must simply trust your own taste.
Even with my best friends, I struggle with this. It’s not that they don’t believe me, it’s that we forget what isn’t in front of our eyes. Recently, after expressing that I want to avoid working full time a bit longer so that I can be creative, one of my friends said to me “you know that you can work full time and be creative”.
Of course you can, I have done it before. “You know I spend 20 hours per week writing”, I started. They looked at me, vaguely flummoxed. “Of course I can create and work full time, but if I want to maintain my social life I would struggle to manage 10 hours working full time”. This is no scorn upon my friends, why would anyone keep count of the cards I hold so close to my chest.
You have to count your own cards, taste your own soup.
We all know the tale of the tortoise and the hare, slow and steady wins the race. But maybe it doesn’t, maybe it’s just a tie. Nonetheless, being a tortoise and promising the hares looking back at you that you will make it one day, isn’t exactly empowering.
Honest to God, nothing feels better than someone believing in me, though I have learnt not to need it.
Last year one of my best friends, someone I would consider a hare, called me driven. In fact, he said he “isn’t driven like me”. I was moved by this. A recognition of the invisible thrust required to keep the slow and steady tortoise in motion. This friend has more money than me, has a career in a way that I never have. A career that took effort and drive. Yet, his point was that he isn’t trying to increase his momentum as the pace has been achieved. By calling my tortoise activities drive, he recognised my invisible momentum.
I’m not writing this out of self-pity or gratification. I can be lazy. Sometimes the distance ahead of me makes me pause and tuck myself into my tortoise shell. Yet, I know I can make it. I am writing this for any other tortoises out there who maybe struggle to validate the strength of their stride. People will encourage you to sprint, but it is okay if this is not your journey. You do not need to flash your cards. You do not need to give out samples of a soup that is not ready to be tasted.
“Your garden isn’t thriving because every time a flower blooms you cut it down to prove to someone else that you’re a gardener”
No idea who said this first, but I think about it a lot. If maturing has taught me anything, it is this. I have sabotaged myself so many times in the name of impressing people with the premature fruits of my labour.
Something that I say a lot is that I know things in my bones. I know in my bones that I will make it. It’s not about arrogance or entitlement. It’s not that I feel special or that I am promised riches, it’s that I can see my garden. It’s that I no longer need other people to taste my soup to know that it is in fact in there, simmering away.
Potentiality paralysis is a real thing, having so many seeds to sow that you neglect to water the sprouts. But watering your garden in secret is not paralysis. People glorify the idea of “making moves in silence” until your silence lasts longer than others. Things take time. People used to dedicate their entire lives to buildings completed years after their death.
Do not rip out your flowers in the name of being seen.
I see you.
Beautiful piece, thank you for sharing. This resonated with me deeply.
There is so much beauty to be found within a garden 🪴