On Being Juicy or Short Tales of My Past

I was shocked by what I saw. But also relieved. I didn’t know the man on the steel cot.  I had never met him at a party or seen him on a motorbike. But more than that “he” did not look like a man at all.  “He” looked more like a display of a man at the Smithsonian, set next to a reconstructed velociraptor or a twisted piece of art at MOMA– fake skeleton wrapped in dehydrated tofu with a hint of yellow.  Still, this was the first time I had ever seen a dead person. 

I exhaled. My shoulders dropped an inch. Then I pushed through the crowd of student gawkers to stand very close to the former man. I brushed the edge of the table with the back of my hand.  It was smooth and very cold. I looked the former man up and down slowly. His devastating dehydration took my breath away. Suddenly I became aware of how juicy I was. I could lick my lips five times in a row for no clear reason because I had plenty of saliva ready and waiting. Heck, I had a whole river of blood running in bursts from heart to head and toes. And back to heart again. I could blink, think and sweat because I was full of fluids. The biggest difference between that cadaver and I?  I was sopping wet inside but he was dry like paper.

I left class that Friday lighter. I walked the mile back home with several friends and faster than usual.  I would not talk to anyone about my first cadaver encounter for years.  None of my classmates did either, at least not within my earshot.  But we all stood a little taller that day on, like we knew something ordinary people didn’t. I had seen death and for its lack of visible connection to life it did not scare me.  Two days later I returned dissection kit in hand to clean out, one square centimeter at a time, bits of a different cadaver. Over the next months the morgue amphitheater’s formaldehyde smell wove into my clothes, seeped into my skin and smoothed my hair.  It proved I was who I wanted to be the Fall before my nineteenth birthday–  a first year student of medicine.  


Dammed Creativity

Benjamin Franklin had little free time in his old age.  He complained of this cram-packed-with-politics schedule to close friends.  The very new United States– still fighting to survive needed his diplomacy, wit, wisdom and time.  And nobody else could fill his shoes. His science experiments lay unfinished collecting dust in his backyard laboratory.  Like some homeowners in my neighborhood are house poor–  great salaries funneled straight to paying the mortgage and fixing up the house,  Benjamin Franklin was energy poor. State-building sucked every last bit of Franklin’s remarkable energy–  and he felt his soul shrink.

A few days ago, my eight-year-old son asked us all at breakfast, What is the worse possible thing you can imagine happening? I immediately thought of losing my child to scurvy or a car accident.  But my six-year-old daughter said,  Oh.  I think living your entire life and never having done what you were meant to do–  without doing what you love. That would be terrible.

My daughter is right on.  I’m so glad she can say this out loud without a second thought.

But how could you die without ever reaching your potential?  For Franklin a new nation claimed his time, thus suppressing his exuberant creative pursuit.  But energy-claimers are most often historic only in your wildest dreams– masses of urgent incoming e-mails, houses to build, fortunes to lay out for the future. You could die without ever cracking your creative potential by failing to ever decide to start.  You could give up attending to your dreams when the phone starts ringing or when your wife complains about the yard.  If you must choose between keeping bargains you never made or owning your energy and creative potential– well, I think you can guess what I’d say.

Having a choice at all, is a privilege.  If you have no food, many sick children, a husband who beats you, no shelter and no work in sight,  your choices are much, much smaller.  But my guess is,  if you have time enough to read these words– you have at least some (education, time, money, space) options for creation.  The French philosopher Ernest Renan said,

The simplest schoolboy is now familiar with truths for which Archimedes would have sacrificed his life.

Ignored creativity–  no matter how plentiful or unruly at the start or how honorable the competition, dries up. And once you decide you’ve got to create come hail or high water, what you do with the truths you know–  that is what makes you Creative or not.

 

 

 

 

How about you?  Is your creativity still dammed up inside you?

My Inner Map of Old Paris and A Bothered Researcher

This morning, my six-year-old ran to me waving a neatly folded twenty-dollar bill.  She said,  Mom. Is this yours?  I found it on the breakfast table.  Can I have it?  Please?

I have no idea whose bill she held or why she found it where she did.  Regardless, I didn’t let her keep the bill.  I said Thank you, darling, and mumbled something about $20 being a lot of money.  Still, my daughter’s open-faced honesty and hope impressed me.  Her stance showed she had no real expectations of keeping the money–  but she’d try anyhow.  Just in case.  As she handed me the bill and walked away,  my 11 month old, sitting on the carpet two feet away, coughed several times. I bolted off the couch to her, swept the inside of her mouth with my index finger and removed a flat,  juicy piece of wicker.  My baby crawls fast enough now we’ve nicknamed her “speedy”.  She’s more than just speedy though, she’s efficient too.  She constantly collects stuff from the floor to investigate. She even has a method. Here’s how it goes: pick up object, move it from right hand to left. Turn it about in various directions and angles.  Then, either drop it or continue research and taste the thing.  Chew and swallow if possible.

Through all this excitement my two-year old stayed kneeling in front of and using the couch as her desk.  She spread a stack of index cards haphazardly except for her “done” pile.  The “done” cards, stacked together, exhibited various slashes, circles and more of color.  One blue.  One red.  She kept enlarging that “done” pile oblivious to the rest of us.  Focused but just following whims.

Babies and young children constantly try things out on a whim. Cognitive psychologist Alison Gopnick says in her fascinating book, The Philosophical Baby,

Children are the R&D department of the human species– the blue-sky guys,  the brainstormers.

[Their] brains seem to have special qualities that make them especially well suited for imagination and learning.

Each try a child makes and each whim she chases ever-so-slightly changes the physical map of her very plastic brain. New information connects loosely to other (less new) bits to form networks of thought. We all have a zillion (OK, that’s not a true number, but it fits) connections running throughout our brains–  more complex than the Los Angeles highway system.  The younger you are the looser (bumpier and sub-developed) your connections and also the more varied.  Again, Gopnik says,

Babies brains are actually more highly connected than adult brains;  more neural pathways are available to babies than adults.

All these connections are loose, tentative and will fade with time and lack of use. They’re also jumbled about in a disorganized mess. But disorganized minds, whether attached to a baby, a teenager or a 40 yr. old, are more likely to come up with original ideas. Hyper-organized minds think in patterns and already know outcomes from the get-go.  Disorganized minds catch novel patterns but are open-wide about outcomes. Original thoughts have no precedents.

Louis Pasteur said,

Chance favors the prepared mind.

As it turns out chance favors a mind prepared on more than one dimension.  First, you need kick-butt skills– virtuosity.  The 10,000 hours of sweat put in.  Second, your brain needs a zillion loose neuronal connections with plenty of Glia for juice.  Entire sections of your brain need beautifully bumpy, tentative and divergent mental pathways–  like a map of old Paris.

My three little girls’ minds work just like that.  Yet, neuroscientists think my girls are less likely to keep disorganized (divergent-thinking) minds into adulthood than their brother.  Men  keep their childhood R&D capacities but women lose them in favor of more organized, predictable mental pathways.  That’s right folks, women’s thinking tends toward predictability and away from originality.  Since originality is a crucial part of creativity, I must ask:  Could this all be true?

Well.  It’s hard to swallow.  But read on.  Neuroscientist Kenneth M. Heilman found men store the bulk of verbal capacities in one hemisphere (the left),  leaving the other hemisphere (the right)  free for disorganized mental pathways.  Women use both hemispheres for verbal communication and so have less mental space  left for wild chance. Heilman also points out scientists, inventors and mathematicians need top-notch spatial skills to shine. And in test after test, men take the prize over women, in all spatial abilities.  And even in fields requiring rich language networks, men outperform women.  Why? Remember those darned language networks taking up so much mental space in both hemispheres.

Yikes.

I am a thinker,  so I will plod on without screaming or pulling my hair or crying into this evening.

Think about all the women you know and all the men you’ve ever met.  Make yourself a little mental chart and place each person into one of two categories: dependable/predictable thinker or unreliable/original thinker.  How many women make your unreliable/original thinker?  And of those who made it, how many have the education to rocket to the top of their field?  Still have some women on this list?  I hope you do.  This is the twenty-first century, after all.

Still, I’m hot and bothered.  Fortunately,  I’m not the only one.  Ten years ago, researcher Rebecca Jordan-Young began questioning neuroscientific gender studies. Eventually, she could stand it no longer.  So many studies she read simply did not jive with reality. So Jordan-Young spent 10,000 hours going over studies dated back to the 1950′s (actually even earlier).  Then she wrote Brainstorm: The Flaws in the Science of Sex Differences, to peel the layers of untruth within the field.

Note:  If you are a Neuroscientist studying sex differences, please read this book.  It’s solid.

On my end,  I’ll make sure my daughters get the education they need.  I’ll also urge disorganized thought patterns.  I may even require (I’m still wishy-washy on this one) mega-time mastering video games (the spatial/visual– super-challenging kind)  starting tomorrow.

I’ve had enough of organized thought-patterns for now.  I’m hyped to feed my inner-disorganized thinker. I’ll start with fish. Hay. Egypt. Schools for Girls.  Sleepy limbs. Boston. Charles River.  MIT. Dream interpretation. Palm-readers and medical office-types named Kathy, Parkinson’s disease, oligarchies.  I’m gone….. lost in my own old-Paris-map of a brain.

How about you?  Do you think more men naturally tend toward originality than women?

*If you’d like to read more about this topic check out these posts: The Second, Less Creative Sex and Characteristics of highly Creative People:  Intro.

Talking Real Science.

This morning before breakfast, I walked up the hill behind my house with my 11 yr. old to check out her new make-shift ant lab. She walked with notebook and pencil in hand, ahead of me.  Still, she turned often to wait while I coaxed the toddler with us to keep the pace.  I recognized the ant lab’s layout instantly from a sketch she’d shown me earlier–  open roof,  six-inch high wood-plank outer walls and cross-walls placed to funnel ants to imported sugar-water.

So,  my daughter said and pointed to one corner,  that’s where I’ll bury one magnet.  And, she pointed at a different corner, that’s where the other magnet will go.  I asked her questions, told her the study seemed interesting and we started back home, both satisfied we had done well.

I need to backtrack a bit here.

Last week, a few minutes before we left home to attend classes,  this same 11 yr. old asked,  Oh, mom.  Did you sign my science project proposal? I had not.  But she had the paper at hand,  ready to sign and a pen to sign it with.

Visually scanning the paper, I asked What’s this?

She said,  Oh.  We have to turn in our science project topics today.  You see, she pointed to the top of the paper I held, there’s the question I will work on. I read,  ”Is the direction a plant grows affected by light?”   I faced my daughter.  She raised her brows.

I started, Darling? but paused to find the right words.  I asked how she planned to run her experiment.  She explained.  Then I let loose, Everyone in the world,  including you,  knows plants grow towards light.  Everyone!

She half-smiled.  So, what should I do then?  I have to turn this in a few minutes from now and it can’t be late.

I said,  Yes.  But you can’t turn this in.  It isn’t a question a self-respecting scientist would ask. I launched into a mini-lecture on how the scientific process is to catalyze new discoveries,  not to serve as an end in itself.  She ended up turning in a question she thought interesting–  about the possible musicality of pond frogs. We both knew the science teacher would deny this project.

But,  I told her,  while your teacher is rejecting that question, you buy time to come up with a really great new idea.  The science teacher did reject the frog idea.  And my daughter did come up with a much better project and re-submitted a question.  Neither of us knows the answer to this new question and (as far as we can tell)  nobody else (in the entire world) does either.  Her new project?  ”The effects of increased underground magnetism on red ant colonial patterns.”  She’s got six weeks to figure things out and a good plan sketched out.  What she does not have, is an answer.

On our walk down the hill this morning,  she told me about some of the questions other students had come up with and we talked about those.  One student is studying volcanoes ( there’s got to be at least one, right?),  another is studying whether fruit floats.  But who cares?   My daughter knows her question is good and she’s excited she will discover something new— something no one in the world yet knows.  Now we’re talking real science–  and I couldn’t be happier to see her excited about it!

 

* Wait.  Please stay a little longer:  You may have noticed I’ve changed my blog’s look.  What do you think about that?  Is it better?  Worse?  In bad-taste?  Tantalizing?  I’d love to hear your opinion.  If you’re new here… I’d still love to hear what you think about my site, creativity…the Universe!

Living the Creative Life — James Watson’s Take

How do you live the creative life? I’ve gleaned tips from some of my favorite Creators. For five days I’m writing about these insightful suggestions.  Today is technically Day 6– but I couldn’t help adding one more day of tips. Yesterday I wrote about Eleanor Roosevelt’s advice.

James D. Watson, co-discoverer of the double helix structure of DNA, recently wrote a book packed with advice for young scientists: Avoid Boring People and Other Lessons from a Life in Science . But it’s more than a how-to book.  It’s a great life story. I tried to read it to my children this morning (they lost interest rather quickly,  but that’s another post for another day).

Check out his advice below:

  1. Knowing “why” (an idea) is more important than learning “what” (a fact).
  2. New ideas usually need new facts.
  3. Think like your teachers not your peers.
  4. Seek out bright as opposed to popular friends.
  5. The sooner you narrow your creative interests,  the better.
  6. Keep your intellectual curiosity broad.
  7. Work on Sundays.  (More on this: Spending More Time at the Office).
  8. Exercise when you feel intellectually dull.
  9. Have a big objective that makes you feel special.
  10. Always have an audience for your creative work.
  11. Avoid boring people.
  12. Science is highly social.
  13. Leave a project or field before it bores you.
  14. Choose an objective apparently ahead of its time.
  15. Work on problems that take 3-5 years to work out.
  16. Never be the brightest person in the room.
  17. Stay connected to intellectual competitors.
  18. Work with a teammate who is your intellectual equal.
  19. Constantly share what you learn.
  20. Immediately write-up big discoveries.
  21. Travel increases your creative prowess.
  22. Be the first to tell a good story.
  23. Read out-loud what you write.
  24. Two obsessions are one too many.
  25. Don’t take up golf.
  26. Close competitors should publish simultaneously.
  27. Schedule as few appointments as possible.
  28. Never dye your hair or use collagen.

My favorites are #9, #11, #21 and #28.  What do you think?

*Don’t go away yet:  You may have noticed I’ve changed my blog’s look.  What do you think about that?  Is it better?  Worse?  In bad-taste?  Tantalizing?  I’d love to hear your opinion.  If you’re new here… I’d still love to hear what you think about my site, creativity…the Universe!

Living the Creative Life (Part IV): Jonas Salk

How do you live the creative life? I’ve gleaned tips from some of my favorite Creators. For five days I’m writing about these insightful suggestions.  Yesterday I wrote about David Bohm’s Advice on Being  Original.

If money were no object and someone offered to build an institution in your name, what would it be?  A community theater for your town? Or a music conservatory?  Where would it stand?  On the edge of a forest or smack in the middle of town? How about architectural style?  California mission or post-modern conceptual?  Most of us will never get such an offer.  But, Dr. Jonas Salk  did.  After developing the polio vaccine in the late 1950′s he got a Carte Blanche to build an institution worthy of his legacy.  Salk founded The Salk Institute for Biologic Studies over-looking the Pacific Ocean.  His dream: to bridge the divide between science and philosophy,which he considered artificial.   For Salk, breakthroughs to help humanity came from a merging of fields, not from either/or thinking.

Salk saw this same artificial divide of either/or thinking in individual people. In his book Survival of the Wisest, he argues for an integration of mind as key to creativity.  Check out his advice below:

  1. Keep your mind as agile as possible.
  2. Don’t be frightened by fixed ways of thinking or taboos.
  3. Fill yourself with all the knowledge you can.
  4. Develop your imagination.
  5. Keep what you know (your intellect) and what you imagine (your intuition) balanced.  You need both functions.
  6. Sleep.  Your conscious mind and unconscious integrates while you sleep– this integration is the key to creativity.

What do you think?  Is integration of intellect and intuition crucial to creativity?

Rousseau and Me, We Don’t Agree– A Post in Two Parts and a Coda

For five days I’m writing about the most interesting methods people have used throughout history to raise brilliant children of all types. Yesterday I wrote A Mad Poet and a Sane Mathematician.

Part I:

Around this time– a year ago, I longed to walk outside with my toddler or stand by the pond with my five-year-old checking out brand-new tadpoles. I wanted to bake bread or travel to Ethiopia or  just drive an hour to visit my sister. But I couldn’t. I could wiggle my toes a bit and shift my weight from left to right, but no more than that– doctor’s orders.  If I moved more than that, contractions began immediately. But the tiny person growing inside me needed to swim around in amniotic fluid another 15 weeks.

The slightly-open window behind my chair let in crisp air in waves.  I heard swallows swishing around high in the sky and chirping. Birds so happy to have arrived safe from Argentina and ready to build spring nests under the eaves of my house.  My toddler wanted to share my chair,  but we couldn’t both fit.  She cried and begged me to pick her up.  Later, she dragged her wicker rocker and set it next to me.  I read her books.  My 7-year-old and 5-year-old brought me little snacks of oranges or cinnamon toast.  My 10-year-old made pasta for lunch.

Several weeks later, resting still, this time in a hospital bed, I couldn’t focus to read.  I couldn’t think in complete sentences either. I just lay there, with my uncomfortably quiet mind.  Living requires action–  and without it you seem barely human,  let alone a competent parent of little children.  I stared at their photographs taped to the wall in front of me. All those smiling faces kept me company. But I couldn’t touch them or kiss them.  They couldn’t tell me the stuff they thought or what kept them awake at night. So still, I drifted in and out of mind for hours.  One night, in a moment of both subtle desperation and fierce maternal agency a thought came to me.   My mind’s eye followed the thought as it entered and spread across my consciousness.  It is time to study my children in the way that thinkers do, with closed senses but open mind.  The timing could not be better.

This thought– It is time to study my children in the way that thinkers do, with closed senses but open mind, expanded until it took up so much mental space it squished the limbic helplessness out of my soul.

I’ve wanted to study the lives of sixteenth century Spanish monks or figure out how the Universe really began.  But figuring out Creativity from its simplest reduction to viral idea-spreading– that I could study until I die.  And here I had time!

Instantly I felt the luckiest woman in the world– with a laptop, speedy internet access and several bright children with budding creative powers to think about and later observe. That night I started Creating-Brains, this blog.  I also e-mailed my friends with the link so they’d read my first post and make it all official before I chickened out.

Part II:

Months earlier, I had read the most interesting book on human development theory–  Jean Jacques Rousseau’s classic Emile. Here Rousseau writes the life story of his young aristocratic charge– Emile and chronicles his growth to astonishing mental independence. When Rousseau ends his tutorship (20 yrs. long)  he introduces Emile,  a virgin thinker, to the world.

So how did Rousseau raise Emile?  Here are some highlights:

Emile…

  • Never wore binding clothes.
  • Ran around barefoot,  even in Winter.
  • Took frigid showers outdoors, even in Winter.
  • Lived in a bare cottage, alone with his tutor, in the countryside.
  • Ate plain food.
  • Cultivated one habit– Have no habits (no bed time,  no wake time,  no set daily schedule whatsoever).
  • Knew no books, was not read to and did not know how to read until age 16.
  • Had no friends.
  • Learned through experience only ( i.e., poking a real skunk to learn it stinks, and not reading about it).
  • Led his own life with little human interference.
  • Had a tutor who followed him from afar outdoors, but sat with him to discuss humanity’s grandest questions to close a day.
  • Could ask his tutor anything and get a question for an answer.
  • Ran free.
  • Lived happy.
  • Thought for himself.

Rousseau’s Emile was an imaginary character (Rousseau was a philosopher, after all).  But the methods used to educate Emile influenced Western thinking about childhood development and education for two centuries.  The Sudbury Valley School in Massachusetts, the Idler in the UK and the International Unschooling movement are examples of today’s Rousseau-groupies.

But what does Rousseau’s Emile have to do with me hanging out in the hospital,  far from my charges?  Plenty (stay with me here). First, disclosure–  a host of loving , sometimes fun,  but always responsible people cared for the kids when I could not. Also, Super-man (a.k.a.my husband) cut his work days dangerously short to come home.  He also spent too many nights awake nursing sick kids (yes, they all got the flu) or warming midnight bottles for our toddler. But back to Rousseau and me: in gist– my children lived a lot like Emile. Rousseau theorized and Emile turned out super human. But real children, I learned by being away, do not thrive cultivating the habit of no habits. Also, real children grow confused, rather than fonder, for lack of gentle touch. But worse of all,  the independent life reeks of danger for little ones and free-thinking is small without limits.

I resolved, then,  as I began to study my children to also study their broken mama and by sheer mindfulness and consideration, we’d learn to live right.  Together we’d learn to live the Creative life,  which, as I’ve written often since my first post,  is not without habits or discipline.

Coda:

Several years ago,  I would have disagreed with every iota of Amy Chua’s Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother– the book I’ve mentioned several times in this series.  I would have suggested Emile’s lifestyle as the enlightened (and opposite) alternative.  Not today– Chua’s not totally wrong.  Discipline does breed brilliance. But Chua is fundamentally wrong,  because disciplined skills without philosophy make for hollow output.

So there it is.  I’ve told you another piece of my story and dragged you through contrived concepts.  But, stay with me…there’s more to come!

I’d love to hear from you and learn what you think.  Leave a comment.  I love reading comments!

 

 

 

Eating a Flashlight and Sucking Up Dust

My nine-month-old baby is definitely in the oral stage of cognitive development.  Just before sunrise this morning when she and I were the only ones awake in our dark house, I handed her a small, flashlight to play with.  I thought she would like watching the projected light move by her direction. But she didn’t give a hoot about the light’s movements–she just stuffed the thing, rather awkwardly, light side in, into her wide-open little mouth. She tests everything this way.   She’s learned puke-green pea puree from a baby food jar is bad.  If she sees it coming–she purses her lips tight.   She’s decided pretzel sticks sprinkled with sea salt are worth holding tightly.  It’s like her mouth is directly connected to her brain’s dopamine generators.  When an object or texture feels good in her mouth, dopamine is released in her growing brain and the moment turns into a pleasurable memory–an Invariant Representation or hook for pleasurable experiences to come.  When something is gross enough to spit out there’s no such rush of dopamine.  The momentary displeasure turns into a different sort of learned experience–knowing what to avoid.  Dopamine provides teaching signals to parts of the brain responsible for acquiring new behavior.

My baby’s dopaminergic engine is running on turbo at this time in her young life.  Her capacity to recover from downers is mythological, even phoenician.  She doesn’t stay down after a displeasure, no matter how intense.  She just flies again into the unknown assuming new pleasures and new life.  Creative people retain–or in some cases re-acquire, this ability to learn from mistakes and move on, fast. The more tries, the better.  Dopamine island hopping.

Several years ago, I finally bought a vacuum cleaner I liked.  It has no bags to empty and sucks up popcorn or long hair without a glitch even years after its first use.  Marine engineer and architect, James Dyson, created a better vacuum by using the same cyclone technology used in saw mills to increase his vacuum’s suction power lifespan to–virtually endless.  Dyson, like most inventors, first made a garage-full of very bad devises.  He could not stay depressed about mistakes for long but he did not repeat mistakes either.  The dopamine engine in Dyson’s brain worked overtime signaling and directing towards his final “perfect” vacuum system. Dyson says,

I made 5,127 prototypes of my vacuum before I got it right. There were 5,126 failures. But I learned from each one. That’s how I came up with a solution. So I don’t mind failure.

Babies move on quickly, as do successful inventors.  But when creative-types linger over mistakes rather than moving forward quickly, they end up parched for lack of dopamine.  Then learning from mistakes is no longer natural or endurable.  James Dyson says,

I’ve always thought that schoolchildren should be marked by the number of failures they’ve had. The child who tries strange things and experiences lots of failures to get there is probably more creative.

Counting mistakes?!  Rocket on!  I’ve made several just posting this blog.  But who cares, I’m taking flight all over again.

Talk to you tomorrow when I’ll need it again.

A Dried-Up Brain Just Won’t Do

What you see, hear, touch and smell affects your Creative output. The materials you use matter a great deal for Creativity.

The first time I saw a real human brain, it looked a lot like a giant walnut–not live, but rather dry.  It sat lightly in the middle of a large stainless-steel tabletop.  The morgue-manager at the University where I studied human anatomy had placed the specimen on the table before any of us medical students arrived.  By the time I walked in with fifty other students, the brain sat alone like a museum piece– like a sculpture. But it wasn’t beautiful or awe-inspiring in any way.  It was just there.  Seeing that brain inspired no one to think grand thoughts about the human condition.

Two years later, I saw another brain siting atop a stainless steel table.  It had been harvested from a guy who died in a car accident just hours before. Blood still oozed from this mound of grey-pink colloidal mass. Veins crossed its surface like purple vines.  I took shallow breaths for fear of inhaling the thing’s true smell. The whole thing looked juicy and unbelievably real, but also surreal at the same time.  You could imagine it pulsating inside someone’s head, like a weaker heart. But you were totally stumped to explain how even a single thought–let alone a dream, feeling or discovery, could originate inside that thing. The biggest question in neuroscience practically slapped you upside the head,” How in the world does this 3 lb. lump–the human brain,  produce a moment of consciousness?

The picture of that juicy brain stuck with me and inspired me to regularly seek out the newest findings  in neuroscience for an entire decade.

Whatever your field—the juiciest images inspire your best Creative work.

My eleven year old daughter took Monart Art classes last summer.  At Monart art studios, you’ll never see generic watercolors from Wal-Mart.  Only high-quality, real-artist materials are given to even the youngest students. Monart students learn quickly to blend brilliant colors for greater impact and improve their creations by leaps and bounds much sooner than if they used cheap materials.

This same principle holds true for writers.  You don’t need the fastest computer to write well,  but you do need a head full of amazing images from many lives– both literary and real, to Create something that will touch the heart of another person. All Creators need inspiration and this includes high-quality–juicy, materials.

Death and Mindset

Sometime after the birth of my first child I read The Good Life: Scott and Ellen Nearing’s Sixty Years of Self-Sufficient Living. Self-sufficient living is a backward idea overall, but one powerful image of the Nearings’ story has stuck with me.   Scott Nearing died by choice.  He lived to 100 years of age and on his birthday decided he was ready to die. He stopped eating and weaned himself from water.  He sat on the porch of the home he and Ellen built and held her hand. Some hours were quiet, other times they talked about everything. Scott slowed down to stillness and one morning, a few days later, he stayed in bed. By midday he closed his eyes forever. Ellen wrote of his quiet death as a coda to a life of intense peace.

Recently, my eight-year-old son started making witty remarks or jokes trailed by the phrase “and then he [or she] died“.  He doesn’t stop to catch anyone’s reaction.  He just moves on. I don’t know if he’s thinking about death in any serious sense.  But a few evenings ago, my husband finished reading the last book of the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Halllows, in which various important and well-loved characters die.  I think my son is shedding some of the book’s intensity by treating the concept of death whimsically and lightly.

As a young man, French philosopher Michel de Montaigne obsessed about death and reading classical philosophers seemed to feed his morbid thoughts. Historian Sarah Bakewell says,

Death was a topic of which the ancients never tired.  Cicero summed up their principle neatly: To philosophize is to learn how to die.

When Montaigne wrote his own, now classic Essays–decades later, death was not so scary anymore.  He wrote,

If you don’t know how to die, don’t worry.  Nature will tell you what to do on the spot, fully and adequately. She will do this job perfectly for you.  Don’t bother your head about it.

Sarah Bakewell author of How to Live, or a Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty Attempts at an Answer, says,

“Don’t worry about death”, became [Montaigne's] most fundamental, most liberating answer to the question of how to live.  It made it possible to do just that: live.

In any case, death of a loved one rocks your soul, regardless of how you have dealt with the concept of death in the past. About a month ago, I wrote about the predominance of death and loss in the lives of highly creative people. As for Montaigne, he came to his sanguinesque conclusion about death more than fifteen years after loosing his father, his wife and five of his six young children within one decade.  Other Highly Creative people stay in mourning-mode throughout the Creative process, from beginning to end. The excellent 2009 film Creation–about Charles Darwin, demonstrates this beautifully by highlighting Darwin’s intense inner struggle with the loss of his beloved nine-year old daughter, Annie.  Montaigne instead, seems to have gone through a lengthy mourning  period–fifteen years, before entering the Creative process.   Although Montaigne was one of the Renaissance’s most respected philosophers, he understood the world and analyzed it more like a Scientist– with detached fascination.  And Darwin, the father of modern biology–a scientist for sure, finally wrote down and published his theory of Natural Selection: On the Origin of Species to heal–more like a tortured, emotionally labile writer.

As I study the lives of Highly Creative people, I have come to notice creative-types enter the Creative process in either an archetypal Writer’s mindset–as Darwin did or an archetypal Scientist’s mindset, like Michel de Montaigne.

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