Category Archives: why we do what we do

Let the Dog Drive

I’ve given a lot of thought to how people think: what blocks them, how distraction plays havoc with attention, and generally what causes a train of thought to seriously derail.

Thinking hard about thinking hard, I’ve discovered a truth that may surprise you: Most of us unquestioningly believe that distraction is the culprit, without asking whether distraction might have value, might serve some purpose.

Believe me, I’ve had my share of run-ins with distraction. It’s not a friend to my time. But I believe the emotional attachment to “getting it right” is a heck of a lot worse for clear thinking than the occasional cat video or run to the refrigerator. I think shame kills our creativity faster than distraction.

Certainly, you can work on reducing distraction–especially by making your writing space more peaceful and attractive, and setting up writing time that’s sacred. But in terms of actually sitting down and getting to it, three simple shifts in practice can work wonders.

Ready for them? Here goes.

Your mind is a dog.
Think of the fairly standard allocation of time in a dog’s day. There’s roaming and sniffing, sometimes chasing and frolicking, a good amount of lying around, and of course the three important activities of eating, peeing and pooping, and loving. (Okay, technically that’s four, but you get the gist.)

My point is this: let your mind be itself. Love it. We know you need to keep it in or put it on a leash for a portion of its life, but don’t be a cruel human. Let your dog sniff and wander and even roll in something that smells good to a dog once in a while. When it’s tired, let it rest. Be kind when you bring it back to attention, and remember your mind is nothing without a little love.

Steer in the direction of the skid.
The old driving advice for dealing with a wet or icy patch is also true for distraction: Steer in the direction of the skid, don’t tighten up, and don’t resist. Go with it until you see your way through.

You may go off path a little. You may encounter other challenges. But you may also discover new information, or come back to your work with a refreshed perspective. 

This is important: Cut a mind off from distraction and you risk killing the lifeblood of thought. Tim Urban of the wonderful blog Wait But Why has done a terrifically focused TED Talk on the infuriating, somehow weirdly necessary work of following one’s distractions, even when it delays progress.

Slow your roll. I repeat: Slow. Your. Roll.
It has taken me years to accurately predict the amount of time I needed to finish work. The more tough the work, the more enduring its value, the more likely I was to underestimate how long it’d take. Part of it was the Next-Day syndrome. It was often hard for me to envision all the small parts to even the simplest assignment, and a day seemed like enough time.  A week or longer? An enormous amount of time.

I know you can’t control all your deadlines. But particularly for projects that mean a lot to you–the ambitious life’s work stuff–take your first guess on how long it’ll take and add 50 percent or 100 percent more time. Think of what that good dog, your mind, really needs in the way of reading, sifting, imagining, and yes, playing. Be good to your inner dog and put lots of play in the leash. Often, the “distractions” along the path are not interfering with the walk: They are the walk.

And in case you think that a dog can’t focus, I invite you to contemplate one of my favorite Internet inspirations, Dog With Stick.

Video by Glenn Smiles.

Photo via Flickr member Barry W. Cross-posted from LinkedIn.

Falling Back in Love

We’ve recently welcomed Emma Eatman as a spring intern for The Cooler Minds. A fellow Texan, Emma is now studying communications and political science at Howard University. Here, she describes her relationship to writing as she was growing up—and how college has reawakened her passion for written expression. ~Lisa

My love for reading most likely began when Santa gifted me the first ten books of Carolyn Keene’s Nancy Drew series—which, now that I remember, I finished in about three days. I refused to read anything that wasn’t fiction and fantastical—witches, hidden forests, and magic powers. As for my writing? I’m not entirely sure, but my adoration must have begun once I developed an eye that noticed every detail around me. I wrote short stories brimming with colorful imagery that I would slip under my mother’s door late at night when she was asleep. It never failed to boost my ego and paint a smile on my face when I saw my short stories taped to her vanity mirror.

I wrote short stories brimming with colorful imagery that I would slip under my mother’s door late at night when she was asleep.

I soon became all too familiar with the faded walls of my high school—walls that housed an abundance of knowledge but often restricted the beauty of creative expression. This is not to say that I wasn’t writing—I was, and often. But my creations simply became hollow, routine and structured. I was writing to appeal to my teachers and the way I knew they preferred me to write. I became a robot—a writing robot who was taught to keep my sentences short and sweet and to never write more than three pages because no teacher wants to stay up into the wee hours of the night reading papers that long. A stack of books that I had yet to read would sit in a clustered corner of my room, collecting dust as I ran from one activity to another, forgetting the beauty and wonder and enchantment of cozying up with a book for the first time. I became jaded. I longed for the feeling I once had as I stayed up late on school nights to read just one more chapter or write just one more story.

Luckily, when I entered my first year of college a few short months ago, I found that feeling once again. I was reintroduced to the power my voice holds in my writing and the importance of reading “for fun.” My writing improved tremendously when I had little structure in how I was to write, and my reading choices began to be comprised of nonfiction works that taught me about the world I live in—why things are the way they are, why so many people live in poverty, more reasons why we need feminism in a world that oppresses women for simply being… women.

…my reading choices began to be comprised of nonfiction works that taught me about the world I live in—why things are the way they are…

I found myself slowly but surely beginning to fall back in love with how writing makes me feel, how reading makes me think and how the two intertwine to color my world with enough creativity and room for growth to last a lifetime.