by Jenna | Nov 25, 2015 | Reflections, Science Fiction
I wrote recently getting a handle on online distractions that keep you from writing, and prior to that, about cutting back on the online distractions that were cluttering my head.
I've been highly interested in this topic because I could feel my life-energy being sapped by these distractions and it's been really bothering me, despite the many changes I've already made. I do a good job of protecting my actual writing time from email and other online stuff, but the rest of my life? Not so much.
And it was mostly because of my phone. My computer use feels manageable. My TV consumption is minimal (though I have been watching lots of Prison Break and Breakout Kings as I'm prepping a sci-fi prison movie right now!). Having said that, I like being able to use my phone to read ebooks in the dark late at night without waking the baby (who sleeps in the same room) and being able to write on it when I want to.
But I don't like feeling like I can't be without it. Ever. YUCK.
(And honestly, the picture I've chosen to accompany this post keeps freaking me out -- it seems entirely emblematic of how so many of us are viewing our world through the filter of a device... constantly.)
My email trap
It was email that was really my last "hook" — I rationalized that as a business owner, I need to stay on top of things and make sure nothing was falling through the cracks. But that notion kept me constantly checking to see if I had any new messages.
And not only did I feel guilty for oh so frequently "checking" my phone when I was around my kids, I didn't like the way my brain felt always cluttered by all the checking, even after I'd taken Facebook off my phone, turned off almost all the notifications in the lock screen and more. It was like being tied into other people's energy and needs was keeping me on edge, in a hyper vigilant state of awareness and constant readiness. Again, YUCK.
Finding the courage and support to make a change
So I decided to participate in a "Look Up" two week online use "detox" program and see what shifts I could make.
We worked through a four-step process of first defining what we want, noticing what impulses were driving the behavior to check in online, accepting that those feelings and impulses (often discomfort) would not necessarily change but that we could learn new ways to deal with them, and finally choosing what we wanted instead. Then, every day, we answered simple journal prompts every morning to set our intentions for the day about our online use and how we wanted our days to go, and every evening, about how it went and what we learned.
I deleted Gmail from my phone
Initially I found myself sort of skirting the edges of changing my phone use, testing the water, seeing how it felt just to consider cutting back. (Which just shows how powerful an addiction it can be!)
Even before the program started, I installed the app called "Moment" so I could see how much time I was actually spending on my phone, and how many times I was picking it up. So in some ways it was good that I wasn't changing anything initially, but just observing. And it was kind of scary. There was one day, prior to the program, where I picked up my phone FORTY-NINE times. 49!! It's embarrassing even to put that in print.
On about Day 3 of the 14-day program I decided to take Gmail off my phone entirely. For good measure, I took off Chrome too, so my second-biggest, "let me just look that up real quick" excuse was gone too. I still have Safari there but since it wasn't my go-to program it just doesn't have the same attraction. While I was at it, I turned off every other kind of lock screen, pop up, and banner notification I could find on my phone (except iMessage and Reminders, which I do use) and on my computer.
It was so worth it.
I felt sort of jittery for about 24 to 48 hours, still on that automatic "must-check-now" auto-alert. It was mildly frightening to feel so much like Pavlov's Dog. Again, YUCK.
What changed for me
After that, everything got a lot more calm.
I found myself feeling much more present in my life and to my family.
My brain felt quieter, calmer, more alert.
I had more energy.
I started reading REAL BOOKS and putting my hands on REAL THINGS like baking food, drawing, collaging. I noticed that when I felt the urge to "check" I could make tea, or snuggle with my boys, or GO OUTSIDE and look up at the beautiful amazing sky that helps make life on this planet possible.
I also found that I could still use my devices for certain things: Kindle, Netflix, the timer, the calculator, iMessages, writing, and other apps I love and find incredibly useful without it taking over my time and energy. My phone became a tool again, instead of a constant companion or savior or whatever it was actually doing for me. It's been interesting to walk the line of finding what online use works for me and what doesn't, at least for right now.
I found myself being crystal clear about times when I absolutely did NOT want to be consuming any online stuff at all and have had a few spans of totally unplugged time (something I used to do weekly) and LOVED it.
It's started to feel kind of gross to be looking at my phone.
So I just don't do it much anymore. It mostly stays in my office, on the charger, except when I need it when I'm out and want it for emergency phone calls, or if I need it for another purpose, like the calculator or timer. Again, it's gone back to being a tool, and I like that.
I also found that the days have gotten So Much Longer! All those "little" checks and moments of time that were getting sucked into online use are suddenly mine again. My mind is clearer. My intentions are clearer each day. I feel more focused.
How my writing has changed
And as far as my writing goes, I have not noticed a huge change in my writing time, but I'm not surprised by that, since I've already been writing regularly and protecting my writing time well.
What I have noticed is that I feel readier to write when I sit down to do it. Now what swirls around in my brain when I'm out in the world is what I'm going to be writing about next, whether it's a blog post, my current script, or the next big project that's coming down the pipeline. It might sound like a small shift, but it's huge. It feels like I've reclaimed my own territory again. And it's such a relief.
by Jenna | Jul 30, 2015 | Reflections
I got to thinking today, after hearing about a writing grant opportunity recently, that it would be amazing to one day be able to fund and operate a writer's grant program. Maybe even a residential one.
And instantly I started contemplating what I would want to see come in from prospective candidates with their applications.
Here's what's crossed my mind so far, in addition to the usual "proof of need" one might expect:
- A specific writing project and a description of its current status, i.e. concept development, rough draft, in rewrites, etc.
- A plan and timeline for completing it.
- A pitch for the concept that gives a sense of its marketability, audience, and reach.
- An outline of the writer's plan for marketing the project.
- Possibly also a slate of ideas for future writing projects.
- An amazing writing sample demonstrating the writer's potential.
- A personal introduction that gave a strong sense of who they are as a person, in terms of their spirit, drive, passion, and personality.
I imagine this might be something similar to what a publisher would want, though that's an area I haven't explored yet. Some of these things might be of interest to a screenwriter's manager as well.
What would be on your list?
I'm curious, if YOU had the money to give, what would be on your list of what you'd want to see from prospective candidate for a writing grant? Or if you were advising me on how to make sure I would attract and select writers best suited for making the most of a writing grant, what would you suggest?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not accepting applications yet nor will I be in a position to do something like that for the foreseeable future but I'm interested... :)
Can we use this now?
... Because:
What if we had those things right now for our current writing projects?
Would they help move us forward with a clearer sense of purpose, drive, and momentum? Or not?
What would it be like if we did?
by Jenna | Mar 27, 2013 | Reflections
Last weekend I experimented with something lovely: Unplugging.
It was precipitated by a comment from one of my Called to Write community members about wanting to feel truly relaxed.
I was reminded instantly of the deep relaxation I experience once a year when I'm up in the high Sierra mountains, truly unplugged. There's no electricity, no telephone, no wifi, no cell service, nothing. If we do want to get in touch with the outside world, we either have to walk 15 minutes up The Road (there's only one) to the campground to the public pay phone or drive 3.5 miles down The Road to the "City" (a rustic store that mostly sells pie and marshmallows to campers, along with a pay-per-day wifi connection).
On the plus side, making the connection hard to get to makes it a much more conscious choice. And when I'm in that world, and connected to nature and the basics of living, I am so much more relaxed than when I am at home in the thick of "so many things to do."
I thought, why not see if I can make that feeling of true, deep relaxation happen for myself more than just once a year?
The connection for sensitives
This is highly relevant for sensitive, introverted, writers, and creatives, particularly because we tend to have such rich, complex inner lives and focus so much of our attention inwardly already. Although the technological connections we can make can feel external (because we are often connecting with others online, for instance), to me it feels like it takes us deeper inside our own heads.
And too much time inside my own head doesn't really feel like a good thing. (A little like eating too much chocolate cake -- there is a just right amount, but too much feels awful.)
Let's face it, the constant accessibility of online activities -- even or especially in the guise of "down time" -- is highly overstimulating. Although we may be connecting with others, which can be considered more "extroverted," or relaxing by playing around on Twitter, Facebook, or digital games, we're actually taking in stimuli and information.
That information can become so overloading, it's no wonder we feel distracted, busy, and overwhelmed. Couple that with the common sensitive's tendency to be afraid that we'll miss something, and you've got a recipe for constant overstimulation doing what might otherwise look like quietly being at home.
This is true for anything we're engaged with that involves going deep into our own minds and not interacting in the day-to-day Real world. Even reading to excess, though I hate to say it. Again, too much of a good thing is still too much.
The invitation
So when my Called to Write member raised this point, I thought, "Okay, it's time to try a 'technology shabbat'."
This is something I've been hearing about for a while from Tiffany Shlain since I first got interested in her and her work Connected: The Film, about being interconnected in this new technological era. Like me, Shlain sees the possibilities in the amazing ways we are connected now. And she also sees the overwhelm factor associated with it.
She recently sent an email invitation to her mailing list, saying, "Will you try unplugging with me?"
My answer: Yes.
What's a technology shabbat?
In her own home, Shlain's family practices a regular weekly "technology shabbat," from sundown on Friday to sundown on Saturday, where they turn off their electronic devices and focus on their time together.
In her recent article on the subject, she notes "Researchers at the National Institute on Drug Abuse have compared the sense of technological dependency — the feeling that we must be accessible and responsive at any time and in any place — to that of drugs and alcohol."
Case in point: It's fascinating to me that apparently people are losing interest in visiting the mountain enclave we go to every year precisely BECAUSE it's so hard to access phones, messages, and online accounts. But when put in the context of addiction it makes much more sense. We've become so accustomed to everything being at the tips of our fingers that we've become afraid to be without it. And to me it DOES feel like an addiction -- something that's hard to put down once I get involved in it.
So I decided to try a tech shabbat for myself.
And it was amazing.
Instead of being drawn to my phone or computer off and on all day to check email, or sucked into playing games with my son our iPad, we cleaned the house in a focused way. My son conducted experiments with glitter, water, and his sand box. I made banana bread for a family who lost a loved one recently, and I went to visit my dad who hasn't been feeling well.
In some ways, it wasn't anything particularly unusual or different than I might have normally done. In fact, the specific things we did we might well have done anyway.
But we did them without interruption.
I didn't feel like I was missing anything. Much. :)
I felt calmer. I felt present. I felt happier.
The real test came when it was over and time to check in again. Had disaster struck? Had anything gone awry? Would there be 18,000 emails from angry customers or desperate assistants?
Nope.
All was well.
And it felt great.
What's been interesting to notice since then is 1) how I have gone back to being highly involved in the technology again, but while 2) feeling somewhat resentful of the intrusion of it. I was reminded that when I first started my business I used to methodically shut down my computer every Friday night and not reboot it until Monday morning. And that was back before I had a cell phone or any of the myriad of ways to stay plugged in. (Does this remind anyone else of The Matrix?)
I also feel myself turning over in my mind some new rules about how I want to regularly engage with technology or not. What time and where, those kinds of things.
But mostly, it's been an incredible reminder of a simple way to create what feels like a vacation day to me, without even leaving town. What a treat!
Warmly,
by Jenna | Sep 5, 2012 | Reflections
When times get rough and things go wrong, sometimes I wonder if I’ve misread my intuition or why I wasn’t “warned.”
I don’t have an answer for the warnings, exactly. When my friend was in a bad motorcycle accident years ago, I had a strong sense of anxiety all day before I found out what happened. When I was in a car accident a few years ago, though, I had no hints there was anything wrong that day.
And was there anything wrong? It’s hard for me to answer that too. Does being intuitive mean we are always “saved” from challenging and painful experiences? When I think about it from a soul perspective, I have to say: I doubt it. My personal belief system tells me that we “sign up” for life experiences that as spiritual beings in human form we want to judge as right or wrong, good or bad. Perhaps from a soul perspective, these experiences are purely neutral, and designed for growth.
I’m reminded of Sandra Ingerman’s Shamanic Journeying book, where she asked her higher self in fear, “But what if I end up homeless?” Her higher self’s response? “Wouldn’t that be interesting?”
And perhaps we just don’t always get to know.
Is there such a thing as “right” or “wrong”?
And, what if there is no right or wrong? What if life just is, and our intuition is our guide to a more joyful experience of life — but one that isn’t necessarily always easier? Is life truly a school ground designed for us to learn and grow, whether it’s hard or easy or fun?
It’s impossible to know.
We have experience
We do, however, have experience.
We have the experience of suddenly knowing something, without knowing why we know it.
We see flashes of images or hear sudden phrases, like the day I was driving by the hospital while I was pregnant and thought, “That’s where my son will be born” — EVEN THOUGH I was planning a home birth.
Do we listen?
Which brings me to my point:
When I had that thought, I very quickly thought, “No, that can’t be right. I’m not having my baby there.” And I didn’t stop to explore that intuitive (and ultimately correct) insight to understand it. Similarly, when my friend was in the motorcycle accident, I didn’t take the time to tune in to my anxiety and understand it. It was only after the fact that I understood it.
My truest experience of intuition is that it’s a very quiet knowing thought or glimmer of an idea — a whisper — and easy to overlook if I don’t discipline myself to pay attention. I like to think I’m getting better at this, but I’m continually reminded that there are more opportunities to listen.
by Jenna | Feb 1, 2012 | Reflections
Yesterday was a tough one.
It was a dark, drizzly day after a bad night of sleep, followed by a bit of bad news. And it was on the heels of a wicked cold that had me laid up Wednesday through Sunday. Not a good cocktail for a sensitive soul with work to be done.
Needless to say, I came home after dropping off my son to feeling rather adrift.
I didn’t know what I wanted to work on. None of the many items on my idea list or to do list was the least bit appealing. Even though I had come up with some nifty ideas on the way home in the car, when I sat down at my desk and confronted my computer screen, a strong feeling of despondency — and resistance —came up.
I didn’t want to do anything.
Or did I?
I checked in with my heart.
I checked in with my spirit.
I asked, “Is there anything I DO want to work on?“
The answer came back, “Yes. My script.”
(And this was even after doing my first round of writing first thing in the morning.)
So I did. I got out my latest set of assignments, turned on my timer, and dug in.
An hour later, I felt like myself again. I even went on to have a happy, productive day working with my clients and revamping my website (you can see the evidence on my Shop and Home pages).
By doing my work, by turning to my calling rather than away from it, I found myself.
by Jenna | Dec 21, 2011 | Reflections
I’ve never been good at cherishing the moment or being “in the now.”
I’m an Enneagram Four, so I’m pretty much always wanting more and nothing is ever quite good enough.
From time to time, I find my way out of that obsession and into a much more present place with what’s available to me. Interestingly, writing early has made a huge difference in my ability to be more present and to cherish the moments I have. It’s as if showing up and doing my true work is allowing my brain to quiet down and just be. It’s so nice.
The veil between life and death
The greatest experiences in my life that have brought me the closest in to truly cherishing and experiencing life always involve deeply real things that seem to be closer to the veil between life and death. For instance, when my ex-boyfriend lay in a hospital bed on the verge of death, it was pretty clear to me what mattered and what didn’t. (A city plan? Uh, no.)
Similarly, years ago when our kitty C. J. approached the end of her life and spent two weeks insisting on being carried and held by me continuously, I found myself focusing very intently on my time with her and enjoying it profoundly — the sweet, pure energy of her attachment to me was deeply compelling. She died at home in my arms, and it was a beautiful, deep experience I’ll never forget.
I found myself in a similar situation again recently. Our lovely kitty Maddie has a tumor and we will be saying good-bye to her soon. Every night she sleeps cuddled up with us, and I feel so sad knowing we’ll have to say goodbye soon. It is also so precious to know, feel, and celebrate our connection so consciously for a time. I’ve found myself just wanting to sit on the couch and hold her all day.
A reminder to be present
These kinds of experiences remind me to be more present — with my family in particular. I’m far from perfect at it, but I find myself focusing on enjoying my time with my son and my husband at a deeper level. All that work can wait for another day.
The power of darkness
Empaths are also considered “hospice workers,” the one who can go into the darkness of life (things like death and divorce) and hold a non-verbal space for transformation and healing. A client recently asked about that — why would we want to go into the darkness?
And I said, “What if there was something beautiful about that darkness?”
Tonight, on the Solstice, the longest night of the year, I’ll be lighting candles with my family, celebrating the wisdom I gain from the darkness.
Happy Solstice and Happy Holidays,
