by Jenna | Nov 28, 2012 | Writing Articles
Accomplishment amnesia is a common ailment that strikes many of us, particularly those of us that are highly conscientious, responsible, talented, and highly sensitive. It seems to run in parallel with these traits.
What is accomplishment amnesia?
Accomplishment amnesia occurs when we get so busy meeting our obligations and moving on to the “next thing” that we quickly forget what we’ve done in the past (however distant or recent) that has value.
I find this malady particularly comes up when we get into a place of self-doubt — we can’t remember a single thing we’ve done or accomplished. We feel useless, talentless, valueless.
We might even feel creatively blocked or numb because we are devaluing the work we’ve done but are not appreciating.
A darn good job
I’ve been going through a rough patch lately, and I noticed recently that as I’ve been starting to feel better, I’ve been berating myself for not having done more lately. “Why am I so behind? How have I let things get like this?”
I stopped myself and noticed what was really going on: I had accomplishment amnesia.
I quickly reminded myself of all the personal challenges I’ve faced over the last couple of months, including having surgery on my wrist, and shifted the conversation to noticing what I have done: filed my taxes, settled a car accident claim, dealt with an intensely difficult emotional time, never missed writing a blog post, coached my clients, continued running my writing community, and carried on writing my screenplay no matter what. Wow! I’ve accomplished a lot under very difficult circumstances.
Sure, there’s more, there always is. But look at what I’ve done!
Does this happen for you too?
Most of my clients have this kind of accomplishment amnesia. They’re so focused on what they haven’t done, that they forget to celebrate what they have.
Here’s how you can start to shift out of this delusion that you haven’t done anything worthwhile:
1. Catch accomplishment amnesia early.
When you notice yourself falling into the pattern (like I did), stop and take stock. Is it really true that you haven’t been doing enough? Take a few minutes to review what you actually have done. You’ll be surprised.
2. Don’t buy into the standard definitions of success and accomplishment.
Don’t limit yourself to society’s success definitions. Instead, think about what you’re proud of. Create your own definition of what it means to be successful.
Just yesterday, some of my writing pals and I were discussing what it means to claim the title of “writer.” Many of us are discovering it has much less to do with being a published or sold writer (though many of us are striving for those), and everything to do with showing up and doing the writing regularly — having a writing practice.
3. Set small milestones.
Increase your sense of accomplishment by setting and celebrating small milestones as you attain them. Instead of only celebrating when you complete the book, whoop it up for every chapter. Then when you do hit the finish line, make sure you celebrate that point too.
I’m rewriting my screenplay using Chris Soth’s “Mini Movie Method,” which lends itself nicely to this sort of milestone assessment. Every 15 pages I complete another mini-movie, so it’s easy to create a sense of accomplishment as I go.
Look for similar small milestones in your own work.
4. Celebrate your accomplishments in the moment.
I watched a fun video of Tamara Ireland Stone, author of the young adult book, Time Between Us,* which I just finished reading and very much enjoyed. She had just received her box of copies of her book and made a point to celebrate with her husband and friend and glass of wine. I hope she’ll do the same for every future book as well.
When you do have an accomplishment, STOP what you’re doing and celebrate. Build the muscles of appreciation for yourself and your work.
5. Create a “brag book.”
I’ve forgotten where I first heard this term, but the idea is to create a scrap book of your accomplishments so that you can go back and remind yourself, “Yes, I’ve done some amazing, wonderful things.” And you have. Include anything and everything you can think of that you’ve accomplished. On my list: birthing my son, finishing my first screenplay, completing graduate school and earning two master’s degrees, nurturing an incredible friendship with my best friend, becoming a certified life coach, etc.
Bottom line
It’s all too easy to think of ourselves as never reaching the finish line when there’s always so much more to do. Rather than thinking you’ll never get there, remember to enjoy what you’re doing along the way. It’s the journey, after all, that counts.
by Jenna | Nov 14, 2012 | Writing Articles
In my last post, I wrote about the cycle of creative burnout and how our creative inspiration becomes depleted when we push ourselves too hard and for too long.
I'm well acquainted with burnout; it's a cultural norm in the field of urban design, my last "real" J.O.B. The writing profession has its own set of deadline-driven, high-stress work.
In the creative realms, including writing, artists are often seen as people who work in fits and starts, pulling all-nighters when they suddenly become inspired (or finally stop procrastinating).
I've allowed myself to enjoy the feeling of heroism that comes when I swoop in and save the day, meeting the deadline with just seconds to spare, but I've paid high prices for every single one of those dramatic experiences: apathy, resistance, confusion, grief, exhaustion, and lifelessness.
And truthfully, I STILL feel like I'm recovering from the bad choices I made working 60 and 70 hours a week more than 10 years ago.
Balance is a myth? I don't think so.
It's been said that balance is a myth and that passion should reign supreme.
I disagree.
Imbalance is an amateur's gig.
Balance -- an ongoing cycle of work and renewal without resorting to extremes -- is part of not hitting bottom in the first place.
Balance is about staying sane.
It doesn't mean that we don't work hard and play hard at different times.
But it does mean keeping an eye on the greater whole and not bingeing on any one thing at any given time.
So what DOES a cycle of creative renewal look like?
The cycle of creative renewal
It looks like this:
by Jenna | Nov 7, 2012 | Writing Articles
In my writing community we periodically talk about creative burnout.
In our Western culture we work hard, driven by puritanical work ethics, cultural programming, keeping up with the Joneses, guilt, etc. It's no wonder we're exhausted.
We push and push ourselves, expecting our wells of creativity, resourcefulness, and inspiration never to run dry.
And then one day, we turn to the well and find it empty. No ideas. Maybe even a sense of dread and apathy.
The only way out is through
In a recent blog post, Mark Sanderson talks about his experience with this kind of creative depletion and how he recovered from it. Interestingly, his solution had to do with carrying on and doing the work no matter what.
He said:
"Some call it 'writer’s block.' I call it sheer terror. When this happens you need to relax and continue to work at your process. I know this too well from experience, but it still proves true every time – the only way to solve specific problems is to sit down and focus on the work."
It seems the only way out is through.
It takes courage
Writing -- for that matter doing anything that calls us to step out of our comfort zone -- requires a great deal of courage. A willingness to be uncomfortable often. To sit in it, do the work, and get to the other side.
No wonder we tend to procrastinate rather than facing that terror and doing it anyway.
Procrastination and burnout are close cousins
I've observed that procrastination plays a key role in creative burnout -- part of a vicious, intertwined cycle:
The reason we work past the point of endurance and exhaust ourselves is that we have procrastinated for so long that we are forced to push ourselves. And the reason we procrastinate that we are afraid.
I love what Steven Pressfield says about fear in his book Turning Pro:
"The professional, by the way, is just as terrified as the amateur. In fact the professional may be more terrified because she is more acutely conscious of herself and her interior universe. The difference lies in the way the professional acts in the face of fear."
by Jenna | Oct 24, 2012 | Writing Articles
I had a lovely chat with a friend recently about applying to a school program she's interested in. She confessed that even though she very much wanted to attend the school, she hadn't yet completed the application.
Ah!
That familiar friend: Procrastination.
Why do we procrastinate about things that are important to us?
Why is that when it comes time to do the hard work, whether it's taking action on our businesses, filing important paperwork, writing that longed for novel or script, or making time for our art, we stall?
I mean, sure, it's hard, but we've also said how important it is to us. We've spent money on classes, books, training, and support. We've written it into our schedules. It's clearly a priority for us, right?
So why so much talk and not so much action?
It's the size of the dream that matters.
I'll say that again: It's the size of the dream that matters.
The more important something is to you, the more fear, procrastination, and resistance you experience. In fact, the level of fear you feel seems to be directly proportional to the size of the dream.
Perhaps even a little bigger, just for good measure.
"The more we care about something, the more we dream, the more fear shows up."
~ Robert Maurer, author of One Small Step Can Change Your Life: The Kaizen Way
The problem: We're wired to shut down in the face of fear.
The fact that our brains are wired to shut down in the face of fear is what creates the entire conundrum in the first place.
As Robert Maurer describes in One Small Step Can Change Your Life: The Kaizen Way, when our brains go into fight-or-flight mode, our frontal cortex -- our thinking, rational brain -- is automatically shut off so that we can respond appropriately and quickly to the threat at hand. This is a natural response to fear. Unfortunately, our mid-brains, home to the amygdala that governs the fight-or-flight response, can't differentiate between the fear that comes up when we're confronted with a tiger or when we're contemplating completing the next great opus.
And so suddenly your thinking, rational and creative brain is completely turned off . . . which when you're attempting to create and design new business ideas or a screenplay, isn't so helpful.
The good news
The good news is that when you can learn to expect the fear to show up, you can normalize it and make it okay. Then it's easier to be compassionate with yourself and coax yourself through the tasks at hand.
I've learned to recognize my own resistance routine and treat it like a familiar visitor I know how to handle.
I tell myself, "It's okay, I know you're scared, you can do this anyway." And I do.
It helps that I make a point to tackle things in small pieces, just the way Maurer recommends: "Small, easily achievable goals -- such as picking up and storing just one paper clip on a chronically messy desk -- let you tiptoe right past the amygdala, keeping it asleep and unable to set off alarm bells."
This is why, even on really tough days, you'll still find me writing at least 15 minutes a day on my screenplay, six days a week, no matter what.
The really good news?
The more work you do in small steps, the more your brain gets rewired with new neural pathways and new habits, making resistance so much easier to overcome.
Warmly,
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by Jenna | Sep 26, 2012 | Writing Articles
In the world of coaching, particularly in career and entrepreneurial coaching, much emphasis is put on the question of what you are passionate about.
It's a direct result of the "do what you love and the money will follow" paradigm.
I've written before (here) about why I think this is the wrong question to be focused on.
So many of us are so deeply out of touch with ourselves that we feel passionless, and quite frankly, being asked to name what we are passionate about can create a heightened sense of despair and confusion.
I've also submitted to you that you must rather find the things you believe in beyond reason, the dreams that make you cry when you merely contemplate making them real, the visions that humble you with their enormity when you consider the possibility that YOU might be capable of creating them.
When you still don't know?
What do you do when you STILL don't know what that thing is?
You listen.
You listen to the voice of your soul. You listen for those little whispers and nudges that tell you exactly what you are supposed to be doing. And then you do it.
Mind you, those nudges won't be loud. But they will be consistent. You just have to pay attention. Then take action.
Case in point
I have wanted to write for years. Years! And I've been "writing," because I've been blogging, writing articles, and creating programs for the last 10 years (oh, hey! I just realized that August was my 10th year in business, I'll have to come up with a way to celebrate). But I haven't been writing on the level that I've truly wanted to -- longer, deeper writing projects.
Finally, I started taking that voice seriously. I realized that I didn't need to close my business to write, I didn't need to become suddenly independently wealthy, and I didn't need someone to wave their magic wand and give me permission to write. I just needed to do it.
In fact, when this came to head for me was when I had been repeatedly asking my Essential Self for guidance. "What do I need to do? What's in my highest and best interest? What will make me happy?" I was asking, over and over again. The message came back, clearly. She said, "Write like your life depends on it."
It STILL took me a while to get it. To understand that I didn't need to radically change my life (see above) in order to "be able" to write. I just had to do it.
Then came the passion
Miraculously, once I began writing, I discovered a shocking, all-consuming fierce passion for it I did not know I had.
In fact, despite the days when writing feels impossibly difficult, no fun at all, and my inner critic is raging at me like a blue meanie on steroids, I still absolutely adore it.
The weirdest part of all of this is that the passion did not kick in, not truly, until I was well into writing regularly -- truly DOING IT -- day in and day out.
It's led me to believe that passion follows action, not the other way around.
But I add this caveat: The action must be inspired -- it must come from the voice of your soul.
