I received 500,000 discrete bits of information today, of which maybe twenty-five are important. My job is to make some sense of it.

Like Wallace, we are all rained upon by a continuous deluge of data that comes from both the physical and digital worlds.  It can be overwhelming, but it’s also ridiculous considering that we sometimes feel creatively blocked, like we have nothing to say or that the words just won’t come out the right way.  We say that we have no inspiration, no ideas, and we can’t get motivated to get to work.  We go to bed at night dreaming of great things which we haven’t started yet because we’re missing… something.

Wallace’s perspective clarifies the problem.  There’s a lot of information in the world but how do you learn how to recognize the really good stuff?

Is there gold – or usable creative material – in anything and everything?  Often, there is.  However, sometimes the gold is hidden or in such tiny doses that it’s easy to miss.

Gold prospectors, in the days before machines and processes for extracting gold, would find a promising spot on a stream or river and then use a pan to scoop soil from it.  Then they’d dump the pan’s contents onto a screen or filter and try to find gold by separating the sand from the rocks… and hopefully find gold nuggets within.  Lacking the screen or filter, they’d just have to sort through the contents of the pan with their fingers and hope they found something valuable.

Generating ideas and creating content is like prospecting for gold, isn’t it?

There’s one key difference, one that makes a huge difference, between prospecting for gold and looking for good creative ideas and material.  When prospecting for gold, you’re looking for that one thing, fully formed with certain characteristics like shape, size, color, and heft.

When looking for ideas, you’re looking for the unexpected.  You’re trying to find new stuff, stuff you haven’t seen before.  You’re searching for patterns and collisions of ideas that combine in new and unique ways.  You have a vague sense of what you’d like to find, but you don’t really know what it will look like.

You might go panning for creative gold, but instead you might find the equivalent of silver, iron, or diamonds.  Or a chocolate bar wrapper and an empty peanut butter jar with a bullet hole through it.  Or two different characters for a novel.  Or an old rubber boot with a 300 hundred year old fish living inside of it.

How do we get better at finding information, out of half a million pieces per day, and combining it to good use?  Maybe we need to get better at looking for both the obvious and the hidden.  Perhaps we need to combine things together more often, especially those things that seem like paradoxes or things that would just never happen.  Who knows, maybe there are neighborhoods were everyone isn’t left handed?  Maybe there’s a common ritual in your area that would seem innovative and clever elsewhere.  Maybe you use Twitter with your toes or your nose?  Who knows?

Just think:  maybe you are missing twenty five pieces of brilliance per day just because you aren’t looking for them:  you’re trying to find something else instead.  Maybe you are finding idea diamonds in your mental pan and you are throwing them away without understanding what you are tossing out.

What can you do differently to find the treasures in front of your eyes?  Are you looking widely enough?

EDIT:  this post has been revised on December 14, 2011

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Image by egenerica

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The difference between success and failure is often sheer persistence. Talent, skill, luck, and resources have often been beaten by the person (or organization) that simply won’t quit.

Click here to read Gregg’s full post about persistence and creativity

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More wisdom:  no pain, no gain.

These statements are both true, in my experience.  The only way that they can both be true is that there is a continuum of pain in life.  Pain is not a binary on/off switch.  Pain lies along a gradient of intensity.  It’s a warning system that tells you that you’re doing something unnatural and potentially dangerous.

I don’t actively seek out pain.  I tend to avoid it.  But since I’ve been doing a physical activity during the past couple of months I’ve become reacquainted with certain kinds of pain.  More than anything else, it’s an indicator of the difference between where I started from and what I could eventually become.

I’m in pain at the moment:  my calves and heels hurt.  A few weeks ago that would have bothered me more than it does at the moment.  Last week I had a minor revelation:  as I continued to use muscles that I don’t use very often, I started to think of pain as something to move toward, not just endure.  That sounds kind of sick – and it is destructive if taken to an extreme – but it’s also an acknowledgement of something important:  some kinds of pain are necessary stages during growth.  It’s a condition that you move through as you get better, stronger and faster.  If you’re not feeling it, you’re not changing.

The important thing, for me at least, was that accepting the necessity of some kinds of pain helped me tolerate it better.  Trying to fool myself into liking pain is certainly a trick but it does seem to help a bit.

Mind you, I’m really not experiencing intense pain.  For that I’m grateful.

But the thing I’m really recognizing through this experience is that I’ve been avoiding other kinds of pain, especially creative pain.  I’m spending a lot of time filling notebooks with small bits and bobs which are, well, easy.  They are easy to do.  They don’t require real effort or pain.  They aren’t uncomfortable.

And they really aren’t helping me get better.

So I think it’s time to get uncomfortable.  To experience some more creative pain.  To dig something big.

How else will I earn a creative black sash?

How about you?  Are you avoiding creative pain too?

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Image from cambodia4kidsorg @ Flickr

What do you get for your time, effort, money and emotion spent on doing something different?

Return on investment (R.O.I.) started out as a financial ratio used by accountants and business managers.  It’s a way of describing what you get in return for the money that you’ve invested in something.  Now R.O.I. is used to refer to almost anything where you expend time, effort and money.

So here’s a question:  what are you going to get from your contribution of blood, sweat and tears to your work, especially if it’s not part of your job?  What’s your avocational R.O.I.?

Whatever you think it is, there’s plenty of work involved

“Things are made slowly and in pain,” to paraphrase a quote from Hugh MacLeod.  The pain comes not just from sustained physical effort, but from sustained mental and emotional effort.

Consider the following:

The researcher Anders Ericsson studied violinists and determined that there was a threshold of 10,000 hours of musical experience (mainly practice) which was required to become a master of the violin.  This threshold has been touted as a more general rule by Malcolm Gladwell in his book Outliers – you need to log 10,000 hours of solid practice to be a master in any discipline.

Geoff Colvin extrapolates this further in his book Talent Is Overrated to say that mindful, sustained practice (deliberate practice) and effective feedback and coaching are also the keys to developing great talent.  And this practice, by definition, is not fun.  It’s meant to be hard work.

There’s mastery and then there’s… less than mastery

So if you want to be the best in the world, do you need to lock yourself away for ten years?  At least ten years, especially if you want to be a violinist, a grand master chess player, and so on, where you have a huge talent pool to compete against and lots to learn.  On the other hand, if you’ve invented a new sport, game or skill and you’re the only one who does it, you’re the master by default.  Then you only have to worry about competition when the world finds out about it.

Do you really have to master any creative skill?  Excellent question.  It depends, of course, on how integral that skill is to your economic and emotional well-being.  In many cases, if you don’t have the chops, you don’t get the bucks.  On the other hand, some of the richest performers, athletes or professionals  (or more most famous or happiest, for that matter) are not masters of a particular skill.  But they are good enough and they have enough skills and support to get them where they want to be.

On the other hand, there are things likes title, prestige and respect that you don’t get unless you demonstrate an acceptable level of skill, knowledge and dedication to.   These things are important to a lot of people.

When are you too old to start?

Here’s another thing to think about, though:  is there a point at which it’s too late to start something new?  Is there a point at which it doesn’t make sense to reach for the stars?

For example, if I suddenly decided I wanted to become a dentist, is it too late for me to do that?

[I don't really want to become a dentist - it's just an example.]

In my case, I’m a forty-something year old man with a family to support and other obligations.  Is a career in dentistry a non-starter for me, as they say?  That depends.  It’s not impossible BUT I can’t do it without reinventing my life and status quo and that involves more people than me.  And the thing about dentistry is that it’s something that you can’t partially do… you either do it and go all the way or else you waste a lot of time, effort and money.

So, no dentistry school for me.  The ROI, in this case, is not worth the cost to me.  Your teeth can relax now.

On the other hand…

Novice of the martial arts

I’m not exactly sure how it happened but I’ve been taking Kung Fu lessons for close to two months.  My son started taking lessons and after watching a few classes I felt this desire to try it.  Quite often this is how I introduce change into my life:  spur-of-the-moment.  So I did.

We’re just learning basic moves like stances, kicks, punches and blocks at this point.  We don’t spar.  Many of us are novices.  It’s been a powerful example of how physically unprepared I was for this kind of exercise.  But slowly it’s getting better.  Some parts at least.

But here’s the thing about the martial arts:  many of them have a grading or ranking system.  You can improve over time and get tested to see if you’ve learned enough to demonstrate accomplishment.  In Kung Fu (my school, at least) you get a different colored sash each time you pass tests.  The highest level in my school is a black sash.  And then maybe you turn into Bruce Lee after a few more decades, not sure about that.

I’m a long, long, long way from getting a black sash.  And even that’s not the end, really, but it’s a clearly marked milestone.  Does it take 10,000 hours of practice to get a black sash?  I don’t know.  It probably takes a significant percentage of that time, though.  Did I start too late?  Maybe not, but it may be a lot easier to do at a younger age.

So here lies the question:  is it worth the blood, sweat and tears for me to work towards a black sash in Kung Fu (assuming that I even want to)?  And if I don’t have that long term goal, should I even bother learning Kung Fu?

The journey to mastery is different that arriving at the destination

To measure the “return on investment” for a personal development goal, you really need to measure several things:

1.  The blood, sweat and tears that you contributed to it (plus money, time, stress, etc.)

2.  The value of achieving your goal

and

3.  The value of the experience (which is separate from the goal itself)

When you know these things, you could attempt to make some kind of calculation of the return on your investment.

It’s natural to fixate on 2. (the value of achieving the goal) and 1. (how much it hurts and costs).

It’s probably better to focus on 3. (the value of the experience)  Because even if you don’t get to the final goal, you’ll be better off than you were before you started (unless you do something silly like crushing your toes while you practice your kicks incorrectly – which is something that I will probably wind up doing).

So on balance, it’s better to try and fail than not to try, as long as you make an honest effort.  Maybe I only make it to, say, the green sash (which I think is halfway between absolute beginner and black sash) and then I decide that I want to try ski-boxing or cross-country wrestling instead.  That’s still good.

But…

But this isn’t just about Kung Fu.

It’s really about words.

The sashes of writing

My creative black sash is completing a damned good manuscript and getting it published in book form.  And then repeating.

Things aren’t going the way that I would like them to be going in that department.  To be blunt, there’s kind of a huge chasm of a disconnect between my goal and my actions.  But there could be another factor at play here.  My approach to this goal may be more like the novice trying to pass the tests for the black sash without earning other sashes first.  So maybe I need to look at earning the other sashes first through writing smaller pieces and building up skills.  You might say I’m at that state of conscious incompetence (i.e.  I have a good idea about where and how I suck at writing – and, fortunately, what I’m good at, too).

I might also be a wee bit daunted, even scared, by how big the task is.  And I have to ask that nagging question:  what’s the R.O.I.?  What’s it worth to me?

Maybe you feel the same way about something you want to do – I don’t know.  And, like me, you probably want answers.  But I don’t think the answers are going to come unless we actually do that thing. And hence some benefits will start to accrue, if only we get started.

So this is me trying to kick my own ass into gear, even if it’s only at a snail’s pace.

Final thoughts

I’ve been sitting on this post for weeks as I’ve tried to put this… thing…  into words.

This is not my best post but it gives you some insight into what’s going on in my brain and why I haven’t been publishing much lately over the past few months.  Kind of like a snake trying to digest an elephant.

No related posts.

Hands of struggle by mopics80 @ Flickr

I want to share with you some of the opening lines of one of my favorite books.  These paragraphs come from The Road Less Traveled:  A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth by the late M. Scott Peck, M.D. They apply to a lot of the things that we’ve written about here at Thoughtwrestling:

Life is difficult.

This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths.  It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it.  Once we truly know that life is difficult – once we truly understand and accept it – then life is no longer difficult.  Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.

Most do not fully see this truth that life is difficult.  Instead they moan more or less incessantly, noisily or subtly, about the enormity of their problems, their burdens, and their difficulties as if life were generally easy, as if life should be easy.  They voice their belief, noisily or subtly, that their difficulties represent a unique kind of affliction that should not be and that has somehow been especially visited upon them, or else upon their families, their tribe, their class, their nation, their race or even their species, and not upon others.  I know about this moaning because I have done my share.

In these paragraphs Peck describes one of the Four Noble Truths, as taught by the Buddha.  This Noble Truth is sometimes described by the statement “life is suffering”.  I like the way that Peck has phrased the statement because “life is suffering” implies that life on Earth is a form of penitence, a series of tortures designed to inflict pain and anguish on everyone.  As Peck describes below, the reality of most people’s lives is different:

Life is a series of problems.  Do we want to moan about them or solve them?  Do we want to teach our children to solve them?

In businessspeak, you would replace the word problem with opportunity, something that I’ve written about previously.  But really, in the context that Peck is using, opportunity may be the better word.  Peck describes this a bit more below, while also talking about how we cope with the challenges that life (or, more properly, our actions) throws at us:

Discipline is the basic set of tools we require to solve life’s problems.  Without discipline we can solve nothing.  With only some discipline we can solve only some problems.  With total discipline we can solve all problems.

What makes life difficult is that the process of confronting and solving problems is a painful one…  Yet it is in this whole process of meeting and solving problems that life has its meaning.

When I came up with the concept of thoughtwrestling, there were a couple of different things that I wanted to talk about.  One was in the context of creative work:  how do you get your mind and your ideas organized so that you could do the creative work that you wanted to do.  As I’ve read and thought more about things like how the brain works and the nature of this thing that we call willpower, the concept of thoughtwrestling takes on a broader meaning.

We are constantly at war with ourselves, although it doesn’t seem like it most of the time.  Every day, every hour, every minute and every second, your brain has to deal with multiple desires and impulses.  Your conscious mind, such as it appears to be, seems to be more of an afterthought and an attempt at directing a cantankerous herd of wild horses that all want to run in their own directions. When you’re tired, you have to fight the urge to rest with the joy you may be experiencing or the need to do something while your energy reserves are low.  When you are hungry, the presence of delicious food battles against your inability to take a break and eat or against your desire to maintain a healthy weight.

The thoughtwrestling that you have to do every day may be as simple as choosing a piece of fruit over a piece of candy.  It might be the choice between sleeping in 30 minutes or getting up early to write or to exercise.  It might be staying home to study instead of going drinking with your friends.  Or it might be the choice between watching television and confronting a personal problem.  Or acknowledging the drinking problem that’s been slowly but surely killing you.

Thoughtwrestling isn’t always about choosing the road less traveled but it’s always about choosing the more difficult path.  The journey that’s initially painful and slow has its own benefits – it makes you stronger, more patient and more determined.

These ideas continue to be important to me today as I try to take on new challenges.  I’m trying to change my creative output from short regular bursts to longer, more carefully constructed work.  I’ve also started to learn Kung Fu, which is no piece of cake for an overweight, out of shape, middle-aged man.  Both of these are very difficult things to do, at least for me and there’s always lots to do and little time.  But I know that this work is valuable.

Discipline seems to be a key factor in keeping myself on the more difficult path.  It’s also something that I need to use more.  There’s some interesting ideas about this in Switch by Chip Heath and Dan Heath.  I think that’s what I’ll write about next.

How do you keep yourself moving along the more difficult path?

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1. Happy birthday Thoughtwrestling!

Most people are aware the influence of Steve Jobs influence on personal computers and other consumer electronics (Apple), entertainment (Pixar) and, indirectly, Western culture.  I think I have the same view on Apple products and Jobs himself as Mike Brown does, although I’m daily tempted to switch from the PC world enough to at least try an iPad.

But it would be completely remiss of me not to acknowledge the fact that under Jobs both Pixar and Apple made some really amazing and enjoyable stuff.   Great movies, fun products and a growing economic, techonological ecosystem – those are his legacy.

It’s staggering to think of the massive number of people that used Apple products to express their creativity and make wonderful things.  And how many animators, artists, and other technical professions were inspired by Pixar’s works?  And how many people have collectively enjoyed all of that?

Plus I really love my iPod.

In a parallel universe without a Steve Jobs this all might have happened, too.  But we’ll never know.

A sick man died yesterday,  probably one of thousands who also died of disease.  But at least he knew that he’d made an impact on the world and enabled a lot of great stuff.

So, rest in peace Steve Jobs.  Condolences to your family and friends.  May we all take your advice to “think different” and “ship” on our way towards our own creative achievements.

And let’s all take a moment to realize that while a particularly bright candle was extinguished yesterday, many more are still burning and still more great ones are waiting to be lit, too. The end isn’t here for the rest of us.  It’s not even the end of the beginning.  So let’s keep going.

Image via Ballistik Coffee Boy at Flickr

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I’ve been focusing on other things during the past few months and almost all of my writing has been done offline.

All’s well.  I’ve been spending a lot less time online during these 89 days but I’m still finding the time to do lots of reading and writing.

I’m not sure what the publication schedule or frequency for Thoughtwrestling will be going forward.  The time away from the blog has allowed me to reflect and ask the question “why” a lot of times.  Also, “what” and “how” have been frequent topics of internal conversation.

At any rate, I hope all’s well with you and thanks for reading.

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Image by thecreativepenn @ Flickr

Today I want to point you toward an excellent post by my friend Geoff Livingston.  Imperfection speaks to one of the most vexing aspects of being a creative person:  how hard it is to get something right.

When you look at an excellent finished piece of creative work, whether it’s a painting, sculpture, a dance or a piece of writing, we’re often amazed by how good that thing is.  On first glance, we’re amazed at its beauty and the skill that was used to create it.

More often than not, excellent work evokes envy and feeds the fires of our own self-doubt.  We compare our own creative output and we find it lacking.  We find mistakes here, flaws there and we curse our own talents.

As Geoff wrote in his post:

Elusive perfection can drive you crazy.

And it sure does, at least for me.

Geoff’s got some good ideas on how to handle both internal and external criticism:  check out his post.

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29 WAYS TO STAY CREATIVE from TO-FU on Vimeo.

Thanks to Neatorama and Design.org for finding this gem!

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By aafromaa @ Flickr

I couldn’t make any phone calls.  I was isolated from the outside world.  Why do things have to keep changing?  And what does this have to do with Thoughtwrestling?

The reason that I couldn’t reach the outside world is that they upgraded the phone system at work.  Instead of pressing 9 to get an outside line, we could just key in the rest of the phone number.  And, of course, I didn’t read the memo carefully enough.

It’s been over two weeks since the change and I still screw it up.  I have to stop and think about how to dial the phone number (“Don’t dial 9, you idiot!”)  It’s aggravating and it reminds me of how often I don’t have to think about the things that I do.

Change is hard because it forces us to stop and think about what we’re doing.  But humans, like many other organisms, are creatures of habit and most of us aren’t used to having to think about our actions.  If you had to consciously stop and think about every single action that’s required to get your body out of bed and into the bathroom when you get up sleeping, it could take you an hour or more.

Just ask someone who is recovering from a stroke like Jill Bolte Taylor and you’d learn the difficulty of continuous deliberate action.  Or you could ask a baby, but most of them aren’t very good at talking – they are too busy eating, playing, crying, pooping and sleeping.

Is there any way around the difficulties of change?  Maybe, maybe not.  But just remember:  change takes energy.

Title credit   Tom Sawyer by Rush

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