Working Meditation

Observations on Human Connection & Contribution

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#127: Creative acts

I’m constantly falling in love with one piece of creativity or another. It might be a song that I can’t stop moving to, a sharp stand-up bit, a piece of heritage pottery, or an interestingly woven scarf. Creators and their acts of creativity have always felt magnetic to me. The artist’s studio feels like the epicenter of cultural, intellectual, material and spiritual evolution. I think of studios as any space where ideas get to surface, mix and remix; where they are chiseled with care, and offered to the world with courage.

In the presence of work I loved, I’d instinctively think “Now this right here is the epitome of the craft.” It was a kneejerk thought in an awe-filled younger self. Then another maker or maker collective would show up and absolutely floor me. They were not only musicians, writers, comics, poets, sculptors, painters, weavers, actors, and directors; they were also facilitators, chefs, scientists, business leaders, politicians, designers, and journalists. Some were interesting combinations of more than one craft. My creative loves were sprouting everywhere.

Alongside awe there was a deep longing to be them. This wasn’t hero-worship. I wanted to be as magnetized by my craft as they were. I wish I could absorb by osmosis how they did what they did: their passion, seeming ease and grace. I’d be curious about their influences, journey and the solitary experience of being them when nobody was watching. I thought these people were unique.

I now see is that this love of craft is all around us. There’s passion and inspiration at every turn. There are people breathing new life into my long-standing neighborhood bookstore and community hub. There’s Amanda, my wonderfully creative and kind hairdresser, who built the most welcoming hair studio from scratch. There’s David, who is dedicated to building relational cultures as a tool for social change and healing. Not everyone has a Wikipedia page but everyone has a rich creative backstory and is magnetized by their craft.

Here’s my current thinking about creative acts:

  • No one creative act can be the epitome of a craft. Each work is a point-in-time drop into a larger ongoing creative conversation.
  • Impact doesn’t wait for us to become broadly-known. Every creator has precious influences and as they create, they start inspiring and influencing others even before they become “known”. Also, there are countless impactful niches. We inspire and influence others even if when don’t become “known” in popular culture.
  • What we know or are curious about is the source of all we create. When we create, we tap into our Venn diagram of influences, experiences and perspectives. That is our personal source code.
  • We get more and more magnetized as we create. This happens organically when we get down to the business of creating what we genuinely value, just like the artists in their studios.

“If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.”― Vincent van Gogh, Dutch painter

#111: Making our physical lives more magnetic

I didn’t grow up with internet and didn’t have my own computer until I moved to the States. I remember writing physical letters not out of novelty but out of need. I remember using calling cards to connect with my family in India, and how distant their voices and lives felt. So I immensely value our abundance of tools and technology; and the ease and opportunity they’ve created in our personal, work and social lives. Every part of my life feels more expansive and fluid than it might have been without these tools. I can safely say that I find this tech-supported bounty undeniably magnetic.

And no matter what side of the tech debate you favor, one thing we can all likely agree on is that the massive leaps underway in computing will make our online lives even more expansive and magnetic: whether it takes the shape of generative AI, quantum computing, Apple’s mixed reality headset or something else. There are plenty of thoughtful perspectives out there on the potential and peril of these technologies so my goal isn’t to probe those here. I want to examine our physical and offline lives a bit.

Most of us already tend to live in and through our intellect, and away from our bodies. Our days pull us deeper and deeper into the mind. We read, write, process information, create and communicate ideas, and have conversations. On turbulent and busy days, we hold our breath, clench our jaw, forget to drink water, and don’t move our bodies. When we don’t have time and mental space to tune-in to the body, we very easily tune out. I’ve lived for years in this tuned-out way. In fact so tuned out from the body that injuries and harmful habits went completely unnoticed even when my body―my precious earthly home―sent me the strongest signals it possibly could. Injuries, aches, lack of sleep, stress-eating and workaholism went easily ignored and suppressed for years. Similarly, it has taken years of patient and countercultural practice to learn to hear my body speak, to step out of the fertile world of my mind and into the awe-inspiring world of my body and physical senses.

Our upcoming innovations will cut two ways: they will make our online world more magnetic and attractive, and our offline one feel more tedious and boring by comparison. They will make it easier to forget that we are living organisms with built-in barometers that not only help us survive but thrive. That our bodies are a source of exploration, understanding, connection, and joy. That they deserve respect as the most sophisticated technology ever made. That unlike the online world, our bodies ping in more subtle, nuanced and easily missed ways. 

Our human future depends entirely on us being able to create a physical life that is way more magnetic than the online one.

“Boredom, rooted in a fundamental discomfort with the self, is one of the least tolerable mental states.”― Gabor Maté, physician and author specializing in treatment of addiction.

From the book― In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction

#108: The emotional dust of creation

We don’t create things all at once, fully formed. Whether it’s an organization, a community, a tiny human or ourselves, creation takes time and the build is always unexpected. That’s a big reason why we subconsciously hold back from creating anything new: it feels risky to invest emotion and effort and not even have the guarantee that this thing we want will actually happen, or happen the way we want it to.

If we make a plan before starting (which is always a good idea), it’ll orient us in the right direction and help take suitable steps, but it likely won’t reflect the nuanced terrain we’ll actually walk. That’s because neither the terrain nor our creation remains static. Both respond to our actions and the events in our larger environment. Similarly, we ourselves respond and change; what we thought last week or last month will shift a bit when we engage in the work. Finally, we never build anything alone. Ever. There are others right next to us co-creating and going through the same push and pull of change and creation. So we’re changing, our creation is changing, our co-creators are changing and the environment is changing. This happens simultaneously and repeatedly. This dynamic is called emergence, and it asks for emotional flexibility. 

The work of creating something new is less like driving a self-driving Tesla on a traffic-free highway, and more like walking a dusty backroad full of brambles alongside others. It’s never a cool and collected experience of just sitting back and arriving. We all get scratched, stumble, bump into each other and kick up dust as we walk.

To make matters harder, we regularly pass through invisible gates that change the scenery and the terrain. What we did before needs to be adjusted in unexpected ways. If we were too absorbed in the work of creating, we may not even realize that we passed a gate. That’s when the emotional dust peaks―we all scramble to make sense of the new terrain, run furiously into the brambles and each other, kick up more dust, and make it harder to see things clearly. 

Knowing this, what if:

  • In addition to drawing maps, we prepare for that dusty and brambly trail with unseen gates.
  • Instead of a heroic solo journey, we note others who walk besides us.
  • Our commitment isn’t to one specific outcome but to staying on the dusty path. We develop resilience, integrity, and might I add―joy, so none of us opt-out in favor of the cushy Tesla path.
  • We invest time in creating trust: holding a hand, mending a wound, or offering a sip of water on this twisty path.
  • Most importantly, we create the capacity to be ok with emotional dust as we blind each other with it.

“The mighty oak was once an acorn that stood its ground.”― English Proverb, Author Unknown 

It may not happen.
If it happens, it wont happen the way you imagined.
If it happens, it’ll be its own thing: emergent and separate from you, uncontrollable by anyone.
Bringing it to life will dent you and others in unseen places.

So, why do it?
Because you came with these fertile seeds.
And if you hold back, first the seeds will wither…then you.
― A little ditty, by Suparna

#107: Solid jumping-off points and soft landings

I have a window above my bed that my cat, Fern, likes to sit at. This window is designed for privacy so it sits high; half of it is above my bed and the rest above my nightstand. Fern uses the nightstand to climb up and my bed to come down. If I’m sitting on my bed and in her way, she’ll meow to get me to move over so she can land on the bed. Only recently did I really pay attention to this dynamic where she uses the solid nightstand to jump up several feet and the soft bed to land.

I think all living organisms instinctively prefer this approach, both physically and emotionally. We don’t take risks or make big moves until we have a source of stability to support us. After we’ve taken the leap and done this big or uncomfortable thing we wanted to do―the hard job, the birth, the exam, the race, or something else―we hope to land back in a place of softness, ease, comfort and nurturing.

I’m also just starting to realize that soft landings are what transform into solid jumping off points for subsequent leaps. That ease and stability (known as sukha and sthira in yogic philosophy) are not two separate things but an infinity loop where one transforms into another in an endless cycle. Wisdom traditions also point us to these opposing, interdependent and inseparable qualities that help us create: rest and activity, yin and yang, feminine and masculine, receiving and giving.

Well-being occurs when there is a balance between these opposing forces because we can have too much of one thing. Weirdly, by over indexing on one side we deplete our capacity to do more of it. Too much action and not enough rest means burnout which leads to stunted future action. Too much rest and not enough action means lethargy, and resting more just depletes us further. Our goal is a dynamic balance that we constantly adjust to remain roughly at our center.

Historically, I put a lot of effort on the “jumping off”, or masculine side of this equation; hoping that more action would create stability for my next action. I created very few soft landings and often felt compelled to jump harder, only hurting myself in the process.

“Among the half dozen or so things for which a man of honor should be prepared, if necessary, to die, the right to play, the right to frivolity, is not the least.”― W. H. Auden, British-American Poet

#97: Compounding effects of innovation

Techno-social optimists tell us that humanity is in a good place. We hear that our innovations have reduced human mortality, increased quality if life across the globe, increased our ability to feed the growing world population and so on. All of this is true.

And we can have multiple things be true at the same time.

Yes, we don’t hear of houses burning down or people dying because their couch caught fire. But we hear of people getting sick because of environmental contaminants, including toxic flame retardants on their couch, their car seat and pretty much every piece of furniture they sit on. Each piece has toxins way beneath any risk threshold. But combined, each exposure builds up enough toxins in our bloodstreams that we can pass them along to our unborn children.

Yes, we live in more comfortable homes and can afford more groceries and consumer goods compared to our ancestors. But we have to own a car to bring home that massive cart of groceries because the grocer is 20 minutes away. We can’t just walk to a store and carry that weight home. Over time, we lose muscle mass and joint health from under utilizing our body such that when our cities start becoming green, most of us don’t feel comfortable just hopping on a bike.

Yes, we can talk to our loved ones on video across the globe every night. We can exchange what’s happening in our lives, give long distance hugs and kisses and never feel disconnected. But the same piece of tech we use to engage with them also has news, entertainment, messages awaiting our attention and endless notifications. After a heated conversation, it’s so much easier to hang up and tune out rather than sit in discomfort and learning.

Yes, our farm equipment, irrigation and bioengineered seeds ensure we don’t starve. But we also have large-scale diversion of freshwater, depleting aquifers and river systems. We have excessive synthetic fertilizer runoff into the soil, water, air, and rainfall. We get toxic algae blooms in lakes, oxygen depletion and “dead zones” within bodies of water, where nothing can survive.

I believe people working at these diverse companies don’t wake up with dreams of harming the planet. But our innovation processes are typically siloed and growth-driven. Isolated innovation makes us move incredibly fast. We aren’t weighed down by anything and can keep experimenting, iterating and launching. One impactful product launch after another, in the service of humanity. But we can still come away with long-term negative impacts that are hard to clean up and reverse.

Our current framework for innovation asks us to zoom in, iterate, speed up, and think in fast approaching time increments. What would happen if we innovated by zooming out, by slowing down, by thinking of a future seven generations down, when we’re not even alive. I can’t help but get optimistic about the compounding effect of a more integrated approach to innovation.

“There is too much bad news to justify complacency. There is too much good news to justify despair.”― Donella Meadows, environmental scientist, systems thinker, educator, and writer