It’s challenging to know your truth—and just as challenging, sometimes, to embrace it.
Whether it’s a complaint letter, a personal essay or a story, my writing generally comes about by me getting an idea, then letting it develop and gel into an argument or structure during a two-hour walk. Only afterwards do I write anything down.
According to researchers, this sequence fits the way the introvert mind works. Neurologically, introverts are most comfortable ruminating first and expressing later. Extroverts prefer to think out loud, spontaneously.
No wonder I balk at enthusiastic recommendations of freewriting, a method of generating ideas by writing off the cuff, nonstop, for 10 to 20 minutes—on a 1-to-10 scale of introversion, I’m an 8 or a 9. Freewriting undoubtedly helps some people. But because of the way my mind works, it yields me nothing but frustration and nonsense.
Different people’s minds work differently
Contrary to many, many pronouncements about universal psychology, different people’s minds work differently. It can be stressful and bewildering to confront an expert claiming that “everyone” thinks in images, for instance, when you don’t feel you do, or that “every” creative person needs to work on just one project at a time, advice that you’ve never managed to follow.
Years ago, when I ran workshops for writers on the creative process, I’d invite them to recall four successful projects of any type that they loved doing. Then I’d ask them to examine the four examples for commonalities. Very interesting, idiosyncratic patterns turned up that often went against received wisdom.
A college professor, for example, shared that though she’d always heard “Write every day,” her successes had all involved huge bursts of energy over a weekend or so.
An essay author said formulating goals had never helped her one bit. Instead, her pattern of projects revealed that she innovated by feeling her way forward, without having in mind an ultimate desired outcome.
A science fiction writer understood that he was supposed to work on one story at a time. But he took inspiration from painter Claude Monet, who had a row of canvases set up when facing Rouen Cathedral or haystacks on a farm, adding to one or another painting as the light shifted or his angle of vision changed. The writer said, “I like to have seven or eight stories going at the same time, and I work on one or the other according to my feelings that day or that moment.”
Along those lines, another participant realized that people in her life were always admonishing her to focus, focus, focus. Yet, she actually accomplished things by piddling on one thing for 10 minutes, another for half an hour, going on to something else and then going back to the first or second task—and so on. “At the end of the day, I’ve finished several things. So there, you focusers!” she declared.
Understanding your mind is the first step
Understanding how your mind works is only a first step. You also need to embrace that pattern as valid and worthy of respect, as opposed to being wrong or abnormal. After all, the essay writer could have wailed, “What’s wrong with me? I don’t find goals motivating!” The professor could have continued struggling against the write-every-day guideline instead of honouring the alternative approach that actually propelled successes for her.
Sometimes an accepting “Aha!” comes from a simple turnaround. At my workshop, a health care consultant trying to write a book started off complaining, “I can’t write unless I have a deadline,” and overturned that into “I write very well when I have a deadline. Now, how can I create deadlines for my book project?” It may also be helpful to remember that mindfulness involves observation and letting go of self-critical judgments.
Knowing how your own mind works and accepting that—or, even better, celebrating its particularity—leads to greater peacefulness and calm, improved self-confidence and more comfort moving through the world.
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