creativity...what is it?

Have you ever seen This Is Spinal Tap? Oh yes, you have? Then you are cultured (yes, the good kind—like yogurt). Anyway, I want you to pronounce the title of this post like they say that line in This Is Spinal Tap: "The Druids...who weeeere they? What were they dooooing here?" The movie as a whole is pretty darn ridiculous, but that scene makes me laugh so hard my stomach hurts. Every time.

This post is about creativity, or the lack thereof. This year has been tough for my creativity. Maya Angelou famously said, "You can't use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have." Well Maya, I haven't been using it. I had a baby right at the beginning of 2020, which ended up being the most whatever year of all time. Postpartum fog coupled with being in a tiny apartment all day writing about mattresses has made it hard to do what I really love.

But I've decided to start anyway.

I've had a childrens' book in my head for years. Actually, I've had the title of this book saved in my phone for who knows how long, and before that, it was saved on my computer—my first computer, purchased in 2007. I think I've been through about three different iPhones and four computers since then, and this book title has somehow survived. I think that means something! So last week, I was putting my baby in her jumper and the first paragraph of this book finally smacked me across the face, or maybe it had been waiting to do that for a while but I was too tired to notice.

So I sat down and wrote it. And then I wrote the first chapter. And I started the second chapter! All of this during my lunch break! Who knew I could do other things during my lunch break besides scroll through Instagram and Pinterest? Maya Angelou knew.

I'm writing this post to remind myself that perfectionism is the enemy to creativity. I've started and finished projects I've hated, sure, but I've also made lots of things I really loved. And guess what, for everything I've made, love it or hate it, starting is always the hardest part.

So here's some things I've made that I'm proud of, and I hope you remember to just make stuff, even if it's terrible. Especially if it's terrible. 

Frida and her flowers

a mini of my favorite place: the Heceta Head Beach in Oregon

I saw this quote on Pinterest years ago (sorry, dunno who said it, maybe Abe Lincoln?)

my beloved American Fork Canyon in the fall

my favorite mini embroidery: Switzerland in a circle frame

I miss sweater weather

a favorite quote, and another face

alta wildflowers!

arizona home

collage: another excuse to buy old magazines (sorry, Houston)

line work is cheaper than therapy

I love drawing faces s'muuuuch

someday I'll blow this up and get it framed

the french countryside from above, for a friend who lived there for a while

work in progress (or "wip" as it's known in the crafting world)

my mom's childhood house <3

to my mom: no, that leaf isn't weed

this shirt was boring, so it needed strawberries

a friend of a friend is a roller derby queen, and I made this for her birthday! (those are her skates)

Tina Belcher 5ever

if you know me at all, you know I lurve old, rickety houses

*movie trailer voice* IN A WORLD OF SCREEN ADDICTS, ONE GIRL ATTEMPTS TO READ 50 BOOKS IN ONE YEAR. WILL SHE REALIZE HER DREAMS OR REALIZE THIS GOAL WAS A REALLY BAD IDEA? I MEAN REALLY GUYS, WAS THIS A MISTAKE?!

Wow, typing in all caps is almost as cringey as yelling IRL. Is it cringey or cringy? My computer is giving me the red squiggly lines for both, so it's definitely... an English word.

So yeah, like the title says: I needed a goal because I felt like my life was kinda devoid of goals or hobbies or things other than being cold and sad (see: the winter of 2017). So I decided, why not read 50 books in one year?! It requires no physical activity whatsoever (hrm, and my vital organs are like "CAN IT BE OUR TURN NEXT YEAR PLZ CUZ WE'RE GETTING TOO INSULATED IN HERE"). And it requires pretty much zero effort because I love reading and it's not one of those goals I actually dread accomplishing. I was excited! I hadn't read more than 10 books for pleasure since grad school had ended, so it was time. My D.I. book collection was beginning to swell and I work in a library for cryin' out loud! If I left this job without taking advantage of that fact, it would be one of those stay-awake-at-night-regrets, just like when I left that perfectly intact candy bar just sitting on the ground, uneaten (IT WAS IN A WRAPPER OKAY).

That's enough of the caps lock button.

In this selfsame year (lol, selfsame), a few other unexpected goals kinda just popped their heads out of the ground like gophers and I had no choice but to, well, do them.

At the October General Conference, Pres. Nelson asked us to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year. My first thought: Youuuu sneaaaakyyy mom! Yes. Because I, like many others, was already well into my own reading of the BOM (Book of Alma, if you want to know) (but I know you don't). And I was like But I CAN'T start it over and read it all in 3 months?!!!!!!!

And then wouldn't you know it, but the first story in the Book of Mormon is about a guy who has no idea what he's doing half the time but he does it anyway and learns how to do things along the way and he even builds a ship without any prior experience and while his brothers are whining about how nothing is getting done, he gets it done.

YOU KNOW?!

So God had some more to teach me, after all. My institute teacher says that as soon as we assume we know why we're receiving revelation or what the outcome will be of that revelation, the inspiration stops. Because we think it's over! We hold up an umbrella while the rain keeps coming down. In summary: I have been holding up an umbrella for most of this year. Because I just assumed God was "done" talking to me.

Well, then my Goodreads goal said I was at 45 books on this day, December the 11th, and I thought, well, it's not the end of the world if I don't finish.

*looks in mirror*
*holds the side of the mirror aggressively*
"YOU WILL FINISH YOUR GOAL, MCKENZIE."

Usually setting goals and accomplishing them brings such a sense of accomplishment that I immediately want to set another crazy but fulfilling one! *cough* unrealistic *cough

I guess 2019 is the year of the Run.

Here we go again.

only time will tell...

being in your 20s is feeling like if you're not successful somebody will literally come kill you

The other night we drove 45 minutes to the north and ended up at a beautiful little girl's camp in Preston, Idaho to visit my sister. She wanted us to come see her campsite and watch her skit (if you do not understand what I'm talking about, just imagine a much milder version of SNL, in the woods, with girls who haven't showered in a few days).

I saw a bunch of my old girl's camp leaders there and we started reminiscing, because that's what you do when you get older. Sometimes it's easier than confronting an unknown future. I did the math and it was 10 years ago that I last went to Girl's Camp. Then I did the math again and realized I'll be nearly forty ten years from now. By the way, when I say did the math, I just mean I added and subtracted.

#maths

I read a book a few months ago and she had some radical ideas--one of them was that if you're not happy where you are currently at in life, you need to leave that story. You need to write a new one. She said "you are not permitted to waste your precious time on earth being miserable" (or something to that effect). 

I think comparison is something making a lot of us unnecessarily miserable. And for me, the #1 thing I can do to shed that cloak of not-feeling-good-enough is to stop scrolling. It's probably the best thing you can do for your health.

Oh, and get some vitamin D, cuz that stuff is underrated.

fernweh

You know the feeling.

You drive past a house on your block and suddenly the shadows cutting across the tree in the front yard take you back to that day in July when you were five and drinking out of the hose in nothing but a dirty swimsuit. And your feet were full of slivers which your mom would peel out later using tweezers.

You smell the PERT plus shampoo at the grocery store and your grandma's bathroom comes into view, the pastel pink linoleum (was it that color?), the brown accents in the cabinetry, the night you had to use a pad for the first time and dig for it in that very bathroom, and the thing was much too big and humiliating for a 12 year old. 

You kick through a path of soggy leaves on your way to work, and the sound is too perfect, just like crossing the bridge in the night at Camp Alpine and accidentally killing a banana slug, that awful SCHWAP! stamping slug murderer on your forehead. 

I go back there, wherever there is, when nothing makes sense or even when everything does, maybe it's too much for me in my present moment and closing my eyes against the pain elevates it in some way. It does not go away. It never goes away.

In German, the word is fernweh. According to Wikipedia, the translation comes to "farsickness" or "longing for far-off places", as contrasted with Heimweh (“homesickness, longing for home”).

And if you like serendipity, listen to this: while writing this post, the song "Rocky Mountain High" by John Denver came on my Spotify shuffle. He just so happened to sing this line: "He was born in the summer of his 27th year/ Coming home to a place he'd never been before / He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again/ You might say he found a key for every door."

🎵you're the inspiraaaaation🎵

Here is something that I'm constantly wanting more of, while simultaneously thinking I don't have any access to: inspiration. Since I talk a lot about religion and belief on this blog, this is just a clarification that I am not talking about spiritual inspiration. Dis alllll 'bout creative inspiration--which, to me, does involve spirituality, but not the kind you're thinking of right now.

I'm constantly bombarded by distractions; some of my own creation, others more external. Recently, I've run my mouth about Instagram/social media, which to me might be the #1 Biggest Distraction for Most People on the Planet Right Now. And I don't just mean the surface-level type distraction (you constantly pick up your phone to scroll when you're bored or just sitting on your butt). I'm talking about the kind of distraction that makes you think you're not doing enough, other people are "better" than you, and basically, your life sucks. I think this should be called Soul Distraction, because it's the adversary's way of making you forget who you are and what you were born to do. And when you forget that, suddenly everything is pointless and why bother?

Maya Angelou said "You can't use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have." 

Isn't that a relief? So, when you think your well is dry, all you have to do is stop trying to be perfect for a minute or a few minutes or hours, and go for a walk, or flip through a cookbook, or listen to a favorite song. The only rule is that you can't do something that stops the flow of brain juice. This is obviously because inspiration requires using your brain, and if you're vegetating on your couch looking at a screen, the opposite of inspiration will begin to stir (read: that annoying "soul distraction").

Something I have always loved to do is make inspiration lists. These are the things I know will inspire me if I do them or think about them or write about them. These are foolproof. Everyone's list is different, and maybe it will help you to write one down and keep it near whenever you start to fall into a pit of self-despair and volcanic rocks (volcanic rocks are the worst kind because they're scratchy and very hard, and falling on one can give you a giant scar, don't ask me how I know).

The other rule is to not care if whatever you produce/do is "bad." If you procrastinate doing or creating something until it's "perfect," it will not ever get done. Perfection is the enemy. It's way easier to produce something awful right when you think of it, and then go back and polish it later. At least you've produced something! Staring at a blank page makes your morale plummet to the basement, like the elevator in You've Got Mail. Waiting to go for a run until your posture is perfect and you no longer look like a toad slouching to the nearest puddle means you'll probably never go on that run. Just go. Right now. Well, put on pants first.

McKenzie's Inspiration-Station

Going on a walk, preferably when the sun is setting
Going for a run (I guess moving my body is good for me, wow, such surprise very insight)

Reading a book (or pretty much anything; the only rule is it can't be on the internet)

Make a playlist on Spotify, then clean the house while listening to it

Paint! Draw! Embroider

Write a letter 

Put away the laundry for crying out loud

Take a shower (there's got to be studies on this phenomenon by now)

Read scriptures (this opens up all kinds of inspiration that you didn't even know you wanted)

being your own fan

This information is not really anything new or groundbreaking or like, HEYYY she's saying somethin'! It's been said before. But like all moments of self-realization, like a funny smack in the face from the universe, it needs to be talked abOOT over and over again (I have been watching a lot of Olympic coverage and the Canadians' accents are getting to me).

We worry a lot. We=humans. We pick apart our outfits and the relentless dry skin around our index finger and the ONE hormonal zit that decided to show its face at the tail end of a really good skin week. We fret over the things we create--probably not good enough, we say.

Last week I finally sent out some of my poems for publication. I say "finally" like it was eons between the time I wrote them and the time I sent them out and honestly, it might as well have been! Why did I wait so long? Sure it was terrifying and I'm still a little nauseated thinking about that moment when I pressed "send," but.

I couldn't stand the suspense anymore.

Do you ever wonder how much cooler your life would be if you stopped being afraid of your own ness? Your courage, your creativity, your sense of humor, your ability to hold your breath for longer than a minute (trust me, this is a real skill, because it shows you have absolute disregard for fear, and I need that sometimes)?

I mean, yeah, what if I'm no good at writing poetry? What if my cinnamon rolls are secretly really gross (guys, they're not, they have like 2 cups of sugar and an entire cube of cream cheese, you can't mess that up)???????? What IF WHAT IF WHAT IF.

I hate those two words. They make me--when I'm literally already crossing the starting line--turn back really quickly and hesitate. They make me turn outward and see everyone staring at me and remember the time I fell during that 400m dash (it was in eighth grade, you'd think therapy had fixed that one by now). And then I think "Oh no, what if I mess up?"

My mom says to "fail faster!" If you're going to mess up, you might as well start now. Why put it off? Of all the things to procrastinate, why would you put off the messy bits that, yeah, suck eggs while you're pushing through 'em, but in the end turn you into The Absolute Coolest Version of Yourself God Intended.

Yeah, I'm bringing God into this because for me, personally, I usually can't get past that starting line without a divine nudging. And that's okay, because I'm divine, and I just need a reminder. I need an assist. God is the Stockton to my Malone.

I propose the best thing you could do for yourself today, right now, is to become your biggest, best, unabashed fan. If you're picturing a ceiling fan, fine, but maybe you could switch that image over to one of those industrial fans used to clean up a flooded basement. You're going to need the extra push to get over that scary cliff.

But don't worry.

There's a trampoline at the bottom.

i want the internet to stop

It's 2018, and almost everything I want for myself is the same. There's just one thing I want, but can't control.

I want the internet to stop.

I restarted (re-signed up? What is a good word for this?) a Twitter account because I was bored at my library job. I know that every good story has to have some element of tension or it won’t last, it won’t hold up. And nothing on the internet is inspiring me anymore because it's lost its tension for me, unless it’s old poems someone that’s already dead has written and left behind. Or old photographs. Things that are no longer with us. The present offerings are too weak to sustain me. Consuming time on the internet is the equivalent of Quaker Rice Cakes. I don’t care if you think the chocolate chip ones are good. They’re just rice bits puffed with air and a side of chocolate air.

Last time I had Twitter, it was 2015 and I was gettin' a little tired of every single tweet making fun of another person or their lifestyle, all for the sake of likes. Like, can you get a new hobby? Would you say that kind of crud to the person if they were standing in front of you? Probably not. The worst are people re-tweeting quotes about kindness and then in the next tweet they're posting a picture of a blogger they hate and commenting on how much they hate it and AH

RICE CAKES, I TELL YOU.

This is not to say that I'm any better at this than those I'm calling out. I've probably rolled my eyes at 75% of every Instagram/Facebook post that's come across my way, but it's starting to have an effect on me. And maybe it doesn't bother anyone else and THAT IS COOL good for you, but I have become familiar with that twisty snake feeling in my stomach that says "You could be doing something better with your life."

Because how you spend your time is how you spend your life.

And so I'm gonna write on this dang blog even if nobody reads it. I'm going to stop comparing myself to every silly post I see on the internet and I'm going to take more walks to remind myself that what internet strangers think of me is utterly pointless.

In Defense of Boring Normalcy

You may have noticed my lack of presence on social media as of late.  Or maybe you didn’t, but it doesn’t matter. The point of leaving was not to make people “miss me,” although I know some people do that now as a way to get some kind of weird validation/attention.

No, I was just sick of it all. Almost everything I saw on social media (especially Instagram, but Twitter and Facebook and Snapchat, too) was fake.

Today I signed a sympathy card for a co-worker who lost a parent suddenly. I opened the card and my pen hovered over it for half a minute or so, because what do you say? What can you say that doesn’t sound completely insincere, even though you’re trying to be genuine? The truth is, you can’t. Not really. But acknowledging this and accepting it is better than pretending uncomfortable and awkward and painful things don’t happen at all, and happen to everyone. That’s what I kept seeing on the internet.

Woman’s husband goes missing with no plausible explanation. Internet forums spread like poison, saying truly awful things about this woman and her family. Do they know her? Doesn’t matter. On the internet, humanity seems to be a lesser priority than looking/being a certain way for others (also strangers).

Blogger posts a picture of her kid on a bike without a helmet, in the driveway. Again, people say gross, nasty things to her, condemning her parenting. I’m betting none of them are perfect parents.

The most popular pictures are mostly staged, showing a girl’s “good angles” or her husband’s perfect sleeping face, or an untouched meal. When people talked about being depressed or anxious because of this pressure to be perfect, most every one of their followers reached out saying “me too.” I began to wonder. Social media was starting to be confusing. Like yogurt.

Yogurt has probiotics and it’s generally good for you. But buy the wrong brand and you’ll be eating mostly sugar. But whatever, it’s all yogurt, right? This is a bad metaphor but I’m sticking with it.

After I deactivated my Instagram, I immediately noticed how much time I had in a day. I used to lament in my prayers every night-- “Heavenly Father, please help me have more time to get things done.” Help me have more time. Ha! What a goofy prayer. I hope God knows what I meant when I said that prayer, but uh, we can’t have more time than we’ve got. It’s already been allotted to us. Anyway, I realized this face-smacking obvious fact when I got rid of the biggest distraction of all: other people living their lives. Or taking pictures of their lives. See? Confusing. Yogurt.

I also stopped taking pictures of everything. This might be a negative, but okay...I’m just going to say it...not everything in my life requires a picture for me to remember it. And maybe I didn’t want to remember the day I did laundry all day and killed a giant spider in the hallway for the umpteenth time (mostly I just don’t want to remember we have spiders in our basement). Maybe a normal day is just that--normal! And kinda boring. But who cares? Most days are like that.

Even though I wasn’t taking pictures, I was noticing things more. I had never seen the giant sunflower patch near our house until yesterday. I’m slightly embarrassed to admit this, but I know it can happen to all of us.

I was tired--literally brain-fried--from coming up with a caption for everything. I didn’t see the point of sharing what came in my Amazon packages (Cetaphil lotion and a windshield protector--sexy, I know). You know those “unboxing” videos that are becoming popular now? They just made me feel like I had to buy all the things! And I didn’t. I don’t. I have plenty.

That was the other thing I began to notice--how grateful I am. I don’t need a single thing! Once you need less, you have more. I have health insurance. I have boring five dollar lotion when my elbows get dry. Most days I don’t wear makeup, which is a sweaty burden in the summertime. I haven’t painted my nails in three months. My husband is a really nice guy, who makes me laugh every day. I have a good relationship with my parents. I work in a library and have access to so many BOOKS! (that’s another thing I’ve been doing more of...reading). I get to ride my bike to work, which feels nice. All my organs work relatively well. I have Spotify. And even when something goes wrong and I want to cry (and usually do), the next day, the sun inevitably comes back up... and burns my neck on the way to work.

In short, I’m alive. Most days are not glamorous by any stretch. But I’m trying to love them all. I’m grateful God gave me this time. And even if I’m never a gazillionaire with a huge wardrobe and a year-long travel log and a six pack, I will still feel like I didn’t deserve any of it. When I’m not worrying about what everyone else thinks of me or my life, it leaves more room for serving and loving them, and myself.

Good ol’ King Benjamin tell us how:

“And again I say unto you as I have said before, that as ye have come to the knowledge of the glory of God, or if ye have known of his goodness and have tasted of his love, and have received a remission of your sins, which causeth such exceedingly great joy in your souls, even so I would that ye should remember, and always retain in remembrance, the greatness of God, and your own nothingness, and his goodness and long-suffering towards you, unworthy creatures, and humble yourselves even in the depths of humility, calling on the name of the Lord daily, and standing steadfastly in the faith of that which is to come, which was spoken by the mouth of the angel.

And behold, I say unto you that if ye do this ye shall always rejoice, and be filled with the love of God, and always retain a remission of your sins; and ye shall grow in the knowledge of the glory of him that created you, or in the knowledge of that which is just and true.”

Mosiah 4:11-12 (I would recommend reading verses 13-30 too)