Feeling Aimless + Lost?
I hope you are feeling absorbed and in the flow of your creative process--but in case you don't, I just want to emphasize how normal that is, how predictable, how a part of the process it will always be to feel aimless, distracted or unfocused. And it's temporary.
That ‘lost in the desert’ kind of feeling serves a purpose.
But it doesn't change the fact that it's certainly not fun. In fact, it's just plain hard. Instead of feeling inspired, you feel tired. You just don't have that thing that's calling to you, and that can feel unsettling.
Have you guessed that the inspiration for this topic comes to me right now because I'm there in that aimless place? If there's one thing you can count on from me it's that I speak from experience, not from a place of having conquered or mastered anything. I'm in it, trying to pound things into place, just like we all are.
And what I know from years of experience with this aimless stage is that you can't conquer it, because it's actually part of the creative process.
There are some things that are just on repeat in life--like getting hungry, needing to move, wanting closeness + solitude. These things are not isolated experiences, but rather part of a bigger machine. So even though my impulse is always to resist and fight it, I'm trying to relax a little more each time I circle back around to this stage again.
In case you find yourself in one of those places, I thought I'd share tactics I've developed over the years to navigate this floundering feeling.
8 Things I have found to be helpful when I feel aimless in the studio or like I just don't know where to dig in:
Get back in your physical body--take a walk, do yoga, hike, dance, cry. Being in this part of the process can trap us in our heads where it's noisy, but getting back in your body is where you'll find what's next because it will tell you.
Play with a process you don't normally work with--in other words, be creative, but off the subject. This can spark interest and ideas.
Watch, read, or listen to something inspiring. Finding something that opens you up just clears out the channel through which new life will come.
Do a bit of study on someone that is inspiring to you. About 20 years ago I read every book I could find by or about Isak Denison. That inspiration shaped something in me that I can still feel nourishing me today.
If getting in the studio is hard, decide that for an entire week you will set a 10-15 minute timer and do something--anything-- in your studio for that time. Clean up your space, organize, go through old sketchbooks or paintings and take note of how you show up in your work.
Have a written conversation with your critical side. Get genuinely curious and ask it questions about what it's trying to do for you and why. Write the answers without censoring them and see if there's anything there that makes sense to you or gives you compassion for this part of you that is just trying to protect you from perceived danger.
Take this time to work on your skills--what area do you need to understand more about? Take a class or watch YouTube videos on color, composition or a specific medium you're curious about.
Trust the process. It's not just when we're actively creating that we are asked to trust the process, but living the creative life with all of it's stages and detours, peaks and valleys--this is also a process in which every piece matters and is necessary. Learning to trust it is part of the job, it seems.
Sometimes we get so focused on output that we can't hear that gentle creative part of us asking to be nourished and fed. That aimless feeling could possibly be our signal that more input is needed. One of the biggest ‘AHAs’ I have had is that my creative self sometimes needed and wanted different things than I did. When I began relating to that part of me like a separate person, I immediately saw something that shocked me: I was a bully.
I treated ‘her’ like property, someone who worked for me or was there to be in service to my goal and ideals. It took me a long time to see this, but only moments to change; I was ready to respect this part of me, and I’m still amazed to see how much easier and smoother everything goes when I take the time to see what my creative self wants and needs, and then I try to provide that. We’re friends and equals now—we have each other’s back. This is the relationship I always wanted.
Once again, art instructs me about life and holds up a mirror so I can see the truth about myself. Art is a kind and loving teacher.
How’s your relationship with your creative self? Take it from me, it’s worth a think and having a lull in your creative output is the perfect time to inquire.
