After I started reading Tim Ferris's book "Tribe of Mentors" yesterday afternoon, I was so completely struck by one particular paragraph, I decided to change the title to "Shallow".
I love titles that carry multiple meanings and after many, very funny, text messages with my girlfriends this week about Bradley Cooper and the new Lady Gaga "A Star is Born" movie, I decided Shallow was perfect. Whoever would've thought that dreamy Bradley Cooper would sing, play guitar, write and direct a movie, while playing the lead male role and have the number one song on iTunes? I am now one of many women (and men) who is contributing to the second wave of revenue for this movie (those seeing it for the second time), which I am officially doing tonight.
And so, in tribute to my fabulous friends, Bradley Cooper's piercing blue eyes and Tim Ferris's wise quote, this post is renamed Shallow.
***
Being busy does not equal being productive. And there is absolutely nothing more seductive than the power of social media and the internet to elude us away from our To-Do lists and into a state of autopilot busyness. With one thumb print, we scroll through a familiar mindless loop, switching between news websites, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and Instant Message conversations. I call it the Social Media Sinkhole because there truly is no end unless you physically choose to shut it down and put the device away. The impact to our productivity of operating with this information overload, combined with the speed and attention required to endlessly sift through pictures and words, drains our energy away from any other intention.
We each have an energetic threshold daily. Rest and repair. Fuel and recharge. It has been taught to us in so many different ways that we are not limitless and we require an equal balance of give and take with our energy to perform optimally.
Let's pretend that we are made up of exactly ten energetic units. Some mornings we might wake up missing one unit of energy already. We didn't sleep well or our spouse or child was ill and kept us up at night. Perhaps we had a drink or two the night before. (Greatest line I ever read was "For every glass of alcohol you consume tonight, you will lose one unit of energy for tomorrow.") The same could be said for diet or exercise as we add or take away energy for today and tomorrow.
It is also scientifically proven that the first ninety minutes of our day is the most productive time for our brains. I have read study after study that shows this is to be true for 90% of the population. Whatever it is that is the most important thing we want to accomplish, ideally should be done within the first ninety minutes we wake up.
Yet, what has become a household routine for the average person?
The first thing most people do when they wake up in the morning is check their phone. (Followed by the loop of apps they flip between on autopilot.)
In essence, we are giving the power away of our most constructive time of day. We are using the battery reserve of our energy available to face the entire day, and squandering it to a mindless busyness that only serves to drain our resources.
Remarkable if you think about it.
***
This excerpt from Tim Ferris's Tribe of Mentors nails it.
"The disease of our times is that we live on the surface. We're like the Platte River, a mile wide and an inch deep. I always say, If you want to become a billionaire, invent something that will allow people to indulge in their own resistance. Somebody did invent it. It's called the Internet. Social media. That wonderland where we can flit from one superficial distraction to another, always remaining on the surface, never going deeper than an inch.
Real work and real satisfaction come from the opposite of what the web provides. They come from going deep into something - the book you're writing, the album, the movie - and staying there for a long, long time."
- Steven Pressfield, (Screenwriter, Fiction writer, Narrative nonfiction, self-help and advertising author)
***
I started a book this week with a twelve week program, designed to improve creative writing skills. It's called "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron and has been around for twenty five years. Each chapter represents the work to be done for the week and digs through self doubt and creative expression, while using writing prompts and questions to uncover a deeper layer of creativity within.
The book focuses on two main components.
The first is called "Morning Pages". The first thing to do when I wake up is to write for three pages, long hand, thirty minutes roughly, straight.
The second component is an "Artist Date". Every week for twelve weeks, I am to commit to a two hour block of time to do something, anything, that is dedicated to solitary time alone.
In order to write for thirty minutes first thing in the morning and ensure my homework is done for each chapter, I have been forced to shift from beginning my day with the Social Media Sinkhole to starting unplugged and focused. My phone is off limits until I have had my coffee, written my pages, walked five miles and set my intentions for the day. But the result of removing technology during this timeframe has also sharpened my awareness of our diminishing human connectivity.
This morning was my first Artist Date.
I picked the Lakeshore Coffee House at the bottom of Brant Street and Lakeshore Road in Burlington. I picked it for a few reasons. I've only ever been there once. It is situated with a view of Lake Ontario by the window and it is a local, no name spot without a chain associated with it. A little, eclectic part of Burlington that isn't a tourist trap and has no history to me at all.
When I walked into the Coffee House, I couldn't help but smile. The walls were gold and burgundy which isn't a trendy set of colors in modern decor. It is, however, the colors on the outside of the book "The Artist's Way". The coincidence struck me as comical as I walked up to the counter.
I ordered a latte and an egg sandwich on white bread (I will start my latest rant arguing against whole grains in another post) and went to sit down.
I walked upstairs and sat in a brown leather bucket chair by the fireplace. I had no phone, no music, no pen and paper. Just a credit card in a plastic bag in case it rained. I just sat and took it all in.
There was a plaque up on the wall behind the coffee bar that said "Espresso Yourself". I thought of that song "Express yourself" and the scene from the movie of Mr. and Mrs. Smith.
There was a couple of realtors working away upstairs behind me. I heard the odd word of "land" and "gains" here and there.
My latte arrived from a friendly, twenty something guy making small talk. It had a perfect heart in the middle of the foam and a piece of dark chocolate on the side plate under the mug. (If you ever need to purchase me a gift, dark chocolate with the sea salt on it is a perfect win... hint, hint). My egg sandwich on lovely white bread arrived, made to order, hot and fresh, just the way I like it.
As I drank my latte, I was focused on a group of five by the window. An older group than I, maybe mid late 60's, early 70's, they had formed their chairs in a circle. Each one of them took turns, no one speaking over the other or interrupting, as they drank their coffees with light, easy conversation. The women had their hair done, make up on and sporting their Sunday best. The men in khakis and loafers. And they just continued their gentle ping pong match of words, back and forth, in balanced harmony.
I thought to the challenges of our generation and beyond as we fight to maintain our depth in human connection. The toll on our bodies from binge watching full seasons of television on Netflix, the inflammation in our hands from typing and scrolling, the sinkhole of social media and the despair of searching endlessly for something that is never found. The energetic cancer that begins the second the alarm goes off and the phone is picked up and engaged.
My heart swelled as I watched the circle of men and women at the window. Smiling, drinking their morning coffee and exchanging stories.
How ironic is it that the true magic of connectivity lies in our ability to disconnect.
