your nervous system and the process of creating
{8} interwoven: on what it means to have a body & an alive creative practice
Lovely people, today’s content is a slight deviation from the usual interwoven format- we’re going to talk this week about the nervous system and it’s relationship to your creative life because the reality is, if we want a life that is rich and full, where we can show up for conversations that matter, advocate for both ourselves and others, and be fully connected to the place that we find ourselves, then understanding nervous system health needs to be a part of that conversation. Which is exactly what we’re going to start exploring now…
If you are new to these parts, welcome! I’m so happy you are here. What you are reading now is part of interwoven, a gentle journey of deep noticing, imagination, and appreciation for humans wanting to connect to their creativity, each other & the glistening, wild world, that I’m letting out from behind the paywall for this week.
If you want to be a part of it, we would love for you to join us.
Just yesterday, my body sat within a metal tube, flew over a large stretch of the pacific. As I write this to you now, I am sitting in a bed that is not mine, looking out at a view that’s unfamiliar, my ears attempting to make sense of bird song that’s different from what it is I usually hear. I am in a different country, with different forces acting on my body. Yesterday, I was in winter. Today I am in summer. Yesterday, I was local. Today I am foreign. I have not changed- at least not in ways that are tangibly that obvious- but what’s around me has. And as a result, of course, I’m different in the world. And within all of those realities, an indisputable fact remains. I am person living in a body; a skin- covered, human-looking self, responding the best she can, to each and every moment. An eating, drinking, sleeping person, figuring out how it is I need to be.
And yet, that is not all.
Just as real as the fingers that have typed these words out loud you, I have a second body, alive and active, unrestrained by the edges of an outline. This body exists in many different places at once, often well beyond the reaches of what my conscious brain can understand or even hope to entertain. Her threads are woven with the water that flow quite near to home. Her mark still sings on the nectar feeders that were filled up for the Tūī, can still be felt within the four walls of the house in which I for the most time live. My family feel my energetic fingerprints despite the fact I’m physically not there, just as I feel theirs, despite the fact they’re not here with me either. This second body, the one that is quite mine, also lives within the consequences of the decisions and the actions that her physical self took and lived sometimes quite long ago.
I read a whole book on the plane, and my second body now dances with the thoughts contained within it. She is considering what they mean, how they affect her, how she could share them moving forward. She swirls within the realm of the ideas.
To live a life that is creative; to allow yourself to act on the instructions of your inner world; to produce something from a construct of imagination; to create-- both bodies need to be supported and be nurtured. Both bodies need to be considered and actively tended to. They are both interdependent and distinct. Wholly unique and at the same, reliant on each other to express. To be a human who creates is to fully occupy both selves. To respect the unseen processes that are essential for anything to be made visible, the outcomes of which cannot be forced or controlled and make themselves known in their own time. And to understand our human- animal- body selves, subject to the same forces, pressures, reflexes, and responses as any other nervous system operating in the word. And it’s on this latter point I thought we could begin.
If our second body is the playground of imagination, the space where our curiosities, meet inspiration and form into ideas, then our first body is the container that they land in. And for them to have access, they need a way in. An opening they can slide through; a space in the veneer; a slippery slide access point from the ethers where everything that is swirling in the atmospheric wilderness above our heads have a way that they can find us.
Our ideas need a way to find us.
On first reading, this might seem quite obvious, but in reality, it’s anything but. Because what blocks out our ideas, our wild voices, and the inklings of our intuitive selves is often what we develop with grown-up-ness. Judgement. Doubt. The inner, critical voice.
And beyond that, a lack of willingness to play.
If we were to focus on our first body- on our mammalian, nervous system selves- our learning, and the way that we act within the world is subject to a very simple process:
1. We make a decision
2. We take an action
3. We observe the consequences of that action so that our brain can better align our intentions with our actions next time round
If I was to translate this directly to the creative process, it would look something like this:
1. Contemplation and ideation
2. Manifestation and translation
3. Revision and refinement
In any situation of stuckness, returning to this simple three step process is without doubt the way through. But as with anything that’s important, us humans can add a level of complication where we can get in our own way, which is especially prevalent early on and mid-way through.
Here’s what that might look like…
1. contemplation & ideation
The reality is, we’re constantly alive with thoughts, ideas, and creative musings, spinning like satellites in the spaces up above our heads. This hive of activity, the ability of the individual to tap into the collective consciousness is an undeniable blessing, for the simple reason that there is an endless pool of creative flow that we are intrinsically a part of. No shortage of thoughts for us to play with, no drought that’s possible within this collective whirlpool.
The sheer magnitude of what’s available is often, however, precisely the reason we can’t or don’t get started. If we consider that ‘Stage 2’ is where we take an idea and set it into action, ‘Stage 1’ involves making a decision. Taking one of those ideas and facilitating its birth into physical form.
Where we get tripped up is by waiting until we have the right idea, until we feel a degree of certainty about what it is we’ve chosen and its potential to turn into something good. But the idea being the right one, and the resulting work being good work is in and of itself completely subjective and irrelevant to the creative process itself. From a nervous system perspective, judgement pulls you into your reflexive, fight flight self. Now instead of responding to your creative body, you are stuck in the world of overthinking. Of over-intellectualizing and layering on top the conditioned thoughts that reek of all the should and all the have-to’s.
Your job, at this point, is not to be judge and jury. Your sole job is to play. To choose one of those ideas and see where it takes you, free in the knowledge that you can change your mind at any point, that the choice you make does not determine your worth as a person or an artist, and without expectation about where it is you might end up.
Your job:
To make a decision about which idea you want to play in this moment and to just see where it takes you. Creativity and a body that is rooted in this moment is responsive. It’s inhabiting a self where your energetic presence communicates, I am here and I’m responding to what’s in front of me.
Where we allow ourselves to be new in every moment.
A side note: You will always have ideas and if you are finding that you don’t, it’s most likely because you have spent a long time censoring yourself to the point where you no longer recognize their presence. If this is you, know firstly, you’re not alone, and secondly, it’s not your fault. We live in a culture that affirms the analytical over the intuitive, control and certainty over play. In short: we’ve been trained into behaving this way.
And as with anything of that nature, we can train ourselves out of it.
2. manifestation and translation
As with the first phase, the job here is as easy and difficult as letting the words flow. If we want to stay within our creative, embodied selves, we cannot censor what comes out. The purpose here is not for curation or refinement but for capturing. If our second body is the pouring of the water, the role of the first body is the catching in the cup. You are simply catching words (or it could equally be sounds or pictures) that are flowing from sources both without and within you.
And on any given day, your cup could be a variety of sizes. It could be lists or letters; it could be poetry or paragraphs. That’s not for us to decide. The aim is to be present and to be ready for what comes out.
3. revision and refinement
Revision and refinement ask that we hold our words, our art, lightly. That we take the process seriously, but we don’t take ourselves seriously- they are two quite different things. There are two universes active in this process; one is the flame of your intention (what was my purpose, my desire when I sat down to create this piece?) and the outcome (what is it I’ve been left with?). What exists within the gap between the two is information.
In the creative universe, that space leaves us with a series of beautiful questions:
What is it that I want to make of this work?
What does that require of me?
How might I go about bridging the gaps?
And can I allow myself to be dedicated to the process, to the journey of exploration and of figuring all this out?
What would allow my intention and the outcome to live closer together?
We deny our creative body when we rest in places of judgement. Where we judge our work as good or bad, right, or wrong. When we deny its place as an expanding and contracting, breathing entity that is part of the creative process; not an unfortunate or wasted part but a necessary part. A process of revelation that allows us to uncover what’s important to us, what it is we want to communicate to ourselves and to the world, that allows us to tune into the energy that inspirited our work to begin with.
All revision, editing, refinement represents is the process of aligning the outcome of our work with our original intention. Or who knows-- perhaps it’s turned into a whole new universe that we could never have known before we started.
And what a gift that is.
ways to support yourself and both your bodies
1. embodying your responsive rather than your reflexive self or allowing yourself to be found
To understand the heart of this discussion, we need some understanding of the basics of the nervous system, and the implications different nervous system states can have on our creative lives.
If we were to divide our nervous system into two central operating systems, we would be left with the sympathetic nervous system (more commonly known as the survival nervous system) and the parasympathetic system (more commonly known as the rest and digest system, although that is a gross simplification of what parasympathetic actually is). Both systems function around the unifying question, which the brain is insistently and consistently in the process of answering, which is:
Are we safe?
If the answer is yes, the response (our movements and our actions) is rooted in the parasympathetic system.
If the answer is no, or we’re not sure, the response (our movements and our actions) are rooted in the sympathetic system, or the fight flight nervous system.
The sympathetic system is a system of reflex (a combination of base instinct and habituated responses) that are designed to be activated when we are under physiological threat. In other words, when our physical self is under peril. There are several systems of response within the fight flight system itself, which are fight, flight, freeze and conservation of energy mode or collapse. The structure of the body orients in distinct ways to support these survival aims, and there are thought and behavioural patterns that also correlate with these nervous system states.
What determines the answer to the question- the question of are we safe?- is incoming sensory information. Sensory information is sent to the brain, arrives at the central processing centre, and our brain uses that information to decide our safety. This is a most excellent system if we are living in environments and contexts for which we are designed-- but the problem is, most of us are not. For the most part, our modern way of life does not intrinsically support nervous system health, and as a result, a good chunk of us (it’s well into the majority) find ourselves dealing with nervous system dysfunction. If our living circumstances are safe, we are designed to live mostly in the parasympathetic system and flip in and out of fight flight on the occasions life necessitates; for the majority of us, however, the situation is reversed.
So how does this impact our creativity?
The parasympathetic system is the system of functioning that allows us stay rooted to our sensory, feeling, intuitive selves. It is the mode of functioning that allows us to be open; where we’re responding accurately to the moment; where we’re creative and generative in ways that don’t associate artistic experience to a battleground or with the need for pressure or force.
Conversely, the fight flight system is a system of reflex. If we sit down to write (or make) in a state of fight flight, it’s not that creating is impossible, but the experience of creating will be very different. Instead of being open to the new and innovative, we will be drawing on old narratives, our database of previous stories that is limited instead of limitless. This is the nature of creating from a reflex system; what is available is what is already programmed to be there.
Most people don’t consider their nervous system within the act of creating. We draw on the second body- our boundary-less, creative self- and forget that to access her we need to be a state that is receptive. And to do so within the fight flight system is like trying to open up a door that is not there.
So how do we support ourselves in a parasympathetic state for the process of creating?
There are ways of assessing your nervous system state based on physical indicators (rather than attempting to subjectively assess where you are at based on how you feel). For the purposes of today’s discussion, to venture into that is slightly too complicated; instead, we are going to talk more generally about what that could look like and explore its application from there.
If we consider this from a sensory perspective (remember the brain needs a constant stream of sensory input to determine if we’re safe), our sensing selves is what brings us back to what is real. Sensing is what anchors us in the here and now. Which is interesting to consider if we hold this against the understanding that in fight flight, the sensory system is turned down.
Why? It’s for protective reasons. If I’m in the middle of an altercation or a fight, feeling all the feels from a sensory perspective is not useful to my plight. It’s only after I am done, when I am safe, that my sensory system comes back online. Functionally, this is a smart strategy if, again, we are in a position where I’m only in fight flight briefly, or for a short amount of time.
But the thing is-- we’re not. Some of us are kind of stuck there. And if our sensory data becomes limited as a result, our brain is no longer accurately assessing if we are safe, and we find ourselves in a vicious loop that sees us spinning round on ourselves.
And if that’s the case, creatively, we are turning up to the page (or the easel or the clay) in a fight flight state.
We need to take some time to re-activate our sensory system, to sink back into the edges of our skin.
And because this is something that needs to be experienced rather than read about, I thought we could do that right now. Here’s a practice that’s a few minutes long that you can use to ‘bring yourself back’ before you adventure into glorious imaginings on the page.
2. letting go of what creativity needs to look like
Part of me would love to follow more of a schedule or routine, but that’s not the reality of what my life allows. I have two young children, a business, animals to attend to. My days are an assortment of shape shifting parts—and I need to shapeshift with them. Within that, I’m dedicated to consistency rather than routine. I write daily, but how long for and when that occurs changes over the course of an average week. I’m tried imposing a schedule on my days but it’s like trying to catch clouds between your fingers. A lovely idea but never going to happen. Showing up how and when I can is the next best choice.
3. letting yourself have the experience (& not pulling yourself into distraction)
To create, you need to let yourself have the experience of creating. This sounds, again, quite obvious but actually it’s often the thing we don’t allow ourselves the do, especially if the next word does not immediately flow, or we find ourselves unsure how to proceed with the poem or story, or for whatever reason we feel we’re in a funk. The uncomfortability of it all literally and metaphorically drives us to distraction.
If we want to create, we have to allow ourselves the experience of creating and to stay in it for longer than perhaps our comfort zone would like. That means staying put when our creative moments present to us as boredom, frustration, despondency or even anger. Where we wonder why we are even doing this, it doesn’t even seem to be something that we like.
Once you cycle around this a few times you recognize these phases to be a legitimate and, most often, a necessary puzzle piece of getting the next part where you do indeed begin to write.
But there’s no way under them. There’s no way over them. There’s no way around them. You can only go through them. And constantly distracting yourself (in ways that does not support or enrich your focus) is only making the bits you are trying to avoid even more drawn out.
thought-scape journaling
In our workshop last week, we discussed the process of intentional journaling using thoughtscapes. A series of small captures on what we understand to be real and true. To be honest, this whole essay in continuation of that thought process (it turns out I wasn’t finished!) but I wanted to add a couple more things in here so we can see it through.
1. start a book of curiosities
Curiosity is an underutilized resource. By simply becoming curious- about what presents, what is, even what’s getting in the way, new things open up. Curiosity allows for more beautiful questions to be asked, new answers to be lived.
I recently started a Book of Curiosities; a place where I collate and collect quotes, pictures, facts, musings, anything I see or hear around me that could provide me with creative fodder for another day. The contents have on more than one occasion functioned as a natural springboard for whole new thought streams, provided relief for a brain that might find itself constricted, and inspiration for the moments where I feel under-resourced or a little tapped out that day.
2. inviting the real world in (both in body and in mind)
Concreate observations and specific detail are what invite the real-world in. When you notice your environment, sense into your space, where your sensory system tunes in, and an opening appears. You are in this body, in this place, engaging in this process. You are here now and showing up for what presents, an alchemy that transmutes the real and the practical into the experience of the mystical and magical. Which is exactly what creating is.
3. trusting that you are interesting
I think this is really important and I don’t think I’ve ever seen it talked about. Creating of any kind is a process of trusting that what you have to share is interesting. If we don’t think we are interesting or what we create is all that interesting, then it’s likely we aren’t going to let ourselves experiment in the first place.
And the beautiful thing is:
The difference between being interesting and not being interesting is simply allowing yourself to be. Interesting people, as the saying goes, are interested people. They are people who are engaged, who are curious and who are alive. To be alive is to create, to create is to share, to share is to engage, to engage is to live.
Let yourself be interesting and the whole world opens up.
Thank you for hanging out with me today, it’s a pleasure to hang out together. I’d love to hear your thoughts so please feel free to share them below!
xx Jane
I too have a book of curiosities! I always find myself going back to things, pondering further. Sometimes we need to sit with things before they are ready to be shared. Like they need to live a little more on the page and within ourselves first. In that way, creativity is as much in the living as it is in the creating.
Jane, this is so so great! Full of goodness, plain speak and woven with the magic and mysteriousness of the creative process! I LOVED the practice, your beautiful and soothing voice combined with the actual practice were exactly what I needed - so big thanks for that. I actually sat down to write a chapter on the topic of 'Play' in relation to motherhood and healing from trauma but felt so frustrated and despondent - the world is heavy right now and sometimes the words feel so hard to reach. Reading and listening to this has been so useful for stepping into the flow. Wishing you a safe trip. Kelly x