As with so many of us, my thoughts and prayers have been with the inhabitants of Los Angeles these past few weeks.
As I watch the heartbreaking destruction that continues to unfold, I've been thinking about a podcast conversation between Pat McCabe and Francis Weller (that I shared in the last issue), where he talks about the importance of "keeping current with our grief" as a vital practice.
In my understanding, keeping current with our grief is both a personal practice and a collective practice — for the pain and loss that we are each individually experiencing, for the pain and loss that we are collectively witnessing, and for the pain and loss of Mother Earth herself, made manifest in the spasms of these increasingly frequent climate disasters.
This has me reflecting on what my own practices are for regularly processing grief, and how I can attune more deeply to the collective to support the greater whole in "keeping current" with our sorrow. I don't know exactly what this means yet, but I am investigating and experimenting. In addition to the usual thought-provoking articles and podcasts, I've also included some links below to resources for those impacted by the wildfires as well as for those who want to help.
Sending calm, comfort, and cooling thoughts, Jocelyn
Wise Trees series: Joshua.
✨ New Workshop: Remember Who You Are ✨
I'm hosting an in-depth workshop on Sunday, February 2nd called "Remember Who You Are" that's about reconnecting with your innate essence, vitality, and strength in preparation for what looks to be a bumpy ride in 2025.
Through a talk, prompts, and guided meditations, we'll explore how you've grown in the past year, what patterns are ready for clearing, what values you want to align with moving forward, and what tools you can use to stay connected to yourself and grounded in your power.
10% of all proceeds will go to the BIPOC-owned bookstore Octavia's Bookshelf in LA, which has transformed itself into vital hub for mutual aid.
Read my original essay on why "remembering who we are" is so important here.
Wise Trees series: Juniper.
Creativity vs Efficiency — Wherein I talk about my forgetful writing process, the novelist Lauren Groff hiding her drafts in bankers boxes, our obsession with efficiency, and why we need to regularly "shore up" our consciousness
I was speaking with a friend the other day about the idea of having to regularly "shore up my consciousness." By which I mean the practice of reminding myself of the values that matter to me and how I want to honor them in the way I show up for myself, my loved ones, my work, and my creativity.
Why is this practice necessary?
Because so many of the values that we are inundated with on a daily basis by the apps, tools, and services that we engage with are simply not aligned with life, with generativity, or with creativity. I'm thinking here about values like urgency, efficiency, and convenience.
When I think about this "shoring up," the metaphor I imagine is: My consciousness is this beautiful pier that extends out over the ocean. It rests on a series of large pillars that represent the values that matter to me, the values that support me in living out my purpose and enjoying my brief time on earth.
But, every time I interface with an app, a tool, or a service, it opens up the flood gates and the ocean comes rushing in, eroding the sand beneath the pier and making it less and less steady. In effect, weakening my connection to my convictions.
So when the tide is low — as in, when I am able to disengage and rest or reflect for a moment — there is this essential and ongoing practice of going down to the beach and tending to the foundations of this pier — of shoring it up again and again.
In order to do this "shoring up," I must engage with the practices and the rituals that help me connect to earth, to ancestors, to nature, to flow, to source, to creativity, to myself, to the collective.
And yet: Even though I have this handy visual metaphor and I understand the dynamic that is at play here — still, I forget.
I recently experienced this forgetting with regard to my writing process. I have known for many years now that I write best — most fluidly and with the greatest ease — when I write in longhand. I have learned this lesson many times and, still, it's possible to forget. Why?
Because the ocean rushes in and I get caught (unconsciously) in the riptide of efficiency. In some deep subterranean cavern of my mind, the old conditioning whispers: Why write in longhand when you'll just have to spend more time typing it up later? Why be so inefficient?
Then, like a zombie, I forget the methods that I know work best for me, and I get sucked into composing on my laptop.
This time when it happened, it took me days and days to remember myself — to remember that composing on the computer doesn't work for me. I had to arrive at this place of deep frustration — pulling my hair out, wondering: Why is this so hard?? And then I finally remembered that I had unwittingly stepped outside of the creative process and the flow that serves me best.
So I switched back to longhand and — again — the lightbulb went off: Oh yeah, I love to feel embodied when I write, and when I enjoy the process of writing, everything is easier.
And do I then have to take extra time to type up what I've written? Yes, I do.
But I remember that I love typing — the mindless physical dexterity of it, hearing my writing app mimic typewriting key clacks, getting to reconsider my words as I type them up — like swirling a sip of wine around in your mouth to really take in the flavor.
And I remember: Oh right, the process that appears more efficient is not actually more efficient because it's not aligned with my idiosycratic way of working and, therefore, it stymies my flow. And nothing is more efficient than being in flow.
All of which brings me back to one of my pet topics: Creativity is not efficient. What is efficient is enjoying your creative process.
This idea percolated back up to the surface of my mind recently as I was reading a profile of the author Lauren Groff, who's written numerous bestsellers and been shortlisted for the National Book Award three times. Among these books is one of my favorite novels, Matrix, which is set in a 12th-century abbey with a main character who was inspired by Marie de France, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and Hildegard von Bingen. Which might not sound very compelling, but I am telling you it is gripping! And also pretty queer. 👯
From the NYT profile, here's a peek inside Groff's creative process:
Groff says it takes her about five years to complete a novel but she has been publishing about one every two years. This is because she juggles multiple projects at one time.
She's able to keep up her publishing pace by working on several projects, even several novels, simultaneously, holding entire, vibrant worlds distinct in her mind. She began "The Vaster Wilds" before "Matrix," she said, but finished "Matrix" first.
Those different projects live in different corners of her office, a former nursery with blue walls on the second floor of her house in Gainesville, Florida. And when she shifts from one piece of writing to another, she doesn't shuffle papers on her desk, but moves her body to another part of the room. On a recent Zoom-tour of her work space, she had one project going at either end of her long wooden desk and another on the daybed.
…
When Groff starts something new, she writes it out longhand in large spiral notebooks. After she completes a first draft, she puts it in a bankers box — and never reads it again. Then she'll start the book over, still in longhand, working from memory. The idea is that this way, only the best, most vital bits survive.
When I read this last part I was like 🤯 — she just hides the draft away and starts anew?! Talk about "inefficient"! Or is it?
I write many fast drafts and then I throw them out because I can't read my own handwriting… and then I start over again, and I love this process so much and I cling to it because it allows a sense of play into the work, and the things that don't make it between one draft and another aren't alive and they don't belong in the work.
In other words: Her process gives priority to play and enjoyment and alive-ness — not efficiency.
I love the idea of organizing your process around what feels alive, and that what results from that is a process that appears to be highly inefficient but is actually quite rich and fecund and playful.
I say "appears to be highly inefficient" because I believe that when we release the energy of forcing — which comes out of wanting things to unfold in a certain way or at a certain speed — we can then allow ourselves to fully drop into flow. At which point, everything just takes the amount of time it takes — no more and no less.
I remember one of my professors in college telling me about how her sister didn't like poetry. When she asked her why, the sister said she liked to get from point A to point B in a straight line. In other words, she preferred to proceed in a direct, linear, efficient manner. A manner that she rightly recognized was not conducive to the appreciation of poetry — or most likely — art in general.
And yet: A direct, linear, efficient mode is how most of us are conditioned to pursue our goals from a very young age. Efficiency — or doing something in the most streamlined manner possible — is assumed to be desirable and good in almost all circumstances. Immersed in it, we absorb this preoccupation with efficiency into our beings and our bodies. And then we carry this preference for efficiency into the way that we relate to the world — and to our creativity.
But the problem is: Creativity is not efficient. Or, at least, not efficient in the way that 21st century humans imagine efficiency.
But what if writing five drafts of your novel — four of which you never look at again — is the most streamlined way to write a novel?
And I'm sure it is — for Lauren Groff.
But what works for her isn't exactly the thing that will work for me, or for you.
We each have to figure out our own idiosyncratic methods for getting from point A to point B — shoring up our consciousness and remembering to trust our instincts as we go.
For myself, I am currently in a deep practice of subsituting Ease for Efficiency. I couldn't care less what is efficient, I want to understand how I can find the most grace and ease in any given task.
What alternatives to efficiency are you inviting in for 2025?
Inside Hilma af Klint's notebooks. "I am an atom in the universe that has access to infinite possibilities of development, and it is these possibilities I want, gradually, to reveal."
What constitutes effective activism? "The very nature of our protests online seem unserious because they do not engage with the material world, which is rich with context, specific audiences, and authentic community exchanges." (The epic followup post to this one is also fantastic.)
For the month of January, I'm offering a deep discount on my 4-week course RESET, a heart-centered approach to productivity that's nurturing, intentional, and inspiring. You can use code "RESETME" to save $100 off the regular price. Learn more about the course here.
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SHOUT-OUTS: The artwork is from: Yours truly.
Hi, I'm Jocelyn, the human behind this newsletter. I host the Hurry Slowly podcast, teach online courses, and practice energy work through the Light Heart Project. You can learn more about me at jkg.co. If you have a question, you can always feel free to hit reply. 🤓
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