A Manifesto for Unstriving
On balancing flow and structure
[Pour les lecteurs francophones, une courte vidéo ci-dessous qui aborde brièvement ce thème sous l’angle de la structure et du flow]
Learning to rest, to chill, to find peace in being has been, is, for me a lifelong endeavour. And even in that choice of word “endeavour”, I find the irony of forcing. Most times, what fuels and nourishes me is to write, to work, to do, to play, to dance, to learn, to read, to clean, to hike, to boulder, to meditate, to ritualise, to organise, to visualise, to think… because when I’m not doing, in stillness, I often have the feeling of flickering away (i.e. I’m a generator in Human Design…) and yet, there is a thin line between doing and striving, between being and not doing. And that’s the one I’m forever learning to tread.
Not always able to feel my limits on a given day, season, or task, I often crash at the end day, week, or at the beginning of holidays. It happened again at the turn of the summer, when I came out of a big spring of doing, of restructuring, in writing, in process and posture, in my novel, in life and routine, exhausted, but wanting to keep pushing. This spring of doing was necessary, and came with a lot of newness, of learning, of pushing, of striving, of unflowing and unravelling to build new foundations, often past my edges and comfort zone, to be able to move toward the completion of my projects, to hold more, but also to become the author I want to be, beyond my forte and comfortable intuitive writing. The Antarctic Bridge is pushing me beyond all that I know, as it’s not a channelled first draft, as my first book, L’Envol and I have to learn (once more) how to plot, structure and edit.
Holding more, pushing through… and surrendering
In April, I wrote on Instagram (see post below), that I was committed to hold more, as a writer, as a shamanic practitioner and as a human in my own life. Let’s say the Universe heard me and went ahead to test me and my resolve.
After two years and a half on working on the novel (a timeframe that may be considered long by many, including by me on my bad days), currently on the final stages of editing, I’m tired, and I catch myself, again and again, striving, pushing to the end, forcing the denouement. And I don’t want to write a forced story… That was my initial plan and thinking for the summer, to push through, to finish, to be done with it. It would most probably have been painful, coercive and unaligned with my values, my vision, the story and my creative process, not leading to the best output qualitatively. Those plans - it’s not the first one, it won’t be the last - are artificial, unrealistic, and built upon the expectations of others, of myself or a model I want to replicate. Like the time I planned a whole Round-The-World trip itinerary, only to throw it to the wind at the last minute and follow my instincts and the flow of the journey as I went along. The only difference with my now, is that I don’t want to completely throw the novel to the wind, but I’d rather wish to help the wind blow into the right direction, for the water to flow in the river bed, not to dry off, nor overflow.
Structure and flow, striving, unstriving and surrendering
And this was when I realised that, after experimenting with flow and creating from alignement and play, after learning to structure and hold the boundaries necessary to complete a project, to myself and others, it was time to integrate both. To truly learn how to be in flow within the structures I have set up, to trust the flow, to trust the structure in place, to rest, to heal and merge the “feminine and masculine” energies within me.
What do I mean by that exactly? For example, being in flow in my writing, amounts to noticing the time and opportunities when writing and editing want to pour through me and taking advantage of these moments (like this letter, written in a first draft, waking up at 7 am, before editing and redrafting it in a more formatted and scheduled timeframe, and finally finishing it in the early hours of the morning, my best time for it it seems); but also to keep on coming and showing up everyday to my scheduled writing time and writing spaces (outside in the park, at the studio, in cafés or on the couch) with a light heart, a flowy state of mind, not too high expectations, while holding the compassion, intuition and possibility of rest or play if needed. It’s never black and white, one or the other. At the moment, I’m a slow editor - especially in my second language - and forcing me to the task or catch up to what should be the “normal” rhythm of editing or calendar won’t yield the qualitative results I want. I’ve tried, and it’s not working for me. But at the same time, the opposite is true too, because only creating when I feel inspiration will never going to allow me to finish. To me flowing within structure, rather than forcing through “expected“ structures is an integrated art and life process.
To trust the flow is learning to rest, to follow timing and alignement, our inspiration and intuition. To trust the structure is trusting the foundations and systems you have set up for yourself to be able to create: to trust the place where you create, your community and boundaries to respect your time and art, your work to support yourself, your plot and structure of your book, your schedule, yourself in following through, your instruments and tools, your organisations, the platforms and websites you use…
And for both, it means trusting the unknown, the universe, and that no matter what, no matter the result, on the other side of your creation, you will be safe, loved, happy, and on your way to more creation and artistry, because it’s who you are and who you’re meant to be.
Allowing for rest and flow takes trust, faith. Allowing to move forward and act too. It is the same trust that is needed, but only a different expression of it. It doesn’t happen magically: it is a decision and a practice. And it’s always beautiful to find, that on the other space of survival, we find the space to breathe. Please dear artist, trust that it’s ok to step away from structures, to rest and play, from time to time, when needed. Please dear artist, trust that it’s ok to step away from flow too, when you’re ready to step beyond your comfort mode and hold more.
[Une minute de vidéo en Français ci-dessous sur la confiance dans le chaos et son intégration avec la structure]
Unstriving and rest
And unstriving, while creating, allows for another sort of rest, one that comes in the space in-between creation, to nourish your art and your life. It asks for moments of contemplation, of silence, of going within, of new ways of being, of prioritising and letting space in, to rest, to play, to sleep, to love, to live, to do nothing, to open to other art forms, beyond the accomplishment of the tasks at hand. And from that space, creation and life can thrive; unique and new creations, unique and new ways of being. So when we try, we do, we implement, we make anew, we learn, there will always come a point of surrender, of unstriving, of trusting the process and yourself through it, that all is going to be ok and perhaps, even better if you rest.
If you’re an irremediable doer like me, this is your permission slip to rest and to trust yourself, to trust what you have done already and what your future self will do. That from a resting and unstriving place, you will create more and better.
If at the moment you’re on the other side of the creation pendulum, this is your permission slip to go ahead and do, to build new structures within and outside yourself to build a wider capacity for your flow and your art.
It’s always restful to me to step out of routines and write in nature.
I’m learning, I have learnt that if I don’t force the “when” I write this letter, but simply hold gently its theme, I will come to write it easily every week, and more regularly than when I used to set myself deadlines, schedules and had to come up with a theme to fit the calendar.
I’m learning that if I step outside for a short walk, I find a solution to my plot issues in mere minutes, instead of sitting in my chair, trying to write for hours on end.
I’m learning, I have learnt that if I go offline for a day or more, if I don’t check my emails constantly, nothing happens, but a more peaceful mind.
I’m learning that writing and edits flow better if I allow for ample space, not doing, listening to music and looking out of the window.
I’m learning that the more I rest, the better person I become, the better I write, live and love.
Questions to hold gently for yourself and perhaps to journal on: What about you? What are you learning in this season of life and art? How can you rest more and unstrive? Which part of your world, your art do you need to trust more to let go of control and step out of survival mode? How can you integrate the structures of your life and the flow of life?
On finding flow again, because it’s always there for the taking
On Wednesday morning, for the first time in a long while, I’ve had a taste of what means flowing within a structure, of finding freedom in the form, of letting my voice shine, without nitpicking every little detail and word. I know this is the first clue that’s gonna lighten the load towards flowing more freely in my writing and editing, and ultimately finish my novel, without forcing it.
Yesterday morning, I flowed through a chapter and a half, allowing ample space for daydreaming and music in-between speedy sessions. This is the fastest I have moved through editing, without rushing it.
This morning, I had a big insomnia, which led me to new ideas and to finish this letter for you to have it when you wake up. Still, I will show up to my writing in the morning, but gently, working less hours and allowing for whatever can be done, even if it’s just one sentence, without trying to catch up all weekend.
The river and waterfall sometimes can’t be tamed.
Further reading:
When your partner has more ambition than you, by James Winestock
On going slow, by Elspeth Wilson
ARTemis
ARTemis is a shamanic and artistic journey to reveal and reclaim your Artist and artistic power and voice. For 6 months to a year, online or in Edinburgh, UK, we will dive together into the depths of your soul, to help you find ease, flow and build the new structures you need to hold more of your art and mission.
Will you join me on this journey?
More information on ARTemis here.
xx
Lucie