Whenever I enter a period of calm, a quietening, I instinctively want to turn to reflective writing. Writing like this. It feels like I am speaking to an old friend. But the friend is inside. When I look back to my last blog post I realise that we haven’t spoken since March this year – it’s now July. There is so much to catch up on.
I am fortunate to be involved with so many projects. There is all of the work that I do Constructivist and the Regenerative Design Lab. My role at Hazel Hill Trust. Swing dance teaching and clowning. Song-writing. The allotment. All of these projects have been very active these last few months. Like the plants themselves on the allotment, this has been a busy and productive time. And in that busyness I haven’t made time for reflection.
But now I notice a moment of calm lapping against me. This quiet has descended in part because our daughter has just gone away for a week on choir tour, a significant moment in her transition from primary to secondary school. There has been a steady build up to this moment, with packing and planning, and now the trip has begun; except we’re not on it. Our home is quiet, the party has moved on elsewhere.
I also feel like we are turning a corner in our work at Constructivist. We have just finished writing up our findings for the third cohort of the Regenerative Design Lab looking into policy for regenerative design, and plans are in place for the autumn. So we are busy, but again the mode feels calmer.
And when things are calmer, I can hear the voice of the inner wonderings, the things I am curious about. And that is where the creative juice is. How our inner world shows up, as Proust describes.
In my creative thinking training, I describe the subconscious as being like a party in your neighbour’s house. You can hear there are voices next door but you can only make out what they are saying if you quiet down the voices in your own living room. Let’s take this analogy further. Imagine that the people in your living room are the project managers and stakeholders in whatever project is on your mind. But the people at your neighbour’s party are all the interesting folk you’ve met in your life, telling stories of great experiences and new ideas. You need to have the project management meeting, but you need to keep it short so that you can join the party next door.
This moment of calm is a moment when my living is emptying out for a bit and I am reminded that there is a party going on next door. Writing is my way of joining that party.