Want To Boost Your Creativity? Make A Mess.

There might be benefits to having a tidy desk but creativity is not one of them.

Researchers at the University of Minnesota found that working at a clean desk may promote healthy eating, generosity, and conventionality, but messy deckers excel at creative thinking and at generating new ideas.

Messy-desk successes include Mark Twain, Frida Kahlo, Thomas Edison, Martin Luther King Jr, Susan Sontag, and Steve Jobs. 

My productivity is directly related to order – order in my surroundings and order in my day.

But that order goes out of the window when I am working on a project.

At the beginning of a project, my surroundings need to be really tidy. But as the project progress, clutter builds up. By the end of the project, everything is out of place. I then spend days bringing order back into my surroundings and my life.

Famously disorganized Albert Einstein said: “If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?”

Divergence and convergence

On Day 10 of the first draft of my book Productive Writer (which I announced I will finish in 10 days) frantically cutting out the stuff I had so painstakingly written just a few days before. Normally I would have agonized a lot over “killing my darlings,” but after having written four books, I now know that it is part of the process.

I started off by collecting and writing several techniques, stories, ideas, and suggestions over the years. There is a concept called divergence and convergence. As creators, we play the balancing act of divergence and convergence all the time.

If you look at the process of creating anything, it begins with an act of divergence. We look at hundreds of possibilities and consider as many options as possible. We begin gathering inspiration, expose ourselves to new influences, and explore new paths. We are diverging from your starting point.

Divergence is the classic brainstorming stage — whiteboard covered in sketches, the writer’s wastepaper basket filled with crumpled-up drafts, hundreds of photos laid across the floor.

The purpose of divergence is to generate new ideas. It is spontaneous, chaotic, and messy. There is no way you can plan when you’re in divergence mode, and you shouldn’t try. This is the time to wander.

As powerful and necessary as divergence is, it has to end. At some point, we must start discarding possibilities and converge toward a solution. Otherwise, we will never finish anything.

Convergence forces us to eliminate options, make trade-offs and decide what is truly essential. It is about narrowing the range so that you can progress forward and end up with a final result you are proud of.

Convergence allows our work to take on a life of its own and become something separate from ourselves.

The model of divergence and convergence is so fundamental to all creative work, we can see it present in any creative field.

In the video below, an author and illustrator, Debra Fraiser, shares her process of creating the book This Is the Planet Where I Live. Watch it to see how clear her divergence and convergence are, that too over five years.

On Day 10 of the first draft of my book Productive Writer (which I announced I will finish in 10 days) frantically cutting out the stuff I had so painstakingly written just a few days before. Normally I would have agonized a lot over “killing my darlings,” but after having written four books, I now know that it is part of the process.

I started off by collecting and writing several techniques, stories, ideas, and suggestions over the years. There is a concept called divergence and convergence. As creators, we play the balancing act of divergence and convergence all the time.

If you look at the process of creating anything, it begins with an act of divergence. We look at hundreds of possibilities and consider as many options as possible. We begin gathering inspiration, expose ourselves to new influences, and explore new paths. We are diverging from your starting point.

Divergence is the classic brainstorming stage — whiteboard covered in sketches, the writer’s wastepaper basket filled with crumpled-up drafts, hundreds of photos laid across the floor.

The purpose of divergence is to generate new ideas. It is spontaneous, chaotic, and messy. There is no way you can plan when you’re in divergence mode, and you shouldn’t try. This is the time to wander.

As powerful and necessary as divergence is, it has to end. At some point, we must start discarding possibilities and converge toward a solution. Otherwise, we will never finish anything.

Convergence forces us to eliminate options, make trade-offs and decide what is truly essential. It is about narrowing the range so that you can progress forward and end up with a final result you are proud of.

Convergence allows our work to take on a life of its own and become something separate from ourselves.

The model of divergence and convergence is so fundamental to all creative work, we can see it present in any creative field.

Towards the middle of the video, she talks about how critical her journal is to her process, how it’s “this active space where a kind of magic happens… it’s not a scrapbook, it’s not a diary, it’s this place.”

For me, that place is my personal knowledge management system (PKMS), which has become the focal point of my book Productive Writer. It is something we knowledge workers can’t afford not-to have. It doesn’t matter what your PKMS looks like, what matters is how it helps you create.

Here is an aerial view of mine.

A graph view of my knowledge management system in Roam Research.

I Created A Comic Strip

Tom Kuegler wrote the other day, “If writing an article feels like pulling teeth, then you need to change the topic.”

Lately, I have been feeling that my writing is getting stale. That I am running out of fresh ideas. I love writing about traveling, writing, productivity, and personal development, but I can’t do it over and over again. It feels like I am just adding to the noise.

So I changed the topic. I created a comic strip.

Image by the author

I gave the main character my name — Gogi. My nickname. The name my grandfather gave me. A name nobody has. And today, I found a comic character with the same name. A Pakistani girl created it. She gave her heroine my name! And she sketches much better than me. BBC even did a story about her and her comics.

But her topics are different. She creates comics about women’s issues and social constraints, whereas I will tackle productivity, writing, and creativity challenges.

Notes On Boredom

We are so scared of being bored these days.

I come from a time when there was no TV, no internet, and no smartphones. We had long summer vacations but nowhere to go. We hardly had any toys, very little reading material, and no video games.

Yet, I don’t remember being bored.

We played outdoors, invented games, and were extremely happy to sit around and do nothing. Being idle was not a taboo and the term ‘bored’ was rarely used.

The trouble is that we live in an age in which we never get the chance to be bored. All the entertainment we could ever dream of is at our fingertips, waiting on the phone in our pocket.

I think the time is ripe for us all to recognize boredom as the delicacy it is. Here’s a quote from Leslie’s piece, How Boredom is becoming anything but boring:

I think boredom is almost a luxurious thing, a decadent thing. To allow yourself to be bored is almost like a pampering thing. I think boredom might make a comeback. I can see a boredom ranch: ‘Come here and be bored!’

Austin Kleon wrote in Steal Like An Artist:

Take time to be bored. One time I heard a coworker say, “When I get busy, I get stupid.” Ain’t that the truth. Creative people need time to just sit around and do nothing. I get some of my best ideas when I’m bored, which is why I never take my shirts to the cleaners. I love ironing my shirts — it’s so boring. I almost always get good ideas. If you’re out of ideas, wash the dishes. Take a really long walk. Stare at a spot on the wall for as long as you can. As the artist Maria Kalman says. “Avoiding work is the way to focus my mind.” Take time to mess around. Get lost. Wander. You never know where it’s going to lead you.

He stole ‘stare at a spot on the wall’ from psychologist William James and turned it into an exercise in The Steal Like An Artist Journal:

Image Source

Jon Kabat-Zinn, an American professor emeritus of medicine and the creator of the Stress Reduction Clinic and the Center for Mindfulness, says, “When you pay attention to boredom, it gets unbelievably interesting.”

Meditation can be considered an extreme form of boredom, yet everyone knows its benefits.

Henry David Thoreau used to go for long walks in the woods, something that could be an extremely boring exercise was his source of daily inspiration.

David Sedaris used to write on the back of the placemats in the IHOP in his hometown of Raleigh while waiting for food. It played such a large role in David Sedaris’s collection of diaries, Theft By Finding, that the publisher used it as promotional postcards. (The New Yorker published an excerpt with the title, “The IHOP Years.”)

Notice the circling of letters in the words WANDER and WONDER.

Wandering (physical or mental) leads to wondering.

Image Source

Here is what others are saying about boredom.

“The best way to come up with new ideas is to get really bored.” — Neil Gaiman

“I’m a big believer in boredom. Boredom allows one to indulge in curiosity, and out of curiosity comes everything.” — Steve Jobs

“Being bored is a precious thing, a state of mind we should pursue. Once boredom sets in, our minds begin to wander, looking for something exciting, something interesting to land on. And that’s where creativity arises.” — Peter Bregman

“I’ve noticed that my best ideas always bubble up when the outside world fails in its primary job of frightening, wounding, or entertaining me.” — Scott Adams

“Boredom is your window… Once this window opens, don’t try to shut it; on the contrary, throw it wide open.” — Joseph Brodsky

“Creativity is the residue of time wasted.” — Albert Einstein:

Boredom is the birthplace of genius. —

I think boredom is the beginning of every authentic act. Boredom opens up the space, for new engagement. Without boredom, no creativity. If you are not bored, you just stupidly enjoy the situation in which you are. — Slavoj Zizek

Boredom is what used to be called idle time.

We all need idle time.

To wake up in the morning and have that feeling that the whole day is yours. No morning rush. No usual cleanup. No tidying up to do. To slow down. To do absolutely nothing.

Being idle is frowned upon in today’s society. We are so much under pressure to keep doing something all the time that we have forgotten the importance of idle time.

Contrary to the common belief that the ‘idle mind is the devil’s workshop,’ the idle mind is the germination ground for ideas.

Creativity thrives on boredom

Rainer Maria Rilke writes in Letters on Life

I have often wondered whether especially those days when we are forced to remain idle are not precisely the days spent in the most profound activity.

Whether our actions themselves, even if they do not take place until later, are nothing more than the last reverberations of a vast movement that occurs within us during idle days.

In any case, it is very important to be idle with confidence, with devotion, and possibly even with joy. The days when even our hands do not stir are so exceptionally quiet that it is hardly possible to raise them without hearing a whole lot.

But it is Tom Hodgkinson who has tackled the subject head-on in How to Be Idle: A Loafer’s Manifesto. He starts with:

In 1993, I went to interview the late radical philosopher and drugs researcher, Terence McKenna. I asked him why society doesn’t allow us to be more idle.

He replied: I think the reason we don’t organise society in that way can be summed up in the aphorism, “idle hands are the devil’s tool.”

In other words, institutions fear idle populations because an Idler is a thinker and thinkers are not a welcome addition to most social situations. Thinkers become malcontents, that’s almost a substitute word for idle, “malcontent.”

Essentially, we are all kept very busy . . . under no circumstances are you to quietly inspect the contents of your own mind.

Freud called introspection “morbid” — unhealthy, introverted, anti-social, possibly neurotic, and potentially pathological. Introspection could lead to that terrible thing: a vision of the truth, a clear image of the horror of our fractured, dissonant world. He goes on to say:

“Idleness is a waste of time is a damaging notion put about by its spiritually vacant enemies. The fact that idling can be enormously productive is repressed. Musicians are characterized as slackers; writers as selfish ingrates; artists as dangerous.”

Robert Louis Stevenson expressed the paradox as follows in ‘An Apology for Idlers’ (1885)

Idleness . . . does not consist in doing nothing, but in doing a great deal not recognized in the dogmatic formularies of the ruling class.

Long periods of languor, indolence and staring at the ceiling are needed by any creative person in order to develop ideas.

A conclusion I’ve come to at the Idler is that it starts with retreating from work but it’s really about making work into something that isn’t drudgery and slavery, and then work and life can become one thing.

Let the children be bored at times

Victoria Prooday, a world-renowned educator, and motivational speaker, writes about modern-day parenting and the impact of a high-tech lifestyle on a child’s nervous system. According to her we should let children be bored at times and don’t feel guilty about it.

“By constantly entertaining our kids, we are stealing their childhood and creating major obstacles to their future success. We are not allowing them to learn to tolerate quiet times and discover ways to overcome boredom. It is still reversible. Let them be bored at times and don’t feel guilty about it.” — Victoria Prooday

Hope you allow boredom into your life.

Some other related articles:

https://www.newyorker.com/culture/annals-of-inquiry/what-does-boredom-do-to-us-and-for-us

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-boredom-is-anything-but-boring/

Notes On Creativity

Most people, when they think of creativity, they think of art. They think of writing, music, painting, theatre, movies, dancing, and making sculptures.

But creativity isn’t just limited to arts. One can be creative in any area of life — in science, or in business, or sport.

By creativity, I simply mean new ways of thinking about things. — John Cleese, Creativity

These notes are from John Cleese’s brilliant book aptly titled, Creativity — A Short And Cheerful Guide.

You are being creative wherever you can find a way of doing things that are better than what has been done before.

There is another myth about creativity. That you have to be born with creativity. It’s not something that can be taught.

According to John Cleese, that’s not true. Creativity can be taught. “Or more accurately,” he says, “you can teach people how to create circumstances in which they will become creative.”

Image from Amzon

John Cleese was not a creative child. When he was growing up in the forties and fifties, no one talked about creativity. It simply was not in vogue, to explore one’s creativity, like it is now. John studied maths and science in school, hardly the subjects with room for creativity. “You have to learn an awful lot of science before you can even to begin to think about taking a creative approach to it.”

When he went to Cambridge, he studied Law. Not much creativity there either, unlike now when lawyers are becoming much more creative with their practices twisting the law in favor of their clients (this pun is mine).

But when he was in Cambridge, he get to know a very nice group of people who were a part of a society called ‘Floodlights.’ They used to put on little shows on the club-room stage, performing sketches and monologues and musical items.

John desperately wanted to be part of that group of people. But to become a member of ‘Footlight’ you have to write something and perform it. John wrote a couple of sketches and performed them in the monthly meeting. They made people laugh.

“It was during the course of writing sketches — the first imaginative thing I was ever conscious of doing — that I realized that I could be ‘creative.’”

Role of the unconscious mind in creativity

Then John noticed something else. He would write a sketch in the evening and often get stuck. He would try to get unstuck by sitting late, but eventually would give up and go to bed.

“And in the morning, I’d wake up and make myself a cup of coffee, and then I’d drift over to the desk and sit at it, and almost immediately, the solution to the problem I’d been wrestling with the previous evening…became quite obvious to me!”

It was like a gift, a reward for all my wrestling with the puzzle.

So this is how he started tapping on his creativity. He would put the work in before going to bed and often would have a creative idea overnight.

Once he wrote a sketch and lost it. So he wrote it again, from memory. Then he found the sketch. Out of curiosity, he cross-matched them and found that the remembered version was better.

He began to realize that his unconscious was working on stuff all the time, without him being consciously aware of it.

The Language of the Unconscious

Then he started observing other things about the unconscious mind. This intelligent unconscious of ours is astoundingly powerful. It allows us to perform most of our tasks in life without requiring us to concentrate on them.

But that doesn’t mean that our intelligent unconscious behaves in an entirely predictable way.

Put simply, you can’t ask your unconscious a question and expect a direct answer — a neat, tidy little verbal message. This is because your unconscious communicates its knowledge to you solely through the language of the unconscious.

The language of the unconscious is not verbal. It’s like the language of dreams. It shows you images, it gives you feelings; it nudges you around without you immediately knowing what it’s getting at.

Role of Play in Creativity

A psychologist Donald MacKinnon did an experiment during the early sixties at Berkeley. He asked a number of architects who were considered the most creative ones in their profession, to describe to him what they did from the moment they got up in the morning to the moment they went to bed at night.

Then he went to a number of uncreative architects and asked them exactly the same question.

He concluded that there were only two differences between creative and uncreative architects.

  • The creative architects knew how to play.
  • The creative architects always deferred making decisions for as long as they were allowed.

When MacKinnon talks about ‘play’ he means the ability to get enjoyably absorbed in a puzzle: not just try to solve it so that you can get on to the next problem, but to become really curious about it for its own sake. He described this kind of activity as ‘childlike.’ Picture small children playing. They are so absorbed in what they are doing that they are not distracted, they’re just… exploring, now knowing where they’re going, and not caring either.

Children at play are totally spontaneous. They are not trying to avoid making mistakes. They don’t observe rules. It would be stupid to say to them, ‘No, you’re not doing that right.’ At the same time, because their play has no purpose, they feel utterly free from anxiety (perhaps because adults are keeping an eye on the real world for them).

Most adults, by contrast, find it hard to be playful — no doubt because they have to take care of all the responsibilities that come with an adult’s life. Creative adults, however, have not forgotten how to play.

Most people are very surprised to learn that this involves deferring decisions for as long as possible. Doesn’t this mean that the creative architects are, by definition, indecisive? Isn’t that a bit impractical and unrealistic?

No!

It simply means they are able to tolerate that vague sense of discomfort that we all feel when some important decision is left open because they know that an answer will eventually present itself.

Creative people are much better at tolerating the vague sense of worry that we all get when we leave something unresolved.

Interruptions

The greatest killer of creativity is an interruption. It pulls your mind away from what you want to be thinking about. Research has shown that, after an interruption, it can take eight minutes for you to return to your previous state of consciousness, and up to twenty minutes to get back inot a state of deep focus.

Create boundaries of space to stop others from interrupting you.

Create boundaries of time, by arranging, for a specified period, to preserve your boundaries of space.

Mistakes

When you’re being creative, there is no such thing as a mistake.

Meditation

Once you start chasing away any distracting thoughts (John does that by writing them down), you’ll discover, just like in meditation that the longer you sit there, the more your mind slows and calms down and settles. Once that starts to happen, you can begin to focus on the problem you’ve chosen to think about.

Clarity

When we’re trying to be creative, there is a real lack of clarity during most of the process. Our rational, analytical mind, of course, loves clarity — in fact, it worships it. But at the start of the creative process, things cannot be clear. They are bound to be confusing. It’s a new thought, how can you possibly understand it straight away? You’ve never been there before. It feels unfamiliar. So, much of our ‘Tortoise Mind’ work takes place in an atmosphere of uncertainty and gentle confusion.

It’s therefore really important that you don’t rush. Let these new notions of yours slowly become clearer, and clearer, and clearer.

New Ideas

When you first have a new idea, you don’t get critical too soon. New and ‘woolly’ ideas shouldn’t be attacked by your logical brain until they’ve had time to grow and become clearer and sturdier. New ideas are like small creatures. They are easily strangled.

Looking for inspiration

“When you start something creative for the first time, you have no idea what you are doing! But, whether you’re writing or painting, or composing a song, you need to start with an idea. As a beginner, it’s not likely that you’ll come up with a very good one. So ‘borrow’ an idea from someone you admire — an idea that really appeals to you personally. If you work on that, you’ll make it your own as you play with it. You’re learning, and learning from something or someone you admire is not stealing. It’s called ‘being influenced by.’”

Of course, that doesn’t mean you can slavishly copy exactly what another person has done. That is stealing. And, in any case, what would be the point of doing that if you’re trying to produce something creative? Exact copying can teach technique, but this little book is about creativity, not forgery!

Keeping going

If you want to be creative in the world of science or architecture or medicine, you have to spend years educating yourself before you are ready to start thinking creatively about anything your colleagues might not already know.

However, in the Arts, it sometimes happens that successful novelists never quite achieve the originality of their first novel. This is because beginners sometimes have a freshness in their approach that later fades away. Picasso said that he drew better when he was ten than he ever did again. Edvard Munch’s later paintings never recaptured the intensity of his earliest ones.

The Buddhists have a phrase for this — “Beginner’s Mind” — expressing how experience can be more vivid when it’s not dulled by familiarity. Playing…keeps you “fresh.”

Coping with Setbacks

Whenever you try to come up with something original, you will find that some days the stuff flows, and some days it doesn’t. The anthropologist Gregory Bateson once said, “You can’t have a new idea ’til you’ve got rid of an old one.”

This insight helps you to view your fallow periods as preparatory to the fertile ones, and therefore as an inseparable part of the whole creative process. When the juices are not flowing, don’t beat yourself up and wonder if you should retrain as a priest. Just sit around and play, until your unconscious is ready to cough up some stuff. Getting discouraged is a total waste of your time

Get Your Panic in Early

Begin with simple stuff, such as…Who are you writing for? Then, you can ask yourself whether the audience will easily accept what you’re saying, or whether they might be resistant. If so, you’ll have to persuade them, and not just tell them.

Then you can start pondering, “What am I really trying to say?” “What is the point of this piece of journalism, or speech, or book, or play, or pamphlet, or email?” Think up different approaches, compare them, begin gathering key facts and research — it never does any harm to have a few quotes!

Finally remember the famous apology, “Sorry this is such a long letter, but I didn’t have time to write a shorter one.” So when you finish your first draft:

  • Cut anything that is not relevant (there will be more than you think).
  • Don’t repeat yourself unless you really want to.

Your thoughts follow your mood

We all know that if we’re depressed, we don’t have cheerful, optimistic, energetic thoughts. And if we are happy, we can’t take gloomy pessimistic thoughts seriously. If we’re angry, we don’t want to play with the kittens — we want to plot our revenge. If we’re anxious, we worry. If we’re full of ourselves, we feel decisive. If we’re feeling envious, we can’t enjoy other people’s success much.

Now, feeling creative isn’t exactly an emotion. It’s a frame of mind. But if you’re in the wrong frame of mind — if you’re distracted or worrying about something else — it follows that you’e not going to be creative.

The Dangers of Over-Confidence

As a general rule, when people become absolutely certain that they know what they’re doing, their creativity plummets. This is because they think they have nothing more to learn. Once they believe this, they naturally stop learning and fall back on established patterns. And that means they don’t grow.

Kill Your Darlings

Any good work of art will change — sometimes in major ways — during the course of its creation. At the beginning of the process, a writer may get a great idea — one that they particularly like. This is their “darling.” Inevitably, as the project develops, parts of the story will change and that “darling” may not fit well into the new version of the narrative. A good writer will jettison it. A less good writer will hang on to it, so hindering the transition of the story to its new form.

Seeking a Second Opinion

If you are an experienced writer, and you show people your work, there are four questions you need to ask:

  • Where were you bored?
  • Where could you not understand what was going on?
  • Where did you not find things credible?
  • Was there anything that you found emotionally confusing?

Once you have the answers to these, then you go away, decide how valid the problems are…and fix them yourself. The people you have asked will probably suggest their solutions too. Ignore these completely. Smile, look interested, thank them, and leave because they have no idea what they’re talking about. Unless they are writers themselves. Then…listen carefully. But at the end of the day, you and only you must decide which criticisms and suggestions you accept.

As to when you should seek a second opinion, you should do so when you have reached a point of sufficient clarity for someone else’s judgment to be of practical help. Don’t wait until you feel your idea or project is as good as possible, because you may waste a lot of time if you ask for feedback too late in the procedure.

Here are two very interesting and informative videos by John Cleese. I urge you to take some time and listen to them.

The first one is an interview where he talks about his book. A fascinating account.

The second one, Creativity In Management, is a talk given by John Cleese to an international audience at Grosvenor House Hotel, London on 23rd January 1991.

https://youtu.be/klvQrn7cK7c

How To Slow Down And Pay Attention

Our whole life is rush rush rush.

We have become so accustomed to rushing that if we are not rushing to get somewhere or to do something, or to finish something that if we are not rushing, we feel we are not doing anything.

This is what I used to feel anyway.

Writing, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. To be a good writer, you need to slow down. You need to become more observant. You need to take in sensory clues and synthesize them. You need to allow your mind to make connections. To draw insights.

This week I was going through some old notes of mine when I came across one of the exercises in Rob Walker’s Art of Noticing newsletter back in 2020.

Take a familiar walk and identify five boring things that are of no interest whatsoever.

I decided to try that. Since it has been raining here, I decided to try this exercise while driving to the gym in the morning.

Invariably I am late for the gym. So while driving, my whole focus is to get past other cars and get through the light while it is still green (still within speed limits) to that I can make it to the class in time.

Needless to say, I start my day with unnecessary stress.

But on Tuesday, as I was noticing the boring things that were of no interest whatsoever, the things I would ignore otherwise, I relaxed a bit.

This is what I noticed:

  • Steam coming from the Canberra hospital building’s air-conditioning.
  • The hint of green on every branch of the willow tree by the creek.
  • An abandoned shopping trolly.
  • A wheely electronic sign-board that was switched off
  • The empty skating slopes of at the corner of the park

Then I forgot all about these things during the day.

The next morning when I was writing the morning pages, these things came back to me, and I wrote them down. While doing that, I started pondering why I noticed these things and not the other things.

Was my mind biased to pick these things?

Why did the steam coming from the Canberra hospital building’s air-conditioning stand out more than anything else?

Memories came rushing in. For the past eight years, Canberra Hospital has played a prominent role in our lives. I visited it frequently when both my parents and my mother-in-law were in and out of the facility with various aliments. I have spent many nights there. Sometimes I will go there in the middle of winter nights, and as soon as I would see the steam coming from the chimney on the tenth floor of the building, a sense of relief will fall on me. The air conditioning is working. It is warm in there. My parents are warm and comfortable. They are being looked after.

The boring thing wasn’t boring at all. There was a deeper meaning associated with it.

The hint of green on the willow tree by the creek announced that spring was just two weeks away.

The abandoned trolly reminded me of the homeless person I had seen in the city years ago, whose entire belonging were in a shopping trolly. How do the homeless survive the Canberra winter out in the open? Did this trolly belong to some homeless person too?

The wheel electronic signboard played a prominent role in our lives during the drought years in Canberra not so long ago. Each day while driving back, the commuters would read the water level in the dam and how much water Canberrians used that day. People stopped wasting water. They were careful while watering their gardens and conserved water as much as they could. The consumption reduced to half and then kept going down. The local government said that wheely electronic signboards they had installed at various arterial routes played a big part. Today that signboard wasn’t silent. There was no need. We have had plenty of rain this year.

This was an exercise in paying attention. It helped me to slow down and find the meaning of trivial things.

Attention is not a resource, but a way of being alive to the world.

Dan Nixon wrote an essay in which he talked about how attention is misunderstood and misused in the ‘attention economy.’

The ‘attention economy,’ portrays our attention as a limited resource at the center of the informational ecosystem, where various information outlets are competing to grab our attention.

But our attention is much more than that.

Attention is what joins us with the outside world. ‘Instrumentally’ attending is important, sure. But we also have the capacity to attend in a more ‘exploratory’ way: to be truly open to whatever we find before us, without any particular agenda.

Dan Nixon talks about a trip to Japan where he found himself with few free hours in Tokyo. Stepping out into the busy district of Shibuya, he wandered aimlessly amid the neon signs and crowds of people.

My senses met the wall of smoke and the cacophony of sound as I passed through a busy pachinko parlour. For the entire morning, my attention was in ‘exploratory’ mode. That stood in contrast to, say, when I had to focus on navigating the metro system later that day.

By treating attention as a resource, and engaging both hemispheres of the brain (left logical and right creative)we can ‘deliver’ the world to us in two different ways.

The left hemisphere of the brain analyzes and categorizes things so that it can use them towards some end.

By contrast, the brain’s right hemisphere adopts an exploratory mode of attending: a more embodied awareness, one that is open to whatever presents itself to us in all its fullness.

This mode of ‘exploratory attention’ comes into play, for instance, when we pay attention to other people, to the natural world, and to works of art.

It is also the exploratory mode of attention that can connect us to our deepest sense of purpose.

This is what American philosopher William James had in mind in 1890 when he wrote:

What we attend to is reality. — William James

The simple but profound idea is that what we pay attention to, and how we pay attention, shapes our reality, moment to moment, day to day, and so on.

What are you paying attention to?