Why mindfulness didn’t work for me (and what did)
Over the past six months, I have my way through a full conscience routine in the morning with my partner. He is an alarm clock, a black coffee, of the person to meditate then the person. Me, on the other hand, I am an artist and writer who has no fixed schedule to speak. I live for the deadlines and the rush to the dopamine that accompanies it. The idea of following a meditation application makes me want to hide under the bed.
At first, I thought it meant that something was wrong with me. That I was breaking up for personal care. I continued to download new meditation and mindfulness applications. I programmed reminders, set to sleep timers; Nothing stuck. Instead of feeling calm, I felt defective. As if I was allergic to peace.
Trying to meditate want to ask a jellyfish to be motionless. I place my hands on my knees and try to fall free. For a few seconds, I float; Breeze, bird song, aqueous undulations and a soothing voice telling me to inhale, exhale, repeat. Then: barking dog. Task list. Creative anxiety. And just like that, reverie is gone.
There is a lot of noise right now on concentration and optimization. Dopamine detoxes, digital fasting and unique tasks. Logic is clear: reducing distraction, increasing consciousness. But sometimes the zoning is attentive. When I look out the window in the middle of the sentence, I do not procrastinate. I agree with something else: the brain’s default fashion network (DMN), this vague and non -linear space where accidental information is starting to train.
Finally, I stopped trying to meditate and be attentive, and I started to listen to the noise instead.
It is in this mental drift that my most significant creative work often starts. I sometimes fear that a deliberately “immobilized” spirit can flatten these instincts; Calm the jazz of my thoughts, replace the soul with the structure. Distraction, for me, is not a disorder. It’s a rhythm. The improvisations of an agitated psyche are what gives my work its spark. I don’t want to create antiseptic scenes or songs that are technically perfect but emotionally hollow. I prefer to do something messy and alive. My wandering mind is not a problem. It’s the engine.
When I was responsible for writing my first musical, Three WomenI was stuck. I could not understand what voice the story of the story should be told. The first person was too intimate. The third person felt distant. The second person was … Well, second person. Each version seemed expired. I have a spiral for weeks. The structure was steep, the language forced. The actor’s readings fell flat. I started to wonder if I had already written my best job. I fixed, rewritten, fixed again.
