creativity

Keep writing

As I said in Evolution of a Blog Pt. 1, I’ve been publishing daily blog posts for a long time on Meditations of a Gentle Warrior. In addition to publishing to my website, I also post my writing on social media. Social media being what it is, when people feel so inclined, they comment on what I post. 

Over the years, the feedback I’ve received has been mostly positive, which is nice. It’s good to know that others find value in my work. But since feedback is not the primary aim of my writing, I tend to glance at it, acknowledge it, and then move on. I suppose I’m afraid that if I get too caught up in what others think, it will change the way that I write, so I try to take it with a grain of salt.

That doesn’t mean the feedback goes unnoticed and unappreciated. It actually means a lot to me when someone takes the time to tell me they like what I am doing. At the very least, it’s reassuring, but it can also be fuel to keep going. I’m only human and, like most people, I feels good to be acknowledged for the work I’m doing, even if I make a concerted effort to not let it get to my head. 

When I receive criticism, however, it’s a different story altogether. I read it, reread it, worry about it, and obsess over it. If someone doesn’t like my work, whether it be the content or the style, I can’t stop thinking about it. It doesn’t matter how many positive comments I receive, one negative comment will make me question everything I’m doing. 

Recently, I received such a comment on one of my poems I had posted to a group called Contemplative Christianity on Facebook. Overall, it’s a good group. The folks on there seem to be respectful and supportive, but one group member took the time to write a long comment on one of my posts that really threw me for a loop. 

In her remarks, she stated that, while she enjoyed my writing, she felt that I posted too often and that my doing so is a sign of spiritual immaturity and borders on arrogance. In reading this, I was crushed, but also confused. I post once a day, it’s always respectful and in alignment with the group’s rules and focus, and I’ve never tried to push my ideas or my work on anyone. Not only that, everyone has the right to choose whether or not they want to read what I post. No one is forcing anyone to do so. 

I did my best to be respectful to her and to try to understand her position, but I was really taken aback by it because all she had to do was to not read my posts. The whole situation got me thinking though. It made me question why my reaction to negative feedback is so much stronger than my reaction to positive feedback. Why is it so lopsided? 

Why did this comment bother me so much that I read it over and over again, and couldn’t stop thinking about it? Was this enough to make me change my style, my frequency of posting, or quit altogether? No. Then why was I giving so much space in my head? 

I had to remind myself that I’m not writing for feedback, either positive or negative. I’m writing to write. I share my work as not only an act of bravery, but also an act of generosity. Some people, probably most people, are not going to like it. It’s not for them and that’s okay. My job is to keep writing for as long as I feel called to do so. Maybe someday I’ll have published work that people will pay to read and write negative comments about. What a blessing that would be. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Evolution of a blog pt. 1

Every day, for quite some time now, I have been writing and publishing a short blog post for my Meditations of a Gentle Warrior blog. I’ve been doing this for several years and, other than missing a day or two here and there, and a couple of longer periods where I thought I had quit altogether, I have been faithful to this practice. I honestly can’t even remember how or why I started, but I do know that I got the idea of posting daily from listing to an interview with Seth Godin who has been writing and publishing a daily blog post for well over a decade.

My blog didn’t start out as what it is now. In fact, if I remember correctly, I was posting on an entirely different site than the one I’ve been using for the last few years. The name has also changed over time. At first, I don’t think it had a name. Then, it became Holistic Budo. 

Sometime before my first martial art teacher, Joe Sheya, passed away, I had started doing a form of qigong, a mind-and-body movement practice for developing so-called internal strength, to supplement my hapkido and Brazilian jiu-jitsu practices. Upon hearing that I was studying qigong, Joe said to me, “That’s good, but don’t make the mistake I made by thinking your qigong practice is separate from your martial art practice. Find a way to integrate them.” 

The name Holistic Budo was meant to embody this idea of the integration of the holistic arts with the martial arts, with budo being the Japanese word for ‘martial arts.’ I thought that I would use my blog to document my journey through the arts, but art tends to have a mind of its own and the idea we start with is not always the art we end up with. In spite of my intentions, Holistic Budo evolved into my writing short philosophical posts wherein I shared experience, wisdom, or advice for living a better life. 

Sometimes I wrote about something I had experienced throughout the day. Sometimes I was writing to myself, basically giving myself advice for how I could have handled a situation or experience better. Other times, I imagined that I was leaving a trail of literary breadcrumbs for my daughter should she need it someday if I were no longer here to talk to. Eventually, wanting a name that better reflected what the blog had become, I changed the name to what it is now, Meditations of a Gentle Warrior. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

God’s goodnight kiss

As I finished my daily writing, my wife and my daughter were both fast asleep. Normally, I’d be right behind them, but on this night I was up later than usual. I had overbooked myself that day and I was behind on my work. The fact that I had overslept that morning didn’t help, but I needed it. It had been a long week with lots of jiu-jitsu classes, wrestling practices, appointments, meetings, and a tight schedule all around. 

Normally, I wake up at around 5:30am to do my morning prayers before my wife and daughter get up for work and school, respectively. On this day, I slept until nearly 7am. Actually, we all did. With only one bathroom, this caused quite a scurry to get everyone out the door on time and, being unwilling to give up my morning prayers, which, between my daily readings and meditation usually take about an hour, I was late for jiu-jitsu. I wasn’t scheduled to teach, so it wasn’t really a big deal, but my tardiness set the tone for the rest of my day. 

Fast forward and now it’s time for bed and I still hadn’t finished my writing for the day. So I sat down to write and, of course, I was stuck. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been more of a morning person than an evening person. My creative work is no different. In the morning, if I’m not distracted, the work just seems to flow out of me. At night, it’s much more of a struggle. Being tired doesn’t help. So here I am, past my bedtime, stuck at my keyboard determined to get something out. 

You could say I had writer’s block, but I’ve learned that there is no such thing as writer’s block. What feels like writer’s block is really just pride manifesting itself as fear, frustration, and perfectionism. Somehow writer’s believe that everything they write should be their best work and, if it isn’t, they convince themselves that some mysterious force is blocking them from writing. In actuality, no great creative work happens without a lot of mediocre, or even terrible, work happening first. The key to good writing, therefore, is to just write. 

So I started to get some ideas out. After a lot of false starts, typed and deleted sentences, and prideful disappointment in myself, things began to flow. After about an hour, I finally got to a point where I was pleased enough with what I had written that I was willing to publish it. I posted it to my blog, closed up my laptop, and got myself ready for bed. 

At night, before I lie down, I always go into my daughter’s room to check on her, give her a kiss on the cheek, and say my evening prayers at her bedside. This night was no different, except it was. My routine was the same, but as I walked away from her, I was overwhelmed with emotion. Maybe I was just overly tired. Perhaps it was a sense of release from having gotten through a very long day. But it felt like more. 

I went into my room, laid my head on my pillow, and was struck with a feeling of pure love coupled with a vision, like a waking dream. It lasted but a moment, but in that moment it was as if God uploaded into my consciousness a lifetime’s worth of information all at once. 

What I saw in my mind’s eye was me giving my daughter her goodnight kiss, but I saw it from the outside looking in. Words come up short, but in this single kiss, I could see the love transferred between us. I could see my love for her flowing from me into her, her reception of my love flowing back into me like the closing of a circuit, and God’s love for both of us surrounding us and flowing through the entire relationship. It felt like God gave me a glimpse, even if ever so briefly, into what he sees. 

This experience passed as suddenly as it came to me. Exhausted from the day, I fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up remembering what had happened the night before. As life goes, however, the day’s demands distracted me from reflection. It wasn’t until much later that I was able to really acknowledge and process this experience. In my reflection, I realized how easy it is to ignore, deny, or dismiss these moments and to simply move on with our lives, but I refuse to do so. I can’t. 

These experiences, fleeting glimpses into the mystery of God’s love, leave me longing for more, longing for God, but also extremely grateful that he chose to come to me in this way. Now my task is to not allow this transformative experience to go to waste, to use it, like so many others that I have had like it, as fuel to go deeper, to get closer, and to be still and present more often. But knowing that I cannot manufacture spiritual experiences, that I cannot make God come to me, and that grace is a gift undeserved, the best I can do is to pray. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Grappling with a ghost

In December of 2020, Jerry Seinfeld did an interview on the Tim Ferriss Show where, among other things, he talked about helping his daughter develop a writing habit. One recommendation he made to her was to set a time limit on her writing. “Just do an hour,” he told her, “Nobody writes all day. Shakespeare can’t write all day. It’s torture… You have to have an end-time to your writing session. If you’re going to sit down at a desk with a problem and do nothing else, you’ve got to get a reward for that. And the reward is, the alarm goes off, and you’re done. You get up and walk away and go have some cookies and milk. You’re done.”

As someone who is often plagued with all-or-nothing thinking, this really hit home for me. It’s important, when building a habit, to start small. Ask yourself what amount of time and effort each day is both sustainable and productive. It has to be both if you are going to stick with your practice, and that is really what building a habit is. It’s a practice. Your practice has to be sustainable because otherwise you will quit when it gets too difficult or inconvenient, but it also has to be productive because, if you don’t see noticeable results, or at least progress, you are also likely to quit. 

But the thing that really struck me about what Mr. Seinfeld said was that the reward for writing is to be finished with it. That, for him, the reward is not in the writing process itself. Rather, the reward is that it’s over, that he gets to stop, to get up, and to move on to something else. I can see the truth of this in my own writing practice. Like many writers have said before me, “I don’t like to write. I like having written.”

Writing, especially when it’s personal, is difficult. The best way for me to describe it is that it feels like I am grappling with some hidden, mysterious force inside me. I am simultaneously attempting to submit it while also submitting to it. Much like my jiu-jitsu practice, writing is not something I dreamt of doing or even necessarily desired to do before I started. It’s something I felt and feel compelled to do. It’s like chasing a ghost that is also chasing me. 

Also, like my jiu-jitsu practice, writing is often painful. It’s a struggle. It’s a fickle mistress. Some days, it leaves me feeling accomplished, inspired, and fulfilled, but other days, it leaves me feeling hurt, frustrated, and disappointed. In the long run, however, I am always glad to have done it. I’m glad to have shown up to practice, to have put in the effort, and to have faced myself in the process. And so, for better or worse, day in and day out, I will continue to grapple. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Dating the muse

Imagine someone asks you out on a date and you agree to go. So they make a reservation at a nice restaurant and you both make plans to meet there. 

As the day approaches, you get offered a ticket to go see your favorite sports team in the championship game, but it’s on the same night as your date. Conflicted, but not wanting to miss this once in a lifetime opportunity, you call up your date and ask to reschedule, explaining the situation. They understand and change the reservations to another day that works for both of you. 

You have every intention of going on the date, but again, something comes up. This time, an emergency comes up at your job. You are needed there. Once again, you call up your date and explain the situation. They are a little less understanding this time, but agree to give you another chance and so they once again change the reservation to another day that works for both of you. 

Again, you have every intention of going on the date. But something else comes up.

How many times do you think this can happen before the other person stops taking you seriously? How many times can you not show up before they stop wanting to be with you? How many times can you stand someone up before it is obvious that they are not a priority and they move on? 

Now imagine the person asking you out on a date is your creative inspiration, the muse if you will. You say you want to be creative. You say you want to make art. You claim to want to be taken seriously and to be able to make a living with your creative work. But your actions say otherwise. 

How many times can you ignore inspiration before it starts ignoring you? How many times can you choose something else over your creative work before your creative work has had enough of you? How many times can you stand up the muse before it goes elsewhere and leaves you to that which you consistently choose over your art? 

Set aside time to make do you creative work. Choose a time and a place and show up. Show up consistently. Take your art as seriously as you want it to take you. You are not promised inspiration. The muse owes you nothing. Form a relationship with your creative work. Be attentive to it, nurture it, and care for it. 

Treat your art like you would treat a loved one. Better yet, treat your art like you would like to be treated by a loved one. If you take it seriously, if you show up for it and care for it, your art will always be there for you, but don’t take it for granted. Don’t make it wait. The muse is a jealous lover. 

Your art is not just for you

When I read, it inspires me to write. When I listen to music, it inspires me to play. When I look at a painting, it inspires me to paint. That is why, if you are an artist, it is so important that you create and share your work. 

Your art is not just for you. It is also for those who may be inspired by it and, through that inspiration, create and share art of their own. You are perpetuating the creative cycle. 

This is why creating and sharing your art is a generous act. You are giving others not only the joy of experiencing what you have created, but also the permission to create and to share their own art. 

Courage is contagious. Through your art, others are encouraged to make art. In this way, your art changes the world. 

Art won’t make itself

The thing about art is that you have to do it. The painting won’t paint itself. The song won’t play itself. The book won’t write itself. The dessert won’t cook itself. You have to do it. 

And it’s not easy. It’s not easy to do well. It’s not easy to make good art. It’s even more difficult to make good art and to find an audience for that art. 

But if you don’t make it and you don’t share it, no one will ever see, hear, taste, or feel what you have to offer. It will just stay in your head and that is where it will die.

So do something. Make something. Make something terrible. Make lots of terrible things. Keep doing it until you get better. 

When you feel like your art is halfway decent, like it even somewhat resembles that which you were aiming for, share it. Don’t wait to share your art until it is perfect. It will never be perfect. Share it when it is shareable. 

Then, make more art. The more art you make and the more art you share, the better your art will become. There are no shortcuts. Your art isn’t going to make itself. 

Limitations force creativity

“Limiting your options can be a very inspiring thing.”

-Trent Reznor

In a world of infinite possibilities, set limitations on yourself. Create boundaries or guide rails for yourself. You will find that, by intentionally limiting your options, you will be forced to be more creative. 

I remember hearing Anthony Bourdain explain that anyone can cook a perfect piece of filet mignon well, but it takes real skill to cook the cheap, tough meats that no one wants. 

Seth Godin has written a blog post a day for many years, but he doesn’t use pictures, hashtags, keywords, or any of the other features of his blog platform. He says that he has twenty six letters and one page to work with and that’s all. 

In Fugazi, on all of their albums and at every one of their live shows, Ian MacKaye played a Gibson SG through a Marshall amp with no effects pedals, ever. 

John Danaher, the best jiu-jitsu coach in the world, teaches six main submission systems based off of the highest percentage techniques in the sport. 

Having too many options gives us an excuse to not be creative. Options are a distraction. Limitations force creativity. 

Next time you are creating something, instead of getting overwhelmed by the possibilities, set limitations for yourself. Try painting with only three colors. Write a blog post in only seven lines. Make a meal with five ingredients. Whatever you are doing, start by intentionally limiting your options and see what comes out of you. You may find it frustrating or confusing at first, but over time, without as many decisions to make, you will find that it actually frees you up to do better work, and to enjoy the process more. 

Creativity is difficult

Creativity is difficult. This is not a complaint. It’s merely an observation.

Many years ago, I heard an interview with the great jazz trumpeter Miles Davis where he talked about musical improvisation. He explained to the interviewer that, while there was a basic structure to the songs he played, he never played the same solo twice. In this way, every night was a different experience of the music for both him and the audience. 

The interviewer remarked that it must be difficult to be that creative every night. Yes. Yes it is. 

Sometimes new ideas come easily. They just pour out and all you have to do is channel them. Other times, it feels like torture, like nothing you do can or will make the ideas come. You just fumble over sputters and sparks, but can’t seem to make anything come to life. 

This is all part of the process. Creativity is work. It’s meaningful, fulfilling work, but it is work nonetheless. 

If you want to call yourself an artist, prepare to struggle. Prepare to grapple with your work, and to feel incapable and defeated from time to time because nothing you do feels right. 

Do your work anyway and just don’t quit. 

I am terrified of my creative voice

I am terrified of my creative voice. It frightens me because it sounds a lot like my pain. 

I am hesitant to enter that place inside of me because I am afraid of what I will find, I am afraid of what will come out, and I am afraid that I will not be able to leave once I enter. 

I dance around this fear and I do good work, but it isn’t my work, not in the truest sense because it is impersonal. What is personal is the pain, the grief, the anger, and the shame, but I am afraid to go there. 

I want my art to be uplifting, I want to make a positive impact, and I want to make people happy, but I also need to dig deeper. I need to dive into the pain. I need to unearth the lessons it wants to give me. I need to not be afraid of what I will find because all I will find is the truth. 

I am still searching for my creative voice because it exists on the other side of fear and I have not yet gone there. I have not yet become truly vulnerable, and there is no art without vulnerability. 

Even this is merely writing around the truth, not diving into it headfirst without hesitation. Even this is a form of hiding. This is me avoiding the real work. 

This is not my creative voice. This is something else.