Winter Ruminations: Sadness and The Path to Creativity
Last month I went to meet my friend Elizabeth; we were preparing to reach out to publishers to submit our book idea. It was an exciting night that balanced connection and aspiration. When I got home, I felt inspired. We were taking the next steps in our book proposal process.
I also felt sad.
This isn’t an uncommon feeling—the sadness mixed with inspiration. Sadness is what comes when I’m ready to enter the creative process.
The Default Mode Network
This sadness is part of my Default Mode Network (DMN), one of many systems in the brain. The DMN is responsible for daydreaming and rumination on the past and future; it also is responsible for our self-judgment, otherwise known as our inner critics or saboteurs.
If we spend too much time in rumination, the saboteurs may have their way with us (“I’m an imposter,” “I am such a jerk for saying that thing”), but daily doses of Default Mode can unlock possibilities we might not have considered if we were in our Task Positive Network (our brain’s focus system)—where we spend a good portion of our time.
Finding My Bittersweet Community
There are loads of reasons I have a default disposition of sadness, which is probably a balance of my Default Mode Network, my socialization, and a little bit of historical trauma. I used to judge myself for it and try to push it away. I was afraid I’d have no friends if I told them I was sad…and kind of liked it sometimes. There was even a point these past few years where I made a declaration, “I don’t want to be sad anymore!” That didn’t work.
Last spring I picked up a copy of Susan Cain’s most recent book Bittersweet, and for the first time in a long time, I felt seen. Through reading this book I had language to describe the connection between sadness and creativity, and why I sometimes felt my most alive and whole in the moments when sadness was present.
To be clear, I don’t will myself to be sad, nor am I sad all the time. Actually, I’m content most of the time. Sadness also isn’t the same thing as depression, which needs to be addressed differently. But when I shut off my focus brain and allow myself to just be for a little bit, the sadness comes. In this state, something inspiring typically arises, which catalyzes my creativity. Thanks, Susan Cain, for giving me language to describe this phenomenon.
Sadness and The Creative Process
When I was working on The PD Book, I booked myself a couple of writing retreats in the remote wilderness. These retreats were comprised of me, my dog Buster (rest in power, pup), my computer, and what felt like an endless expanse of time. Sometimes the writing process went beautifully. Other times, nothing. Just a blinking cursor on the screen and a snoring dog by my feet.
Regardless of how the days went, I always shut down the computer at the end of the day and made space in the evenings for contemplation. I often had some kind of nostalgic (typically acoustic) playlist on as I sat on the bed and let the thoughts come. I love the way music transports me to another time and place. Sometimes a particular song will take me on a thought train to decades ago; sometimes other senses will be activated, too, like the smell of freshly cut grass in soccer season as I listened to The Beatles’ “Julia,” or the taste of Moroccan Mint tea as I heard The National’s “I Need My Girl.” I don’t judge the thoughts; I welcome their arrival, let them stir a little in my brain, and then barely notice as they fade out with some other thought—and another song—fading back in.
Intermingled with these thoughts is some level of sadness: nostalgia, remorse, longing. I welcome it. At some point in these fleeting sad musings, inspiration comes—a way to finish the chapter, a new blog post idea, a new resource, or a fresh way to see my way out of a conundrum. And all of a sudden, there’s joy mixed with inspiration, possibility amidst the rumination. I revised several book chapters on the heels of these ruminations.
End of Season Reflections—Cozy Winter Rumination
When I felt sad after my meeting with Elizabeth, I knew I needed a little contemplative time, perhaps a little music, too. During the pandemic, I remembered watching Taylor Swift’s Long Pond Studio Sessions. Something about this film reminded me of my time writing in the woods (sans the famous people and recording equipment), the quiet evenings spent listening to music while allowing my mind to wander. As I sat in contemplation, I turned this film on as background music; that film hit all the right notes for me that night.
In fact, that film inspired this post and some fun ideas for the book proposal, too.
A few times of year I do some sort of reflection; sometimes it’s goal-setting, sometimes it’s a step-back to assess . My winter reflections are my favorite, because it’s the end of the calendar year and we’re entering a type of hibernation—the ultimate rumination season. For these reflections I recreate those cozy remote cabin moments as much as I can (my own version of Long Pond): a cup of Silent Night tea, winter playlist, notebook and favorite pen, comfy flannel, time to let my mind wander and let a little sadness in. Eventually, the creativity will arrive, too. It always does.
Bonus: Reflection Questions for Year’s End
The following reflection questions have served me well each year. Perhaps they may work for you, too.
Identify 8-10 big moments from the year. Narrow that list to 3-5 big moments and reflect on what was most important about these moments and why.
Identify 8-10 of the most important lessons from the year. Narrow that list to 3-5 of those lessons and why they matter to you.
Identify 3-5 things (or people) you want to let go of and why it’s important to let go of them.
Identify what’s next for you in the next 12 months. This list can be limitless. Then, write a letter to yourself answering the following prompt: What does the future version of you want you to know right now?
