Essay: If Nothing Is Changing, Are We Growing?
Musings on leaning in, personal evolutions, novelty and sourcing inspiration
By leaning into the sensation — that precious sense of an idea not yet formed by words — I realized that there was a desire for newness because it imports learning, which may predetermine growth, and that is at least part of why I enjoy novelty so much.
It’s the first Saturday of the new year – the first day of rest after the first day back at work after travel, time off, being away. The end of 2022 was one of our busiest yet. Where our is Supernatural’s, and mine. Supernatural and I are a blended identity, which I refer to in the third person, but Supernatural is also a team, so there is a true our there. Today I am writing.
Last season, I’d temporarily paused my dedicated writing days in order to double down on work before taking December off. I was hesitant to stop doing what I believe to be the purpose of my life in order to work, but I wagered that it was worth it in order to free up future time (December) for a refreshing reset, and the deal was that as soon as the calendar turned over, I’d be back to writing with renewed dedication.
I also wanted the extra work in order to help pay for the special new Supernatural Studio we spent most of 2022 building. And I’ve learned that our business comes in waves, so it’s wise to ride when they’re breaking. Capping that grind with especially spacious time in December for reflecting back, and forward, seemed ideal. And it was.
There are few things I love more than pairing vacation with blue-sky thinking, though I did realize some new things about how to, and not, overburden a vacation with intentions; even ones that seem perfectly inspired for the occasion. Like, I’m going to meditate on my life while away from it. That’s a story for another time.1
Another ingredient in the formula for how I wrapped up 2022 was that I wanted to start the new year writing with a very specific focus. That meant that the proposal and agent search and just general process of grasping the literary landscape, which is a whole thing, would have resulted in my securing a true partner by the end of the year. In one of my last meetings of 2022, we met each other. Between my flights to Costa Rica, NYC and Seattle, I signed the contract.
And so, on the first Saturday of this year, feeling sort of stagnant and mind-mushy I recognized a familiar sensation; I was pushing into something — into my experience. I was, albeit vaguely, wondering about the relationship between change and growth. During a day designed for slack, I was both allowing it and poking at it. Considering whether or not the day would be wasted in some sense if I didn’t initiate some newness. If I remained in the ruts of routine, would time simply pass over or through me without effect?
Now, I have been notorious for not resting. It’s a nature+nurture condition I’ve succeeded in improving only in recent years. (The Oura ring has been huge for this.) So, when the urge to resist doing nothing (excellent book btw) arose, I questioned that urge first, and then moved on to contemplating the endurance that’s required to live a life of persistent inquiry. It would be easier to not seek some detour, however slight, on this slothy day off. Are there days off from life? Would it be best, though? That best is up to you to define for yourself — and doing so will answer the question.
By leaning into the sensation — that precious sense of an idea not yet formed by words — I realized that there was a desire for newness (1) because it imports learning (2), which may predetermine growth (3), and that is at least part of why I enjoy novelty so much (4).
At our wedding, my best friend revealed how much my husband and I both love a great homework assignment. It’s very true. We’re almost always enrolled in (separate) classes — his ranging from politics and literature to opera, design, and sports; mine focused on herbalism, self improvement, and the intersection of psychology, philosophy and self. Though we share a love of learning, it was his relationship to change that did me in. When he said that he couldn’t wait to see all the ways I’d be different in this life, I knew this was something. In terms of homework, isn’t doing it akin to practicing growth? To study a leaning into knowledge, which is also subjecting oneself to the small deaths that development entails?
In the early days of my work in wellness, I was surrounded by newness. And, better yet, the majority of it lined right up with things that excited me most: consciousness, health, psychopharmacology, nature, self optimization and lifestyle design. For years I immersed myself in understanding as much as I possibly could about every facet that even approximately piqued my interest — including the role of neurochemicals (like dopamine) in rewarding behavior (like learning). It was thrilling.
Now — and this applies to my fields of study and work, not beyond —it takes more work for me to discover things that ding those dopamine bells like the singing bowl days of pupilship. There are simply less new connections to be drawn. Profundity is in shorter supply, in the same way that living in the same landscape for many years will yield less unknown nooks. This is a fine function of age, familiarity, and even of a degree of mastery. My brain is a pharmacopeia, I live in an apothecary, my identity is largely (and synergistically) entangled with my work.
And so, exactly because of this saturation, I actively seek new sources of difference — contrast, to continue the metaphor. On our said Saturday, that looked like picking up this book, which was a gift from one of Supernatural’s very first team members. Its oddity and often confusing concoction of poetry, pharmacy, and folklore was the perfect antidote for my rutted state. As I let the novel notions intrigue their way around my mind, it reminded me of the way in which I collect information — into that container-space of non-verbality — and let it steep before organizing it into some production. Like, as I recently heard a poet describe it, a coiling snake; retracted and gathering before the strike.
So is an essay about How to Retreat. Where should we pitch that one?