My Morning Pages

Apparently they are a thing. These morning pages. 

I have never been good at consistent routines, more inclined to change midstream and recreate new playful pathways. I put this down to having a creative mind. Who knows. It's not exactly an approach that aligns well with a bureaucratic environment.

Post covid and with the devastating impact on the art world, I moved out of a highly creative role in the arts and into government. The reality of ageing, concerns about financial security and impact of covid on the arts sector had convinced me that a reliable, stable employment would be preferable to the roller coaster of self employment.  

Three years on I hit a snag. The last 12 months have broken me a little and I knew that I needed time out. I had seen the avalanche coming and while I had initially been able to ski through the blizzard, it had finally caught me. The most amount of time I have taken off to look after myself. 

Now I am home. Have been for weeks. The therapist, the work counsellor, the GP wrapped tightly around me, along with my lovely Pete and those who bring in light. 

They help but I know that when I open my eyes in the morning I am on my own. The world seems too busy out there; working, studying, talking, moving, striving. I feel like a Damian Hirst sculpture; frozen in space - suspended in formaldehyde. A pause before I return to the slow paced, repetitive and reassuring tasks that provide some comfort to the messy mind. 

In the midst of my brain fog, I was lying on the couch listening to Marion Roach interviewing a guest on Qwerty, a podcast for writers. I highly recommend these brief and insightful interviews with all sorts of writers; poets, novelists, journalists, song writers etc. They were discussing the benefit of morning pages, a daily exercise described in Julia Cameron's best selling book, the Artist's Way published in 1992. It is a practice adopted by many successful artists, writers and makers. Noting that successful may refer to professional, creative, personal, financial or other success. 

I remember reading this book in my mid twenties when I was struggling with my own painting and writing life. 

I realised that since I had been on leave, I had been writing my own version of morning pages. Instinctively I had returned to art and creativity as my soft place to land.

For weeks my green notebook with a spiral spine had been open on the kitchen table.

Each morning I make the perfect cup of tea in my favourite mug. It's actually Dandy Chai, a brew I discovered a few years ago to enable me to drink tea, without the unpleasant allergic reaction to normal tea.  It's delicious and comforting.

Every day I turn the page and write the date and look out at the wall of green through the large window. A magnificent liquid amber, with the olive tree and dog wood playing catch up to create a forest in this ordinary suburban street. I am anywhere I want to be.

The page on the right is for physical and mental reflections; a record of observations and thoughts. Sometimes it is completely blank if I have nothing to say, or if I have no words to express how I am feeling. Sometimes it is half full. But it is rarely a full page of writing. The process is instant and instinctive; vomiting out words that will never be reread. 

Something like this...

Day 1    Felt rather discombobulated when I first woke, but chatting over coffee with Pete dissolved the uneasiness and it has been replaced with love and subdued but resolute energy to keep going.

Day 2    It's a lovely sunny day.

Day 3    I feel sore. My body aches and I'm tired. Disappointed that I haven't been able to print out the new song.

Day 4    I have no idea what I am doing.

Day 5    I'm looking forward to visitors this afternoon to feel that I can be part of something bigger.

Day 6    Today the sun is shining and I feel a little better. Although my arthritis is worse. 

I don't dwell or try too hard to push the words out, but let them fall. It can take between two and ten minutes. Sometimes longer and sometimes it doesn't happen at all. Then I get on with the day. 

On the left hand side page I write the simplest of tasks that I will undertake on that day and draw a small tick box next to each line. 

☑️ put rubbish out

☑️ make bed

☑️ wash up

☑️ walk the dog

🔲 shower

It's not an aspirational list; to complete quickly and precisely. It is a small list of the most basic and achievable tasks that I think I will be able to complete. Two tasks may take all day. 

By the end of the day there may only be three ticked boxes. Perhaps I will get to it the next day. Throughout the day I sometimes add other completed tasks but it's never under the pretence of achievement. It's just a list. No judgement, no goals, no pressure. 

I can see that there is an interplay between the tasks with tick boxes and how I feel, although it's not a consideration when I am writing. 

The tasks are a meditation. Each one of them undertaken with care and consideration, allowing space and giving me permission to park my mind and it's troublesome thoughts.

Wash dishes - clean each plate and glass, rinse and drain in the sun. Pull the plug once finished and wipe down the stainless steel sink. Fold the tea towel and hang it on the stove. Pause. Move to the notebook and tick it off the list. Next task...

So what is the effect or benefit from this simple process? 

I know that if I make time to make the tea, sit at the table, look out the window and turn to the next empty daily page, something changes. It is liberating to allow my fingers to take control of the pen and speak for me. I feel lighter, clearer, better. 

Syringing the unhelpful stew of words, worry and what-ifs out of my mind and squirting them onto the pages. Pages that are not for reviewing, not for publishing, not for saving or sharing. They are made in the moment, for the moment. It resets my mind and somehow creates space for a fertile environment; my mind cracks open a little more and the ideas start bubbling - ready to write. 

This process is working for me. A bastardised version of the original Morning Pages, which advocates for 3 pages of writing by hand each morning. A stream of consciousness about anything that crosses your mind. It feeds into the songs I compose, the music I play and the stories I write.

My simplistic version allows me to pause, write, create, ease into the day and allow the busy-ness and expectations of life to pass by. It is enough. I am enough. It makes everything else enough. 

Since the original publishing of The Artist's Way, there have been numerous variations. There is plenty online about the book and other approaches. Click on this link to see a great interview by Hannah MacInnes with authors Julia Cameron and Elizabeth Gilbert about The Artist's Way and the story behind the approach.