When the going gets tough, the tough get going. This could be my byline. I keep thinking about the astrology reading I had last fall with Eric Myers. He used the word ‘productive’ to describe the predominant behaviour I adopted when I deemed my own needs, wants, and overall self-expression unacceptable.

There is something kind of hard-nosed and businesslike about my productivity that brooks no nonsense, even to me. It does soothe something, though, this perpetual doing, and my environment and those in it generally benefit in some way (although it can be a little overbearing.)

But when I sit quietly and tune in, I can sense the “I won’t go there” part of me this perpetual motion is guarding. It feels young, lonely, and frustrated at being bottled up for way too long.

The “Writing the Body, Dancing the Soul” workshop I attended at Loon Lake last week allowed me to touch into long-forgotten aspects of myself, and I’ve returned with renewed commitment to my creative young sprite. I’m not sure what unearthing her long-lost joie de vivre will entail, but there is no question that re-learning how to stop from time to time will be essential.

When the subject of stopping arises, I often reflect on my years as a cigarette smoker. I smoked for decades. There were, of course, all the down sides: the lingering smell, the dirty butts, the health risks to myself and others, the strategic planning required to find a place to smoke in peace, the shame of addiction and the lack of freedom that ensued—not to mention the cost!

But there was an up side that I still miss: a reason to stop.

Smoking was an all-weather pursuit. Along with my cigarette I’d have something to drink, hot or cold depending on the season or time of day, and sit on the back porch, under the overhang that my housemate John built largely for this reason.

There, I would keep company with the birds and squirrels and coyotes that passed through the back yard now and then. From my stoop I watched the days and weeks and seasons unfold while I communed with nature and took some time I could call my own.

I remember my friend Lucas telling me that smoking was a way to keep emotions at bay. I didn’t buy it at the time. How could that be? But I was well aware of the solace and companionship cigarettes provided; that faithful ‘something’ in what often felt like an unfaithful world.

When I quit for the final time, I knew from experience that the thing I loved most about smoking—stopping—would likely be lost. I tried to imagine how I might stay true to the part of me this fed, and on a few occasions I bundled up and sat outside in the moonlight. But the pull of productivity won out and for the most part I cast adrift the back porch ponderer and got shit done instead.

I’m ‘on’ coffee at the moment—another power plant of epic proportions. I’ve gone for years at a stretch without it, annoyed by the addictive shadow of headaches arising if I don’t feed it every day. Mostly I tend to guzzle it while making breakfast or attending to other ‘important’ things. So I’m trying out a new practice of sitting down to drink my coffee and taking 15 minutes with my journal. It’s not exactly stopping, and I’m not yet on the stoop, but perhaps I’ll graduate to that in the coming months.

Is there some small practice you can incorporate into your daily life that will benefit your creativity? Might intentionally stopping allow for some long-lost aspect of you to emerge? Let me know, I’d love to hear!