'Achievement' Is a Trap
On learning to live in the process rather than always striving for the end goal.
Hey there reader,
On Sunday, I meditated for six hours.
That is to say, I sat on a meditation cushion in a darkened Dhamma hall surrounded by other people meditating, and I tried my best to meditate, too.
I want to be honest with you: I spent so little of those six hours actually meditating. While I believe that meditation is far more about the act of returning to the present moment than it is about staying in the present moment, even under those generous parameters this is mostly what I did instead:
Adjusted my sweater and jumpsuit.
Sampled every support cushion, large and small.
Waited for my legs to fall asleep.
Freaked out when they did, trying to shake them back to life.
Resented every throat gurgle, cough, and snore from other meditators.
Put in earplugs, then took them out because I felt like that was cheating.
Gave up on meditating outright, falling into a swirl of thoughts.
Daydreamed about the future, near and far.
Drafted this newsletter in my brain.
Wriggled around, making a feeble attempt to meditate again before cycling back through this list.
I spent at least half of each hour-long session just waiting for the ending bell to sound. I was miserable about meditating until my chance to meditate was gone: then I felt remiss that I hadn’t really devoted myself to the practice. I’d get up, stretch, vow to do better next time, and then repeat the cycle in the next sitting.
While I went in trying to keep an open mind, I secretly held high expectations for the day.
If you’re not familiar with Vipassana, it’s an intensive 10-day meditation experience with centers around the world operating on a purely donation-based model. On the first day of a full retreat, you hand over your phone, as well as any books and writing materials. You meditate for 10 hours a day, 10 days in a row, all while under a vow of silence (no talking, no writing, no reading—you aren’t even meant to look others in the eye).
I did my first (and so far, only) full Vipassana almost five years ago.
At the time, I was on my way back to the US from Vietnam after two years of teaching English abroad. I arrived at the Vipassana center in the Himalayan foothills of Nepal with lots of hopes and dreams—but no plans—for the future.
That Vipassana lives on in mythical proportions in my mind: the wake-up bell that rang out at 4 am to rouse us for each day’s first sitting. The thick fog that clouded the mountain, clinging to the green earth and obscuring our view of the Annapurna range. The huntsman spiders—bigger than your hand, and faster than you could swat a broom—that crawled into our bedrooms during evening meditation.
It was during this Vipassana retreat that I was finally able to cut through the noise in my brain and commit myself to a dream I had long held close to my heart: to make a living as a writer.
Needless to say, I now think of those 10 days as a defining pivot in my life. When I ran away to Nepal, meditated until my fears and anxieties dissipated into thin air, and came out the other side clear-eyed and determined to reach a long-held dream that I’ve now achieved.
So while I really tried to come without expectations for the 1-day course on Sunday, underneath the surface lay a deep desire to get something out of Vipassana.
After all, it had delivered me onto my current career path five years ago. Surely I could expect to come out the other side of this experience with at least one juicy realization about the journey I’m on now to recover my sense of creativity.
Despite my secret aspirations, I moved through most of the day totally resistant to the experience. I didn’t enjoy it. I spent each hour itchy, impatient, just waiting for that ending bell to ring. When the day finally came to an end and I climbed into my car to drive home, my back was sore, my mind tired and quiet. Beaten into submission, but not an epiphany or generative idea in sight.
I am often motivated by the glimmering promise of checking something off my to-do list.
I want to be productive. I want to run like a machine: feeding myself input solely so that I can then turn around and create my own output. Desperately racing towards a finish line, only to get there and realize that the process is all I ever really have.
This is a major point of friction in my life. If you’re my friend, you’ve probably heard me say that I wish I could just “fast forward” to achieving my goals and dreams. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said that: “I wish I could fast forward to living in Guatemala… I wish I could fast forward to getting my next freelance writing client… I wish I could fast forward to finishing this project…”
Why am I so eager to skip the delicious process of living all so that I can reach the hollow achievements that lay at the end of each milestone?
Achievement is a fleeting blip on the timeline, a moment so brief it almost doesn't exist. Humor me for a second: think of the last time you got something you had worked towards for a while. How much time did you spend in that moment, celebrating, soaking it up? Even when we wring every drop of joy from achieving a goal, the moment is so fleeting. There’s no action involved in achievement—it just happens to us in a singular flash, and then it’s onto the next thing.
In contrast, the process of moving from where we are now towards where we want to be is where life happens, where we move and grow. It demands our attention because it forces us to face the truth: we don't know what will happen. It's in the process that we truly live, not in the moment of achievement.
And so this is what I’m trying to embrace in my life and particularly in my creative practice.
I am writing this newsletter to write this newsletter. To give voice and shape to this journey of rediscovering what it means to be a creative person publicly, in front of you, so that it might help you to do the same.
I am engaging with my creative practice each day to engage with my creative practice. Simply for the pleasure of putting pen to paper, noticing the pollen that floats on the breeze catching the afternoon light, inhaling the heady wafts of onion browning in a pan.
After all, even for those rare moments of achievement that feel truly divine, they’ve never delivered me to stasis. Each goal, each milestone, is simply another brick laid along the path of life that is continuously unwinding until I take my last breath.
And so…
May we surrender to the journey, keeping our gaze on each step along the path rather than straining to see the finish line at the horizon.
May we fall into delight, despair, and everything in between along the way, all the while trusting that we’ll be okay.
May we embrace our own shape-shifting. May we learn to be right here, now, in the messy unfolding of it all, while remembering that what’s more important than staying in the moment is returning to the moment, again and again.
***The following are three pieces of creative input. Consider them inspiration to refill your creative cup. I encourage you to give your inner artist a sweet treat this week—even when you don’t think you deserve it, even when you’re hesitant to call yourself a creative person.
1. Read Octavia Butler’s Journals
Octavia Butler was the first science fiction writer to receive the prestigious MacArthur Genius Award, as well as the first Black woman to win widespread recognition writing sci-fi. Her journals reveal her private thoughts, struggles, and aspirations as a writer, offering intimate insights into her creative process and personal determination.
Why should you care? Octavia Butler’s journals showcase her disciplined approach to writing and her persistent fight against self-doubt. Any time I look at her journals, I see every creative person I’ve ever known reflected in her affirmations to herself, the bold visions she held for her future. If you need a reminder that your dreams are worth pursuing, give these a look.
A teeny tiny taste to entice you: “ Strive always—in all ways at all times—always for intensity. Cold or hot, hard or soft, gut-wrenching or deeply stilling, utter intensity.”
(Plus, another favorite page of mine that’s not housed at that link, and this one too)
***
2. Step Inside Australia’s Underground Homes
Nestled in the heart of Australia's outback lies Coober Pedy—a settlement that from the road, looks like practically nothing. The region is famous for its underground dwellings, first dugout for the opal mines that drew residents to the areas back in the 60’s and 70’s.
Why should you care? This unique town's underground homes, opal mines, and outback setting are a visual feast for desert lovers. Coober Pedy serves as a reminder that creativity can flourish in the most unexpected places.
(and get a little extra info on Coober Pedy here)
***
3. Deep Dive the World of Biomaterials
I’ve recently become obsessed with learning about bioyarn—a type of yarn made from sustainable, natural sources such as algae, bacteria, or fungi. Fiber artists around the world are starting to discover how to DIY bioyarn to knit, crochet, and create textiles with.
Why should you care? Biomaterials represent an exciting shift towards more sustainable and eco-friendly textile production. While it may look like slime knit into loops, it marks an important step towards a more sustainable fashion industry. I find it inspiring to see the ways creative people harness the natural world to create something brand new!
A teeny tiny taste to entice you: watch this video to learn how to make bioyarn, and be captivated alongside me by this artist’s renderings of biomaterials.
***The following are two ideas for creative output. Consider them as prompts for creative living in action. Because you have every right to get out there, practice your craft, engage your innate human creativity, and have a fuckin’ good time doing it. Enjoy, cutie!
1. Consider your success metrics for your creative practice
Why? Well tell me, what marks a successful creative endeavor for you personally? I believe we often skip asking ourselves this question, instead getting caught up in what we’re told makes our creative practice successful. Being talented, being recognized for that talent by others, maybe even making money from our art. As long as we’re pursuing external success from our art, we’re bound to feel pressure and misery during our creative process. Grounding into our own personal success metrics make it easier to find pleasure and delight instead.
How? Take a few minutes to journal privately or chat with a friend about what marks a successful creative practice for you. Here are some of mine:
Tapping into the sensation of creative flow.
Creating something that helps me to learn something about myself.
Having fun.
Learning to trust myself and my intuitive impulses.
Experimenting, expanding, and trying new things, even if I fuck it up.
Feeling refreshed by making something, or pleasantly exhausted from it.
Once you’ve come up with a few ideas, I recommend keeping them posted near where you work on your creative projects.
***
2. Repurpose something into art.
Why? Guys, there’s so much shit already in existence. Following the theme of reducing and reusing, see what you can make out of pre-existing materials this week.
How? Make a collage from old newspapers your neighbor put in the recycling bin. Create a found poem by drawing over large swaths of text in an old book, leaving only the words you want as part of your poem visible. Make a shower scrub out of old coffee grounds. Upcycle old or broken jewelry into new, wearable art pieces. Make a frittata with all the veggie scraps in your fridge.
That’s all for now. Talk soon!
Katie
P.S. If you missed my email earlier this week, Ask Honeycomb is open for questions! It’s a monthly advice column where I dole out creative prescriptions to those looking for some guidance. Each answer includes a hand-tailored Creative Prescription: the Inputs and/or Outputs that I think can particularly help you through the situation you’re in. The first edition will be published next week <3