The Artist’s Way Week 4: Recovering a Sense of Integrity

A stronger and clearer me is emerging, but before we get to Julia’s latest affirmation, let me state for the record that I feel as though I am changing. I’m not inclined to go deeper than this statement, because something about it makes me tremble and shortens my breath. As difficult as it is for this inveterate navel gazer, I’ll go with the flow for now.

It’s not easy, this programme and yes, I notice that I have started using that word, as though I am undergoing some kind of treatment or rehabilitation. I resisted this very language at the beginning of the process, but now find that I can’t think of any other words to use. No doubt Julia would say that acceptance is part of my recovery. But anyway, it’s not easy and The Artist’s Way is on my mind all of the time, hence my relief when I turn to the new chapter and it looks like a short one. I skim read the sidebar on the first page: self definition, blah blah, productive introspection, blah, new self-awareness, reading deprivation. What? Yes, right at the bottom: ‘Warning, do not skip the tool of reading deprivation.’ Hm.

I take a breath, move to the main body of text and read about Honest Changes. What this boils down to (oh for more brevity) is that the morning pages force the artist to confront their ‘real feelings’ rather than whatever they choose to present in public. Instead of simply being ‘okay’, when writing the pages I am required to be more specific and if not deal with (no doubt this will come later) then at least identify what’s really going on in my head. And it is happening: the pages have become a conduit for my fears, desires, ideas and ambitions, many of which I have dared not express for months; and some of which have never seen daylight. I ignore a lengthy section designed to counter excuses for not having done the pages, because I haven’t missed a day yet. We have a saying in our house – you never regret a walk. Well, I never regret the morning pages.

‘As we gain – or regain – our creative identity, we lose the false self we were sustaining. The loss of this false self can feel traumatic.’ This kind of trauma feels indulgent in the current moment, but I won’t deny it. I read something about cleaning out closets and marvel at the symmetry of me wanting to declutter my wardrobe all of a sudden and what I’m undergoing creatively. Julia would claim that this is no coincidence. If only the charity shops and recycling centres were open. There’s a warning about ‘bursts of tears and laughter’ and ‘emotional pyrotechnics’, but that’s happening to everyone these days, right? On the other hand, the pace of change – my growth – may feel more like cloud movements. There she goes, covering all bases. I sit up when I read about changes in energy patterns and stronger and clearer dreams: some days I can’t sit still, while others I can barely move; and as for my dreams, don’t ask. I chuckle at the sentence about spontaneous dancing, because on Saturday night I danced around the living room for about an hour while listening to an acquaintance broadcasting a live DJ set. I haven’t danced like that for years and it was an unrestrained joy. The tears later on were also to be expected, apparently.

Two sentences hit me between the eyes: ‘You may well be experiencing a sense of both bafflement and faith. You are no longer stuck, but you cannot tell where you are going.’ This nails what I have been struggling to articulate for days: a sense of possibility somewhere in the vicinity, but no more than that. I’ve been anxious that I don’t have sufficient focus or any idea about what’s next, so it is a mighty relief to be told I should not worry. This is where the affirmation pops up: if in doubt, I should remember that ‘a stronger and clearer me is emerging.’ This gives me the confidence to attempt six sets of exercises – not my favourite part of the programme – and although I’m not sure what they are meant to achieve, I’m surprised to learn that I would like to be able to build dry stone walls and to try naked swimming. Presumably not on the same day. I even have enough faith to accept Julia’s instruction to forego the pleasures of reading – the blood that flows through this writer’s veins – during this week. This is supposed to steer me towards the benefits and power of solitude, but for now it feels like cliff diving, and I’m terrified of heights. We’ll talk about this next week.

POST SCRIPT: On the final day of week four I have a long conversation with a fellow writer and good friend. We share our experiences of the lockdown – like me, he is having trouble reading and writing fiction – and our fears for what happens next. We discuss collaborating on a project. This is something I have wanted to do for a while, but I’m fairly sure I would have continued to deny it if it wasn’t for the stronger and clearer me that is emerging. It feels good to have chewed the fat with another artist after two months in unintentionally self-imposed exile and because of this I hereby grant myself absolution for missing my artist’s date.

Read about Week 5 here.