Shock to the System
For our anniversary, Mark got us an adventure challenge book. The pages contain scratch-off date ideas meant to ignite spontaneity. The rules are simple: if you reveal a date, you must do it. No matter what.
The author writes in the introduction:
“If you study body building, you’ll notice a lot of talk about shocking your muscles. For body builders who have been working out for some time, normal or habitual workouts no longer bring them the muscle growth they’re accustomed to. Eventually, they reach a plateau in their growth.
I feel like there is a very similar thing that happens to us in life. We become entrenched in repetition…I believe we need to adapt the principle of random creativity. Random creativity looks like shocking your normal day-to-day life and getting out of the “plateau” with activities and adventures that you’ve never done before or may never have crossed your mind.”
The message resonated. To feel adventurous, you must adventure. To have interesting stories, you must be living interestingly.
Leading a fun life requires you to evolve into a fun being.
As a creative, my inspiration gets stale. I’ve been writing these articles from the same couch, on the same day of the week, with the same process for years. When I built the Champagne Room, my intention was to create room for experimentation. I thought I would write you short stories, poems, or play with new mediums. I’ve done a lot of the same kind of work.
For today’s post, I decided to mix up my pattern. Shock the system.
I planned to set a 3-hour timer and write whatever came. I was going to sit on the roof with a notebook and let the change of scenery guide the experience. Once I finished, I planned to upload my pages to the blog - no edits, no planning, no spell check, no research—just my thoughts on a page.
This was the first step in my evolution into a spontaneous, artsy writer. You know, the kind that ends up featured in museums for their innovation and uniqueness.
Honestly shocked a Metamorphosis gif even exists…
My experiment was wrecked by a different shock. I woke up with a myofascial pain flare-up and am currently writing from a blanket cocoon.
My syndrome creates connections in pain that I would never notice otherwise. Wiggling my toes strains the side of my hip. The pressure of my laptop under my wrist sends shooting sensations into my shoulder. Deep breaths graze the inside of my back and stomach muscles like I’m a hollow chamber of aches. I’m acutely aware of the muscles in my face.
I feel like I’m in a shitty Kafka spinoff: woman turned slug without cause or warning.
No matter how much I know about my pain and its triggers, I’m still jolted by it. I’m young, healthy, and quick to forget that something as simple as a temperature drop can flatten me. I helplessly watch my weekend plans slide onto the floor.
Part of me wishes it would become routine. I would love nothing more than a consistent understanding of how, why, or how long my pain will last. Instead, I never know what body I’m going to wake up in. I Freaky Friday into different bodies. Some I recognize. Others really do feel like vermin.
Clinging to my routine at all costs
In the uncertainty, my schedule gives me solace. I white-knuckle onto structures that keep me moving forward, but they aren’t always the most inspiring. Often I find myself struggling to think of something new to write. I slog on, falling back on the subjects that have always worked before.
Random creativity was a new approach. I was excited to shock myself into a burst of imagination, but in the end, my pain gave me the inspiration to finish this piece. I guess it’s silly to think I can control what shocks me.
In an attempt to keep some experimentation alive, a time-lapse video is recording in my periphery. I keep hoping that I’ll sink into the words and forget about the camera. So far it’s a distraction.
I don’t know how interesting it will be. The video will mostly be random moments of stretching and maybe a few tears in between coffee refills.
A woman sitting in bed, typing out her thoughts in an attempt to avoid her body.
I guess that’s its own metamorphosis.
