*Typing*

I visited a painter the other day at his studio where both finished and unfinished canvases leaned up against every wall.

During our time together he told me...

"Many of these paintings have four, five, six and sometimes seven paintings underneath them."

He will paint something to completion, become bored of it and then paint something new over the top of it. Considering just how much work he was throwing away, I told him this made me wince a little bit.

To which he responded...

"I just have zero attachment to my work once it is completed––all I enjoy is the process of doing the work."

What's perhaps even more fascinating, is that he's commercially successful by every stretch of the word.

His work is highly sought after. He has a gallery in Los Angeles that is constantly peddling his paintings. He has pieces that hang in the homes of the rich and the famous.

Every time he paints over one of his paintings, he's practically throwing money away. But, he's not doing it for the money. And this makes me wonder if it's not why he's making money.

If you ever watch a dog be a dog, you will notice they pay a tremendous amount of attention to one thing at a time: the poor mailman on the sidewalk, the squirrel on the fence post, the vacuum, the peculiar sound reverberating from your bookshelf speakers, the T-bone steak sizzling in your heavy cast-iron pan.

Humans, like dogs, pay attention. But, humans can do something that dogs can't: we can pay attention to what we are paying attention to. In other words, we can have awareness of our attention. Developing this awareness is important because attention is an indicator of not only interest but pain, pleasure, insecurity and desire.

Our attention can be used as an internal compass to guide us to the hurt that is holding us back, as well as the hopes and dreams that could release us. But, we've got to pay attention to what we pay attention to.

When I woke this morning at 8:08 a.m., I felt calm. When I looked down at June, who was in a little ball on her doggy bed beside me, I felt love. When the day's affairs slowly began piling up in my head like the leaves of fall, I felt anxious. When I got up from my bed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, pulled on my clothes, laced up my boots, saw to my chores and stepped out the front door, I felt productive. When I drove to the coffee shop and heard a somber song on the radio, I felt sad. When I settled into my seat by the window of the coffeeshop and sipped from my ceramic mug, I felt energized. When the words took some time and a great deal of wrestling to spill out of me, I felt discouraged. When my friend sat down beside me, cracked open his book and sipped from his coffee, I felt grateful.

Developing a greater sense of awareness doesn't require Ayahuasca, cold plunges, silent retreats, standing on your head nor placing crystals on your windowsill during a full moon. You can develop awareness by simply naming to yourself the emotions that you are feeling when you are feeling them. It's the same as birdwatching, really. You walk through a forest. You notice. You name what you see. With time, you develop a greater awareness of birds.

Awareness is like birdwatching but for your emotions.

Wood is the raw material needed to create a fire. But, not all wood is created equal. It's damn difficult to start a fire with wet wood. You can do it. But, it requires a lot of kindling, tinder and patience. It's far easier to start a fire with dry wood that has sat around for a couple of seasons. Furthermore, a fire running on dry, seasoned wood burns better than wet, unseasoned wood. It produces more heat and less smoke.

Like fire, creativity requires raw material. This raw material usually isn't something as tangible as wood. It is instead art, music, poetry, literature, experience, spirituality, ideas, love, tragedy and so on. Like firewood, not all creative raw material is created equal. Some are better for starting the fires of your creativity than others. Because of this, we must be abundantly aware of the art we are admiring, the music we are listening to, the poetry we're reciting, the literature we're reading and the ideas we're choosing to hold close.

There is a scene in Dune where Paul Atreides is piloting a multi-winged helicopter looking gizmo (called an Ornithopter) through a devastating sandstorm. Paul attempts to war with the crushing winds and sand but he soon realizes that his struggling is only making matters worse.

If he continues to fight, the Ornithopter will be dewinged and then entirely obliterated. Paul decides to do something radical. He surrenders. He retracts the Ornithopter's wings and then powers it down. The Ornithopter tosses and turns in the wind like a tin can in a tornado but it survives––it survives because it's no longer a foreign object flying against the sandstorm. It's a part of the sandstorm.

There will be moments in life where you will want to resist the natural order of things; where you will want to bend nature to your will. In these moments, it's especially important to surrender. Let go. Or, be dragged.