Look Where You Want to Go

I ride a motorcycle. Before I bought the first one, I took a class on how to ride safely. (If I’m going to do something that’s inherently dangerous, taking a class first makes sense). Our class was a motley crew of geezers, younger punks, wealthy touring bike-types and regular people who like to ride.

In these standardized safety classes, you don’t bring a bike, you ride a small provided bike. I had the odd feeling that these bikes were confiscated or had been ridden into an accident. Bent fenders, scrapes and odd color combinations attested to hard use. I was on a tiny, banged up model. I felt like a bear on a bike.

Helmets are expensive, but wear one anyway. Neurosurgery is more expensive.

Class rules demand that everyone wear a helmet, gloves, heavy jeans, a jacket, and boots above the ankle. Did I mention the class was August in D.C.? Even at 7 a.m., we thought we were taking lessons in a dog’s mouth.

The instructor said, “Now we are going to learn how to go around corners and make sharp turns. How do you think we do that?” Half the class turned the handlebars and  promptly fell over. A non-moving bike likes to lie down. That often comes as a surprise to the rider.

The instructor rolled his eyes, and said, “Never turn the *&$%&^% handlebars to go around a corner! You LOOK where you want to go. The bike will follow. Always. Look. Where. You. Want. To. Go.”

He was right, of course. When we look ahead to where we want to go, our body automatically makes small adjustments to get us there. On a bike, you lean into the curve, and your hand and arm closest to the turn automatically pushes the handlebars down on that side, guiding the bike through the curve.

Creativity works the same way. We make tiny decisions that take us where we look. We press down, our thoughts go where we look. That’s why it’s important to look ahead where you want to go creatively. Because looking at failure is as easy as looking at success. But failure is a very different trip.

What are you looking at on your journey today?

--Quinn McDonald rides a motorcycle. She’s also a creativity coach. Those two facts are more closely related than is obvious.

Flying by the Motorcycle

Standing in the garage tonight, I looked longingly at my motorcycle. It’s too hot to ride right now. I can feel the heat of the pavement through my boots, and the air that pushes through my protective jacket is furnace-hot. But I thought lovingly of the next time I will be out on the bike, feel the air rushing by. . . and get hit by a piece of trash someone throws out of their car window.

Fire-started cigarette about to bounce on the street. From Care2.com

A lot of people in Arizona smoke, and when they are done with the cigarette, it goes out the window. Fire danger be damned, they can’t put it out in the car because ashtrays are now plastic and meant for coins. A cigarette butt comes out of windows on either side of the car,  trailing embers.  You can see it bouncing in the air stream, and you flinch when it smacks your face shield, drops in your lap and burns through your jeans.  Good thing I wear gloves when riding the bike; although the drivers who watched me slapping at my crotch must wonder why a motorcyclist behaves this way.

Cigarette butts are the least of what I see–and sometimes wear–when people throw them out of car windows. I learned a long time ago that washable clothing is a must when you are riding.

Coffee, with and without cream or sugar, in cups from Starbucks and Dunkin

There’s a road under there somewhere.

Donuts come flying out of passenger and drivers’ windows. So do Big Gulps, Slushees, ice cream cones. Food at 65 miles an hour is surprisingly hard. PB&Js leave a bruise at that speed. And that’s just the food. There are paper cups, napkins, whole bags of fast-food leftovers. Never money, though.

Seldom books, but often magazines, and once a baby diaper–used– and I was lucky to dodge that one. But I couldn’t miss the stuffed animal, shoe or hairbrush. Luckily, the T-shirt, beer bottle and teething ring weren’t close enough to cause damage. And the rope, sneaker and grocery bag with something in it were throw out of cars on the other side of the road.

When I tell people I ride a bike, most people tell me how we scare them because we stop too fast or they can’t see us. Maybe because they are throwing trash out the window.

–Quinn McDonald is a creativity coach who bobs and weaves her way down Arizona highways on her motorcycle.

Lessons From My Motorcycle

For long-time readers of the blog, you know that I believe Suzie Lightning taught me everything I know about creativity. (Yes, my motorcycle has a name, and it’s from a Warren Zevon song.) Now that the weather is warming up, I’ll be riding through the desert more often. It’s another form of meditation–one that requires full awareness in the moment.  You don’t think of anything except where you right now when you are on a bike.  Full awareness keeps you alive.

A mesa in the desert

Riding feeds me lessons in creativity. Your heart is lightened by the views of mountains and arroyos, Saguaros and blue sky. Arroyos are dry river beds that fill up in minutes when it rains, and can lift a big car when only 8 inches deep in water. My favorite drives are away from the interstate, the roads that curve through desert and the endless sky.

The road is two-lane and largely deserted. I stick to the speed limit, because I’m sight-seeing and not in a hurry, and 65-75 is plenty fast for me. But cars appear behind me, fill my rear-view mirror, then explode past me.

When that happens, I back off the throttle, slow down, and move over. If you ride a bike, you know that you stay out of the grease-strip in the  middle of the road, and ride on either side of your lane—the first rider on the left, to protect the space, the second rider two seconds behind on the right, to fill the lane, and the third rider back on the left side.

When a car or pickup comes flying past, I move over in case they cut back too

Dawn on the road.

soon, and slow down to give them more space between us. My full-head helmet is expensive—it’s a “single-use helmet,” and I’m not eager to give it the single use I bought it for.

Watching a pickup truck cut back into the lane in front of me, I realized that that motion of slowing down and moving over is a creative tool, too. When I’m dealing with ideas that are approaching fast and need to pass, I let them go. I don’t try to speed up and catch them. Nor do I  try to stop them or teach them a lesson. Ideas are plentiful, and not all alike.

The people who participate in my art classes (and some of my business classes, as well) are always worried that each idea may be their last. It’s unlikely. There are a lot of ideas, and a few really good ones. Like the cars that whiz past, I remember the interesting ones, the unusual ones, the ones that remind me of something useful. The rest I just watch as they vanish in the distance.

Seeing a lot of cars, like ideas, allows me to choose what I want to remember and use. And let go of what is commonplace, too fast, or not remarkable. It’s a good idea to let ideas go speeding past. It helps develop discernment.

–Quinn McDonald listens to her motorcycle for creative ideas. Suzie and Quinn never run out of roads, ideas, or stories.

Creative Change, or, Getting Where You Want to Go

I ride a motorcycle. Before I bought the first one, I took a class on how to ride safely. (I like to take classes if I’m going to do something that’s inherently dangerous). Our class was a motley crew of geezers, younger punks, wealthy touring bike-types and regular people who like to ride.

In these standardized safety classes, you don’t bring a bike, you ride a small

Helmets are expensive, but wear one anyway. Neurosurgery is more expensive.

provided bike. I had the odd feeling that these bikes were confiscated or had been ridden into an accident. Bent fenders, scrapes and odd color combinations attested to hard use. I was on a tiny, banged up model. I felt like a circus bear on a bike.

Class rules demand that everyone wear a helmet, gloves, heavy jeans, a jacket, and boots above the ankle. Did I mention it was August in D.C.? Even at 7 a.m., we thought we were taking lessons in a dog’s mouth. The instructor said, “Now we are going to learn how to go around corners and make sharp turns. How do you think we do that?” Half the class turned the handlebars and fell over. A non-moving bike likes to lie down. That often comes as a surprise to the rider.

The instructor rolled his eyes, and said, “Never turn the *&$%&^@ handlebars to go around a corner! You LOOK where you want to go. The bike will follow. Always. Look. Where. You. Want. To. Go.”

He was right, of course. When we look ahead to where we want to go, our body automatically makes small adjustments to get us there. On a bike, you lean into the curve, and your hand and arm closest to the turn automatically pushes the handlebars down on that side, guiding the bike through the curve.

Creativity works the same way. We make tiny decisions that take us where we look. We press down, our thoughts go where we look. That’s why it’s important to look ahead where you want to go creatively. Because looking at failure is as easy as looking at success. But a very different trip.

Where are you going?

--Quinn McDonald rides a motorcycle. She’s also a creativity coach. Those two facts are more closely related than is obvious.

Motorcycle Riding and Creativity

For long-time readers of the blog, you know that I believe Suzie Lightning taught me everything I know about creativity. (Yes, my motorcycle has a name, and it’s from a Warren Zevon song.) So we went off to Tucson this weekend, not on the interstate, but through the heart of the Sonoran Desert. There’s a stretch of about 70 miles where you see the San Tan mountains and then the Catalinas in Tucson,

Rear view mirror gives you a look at the future. From Shop4it.biz

but between the two points, all we saw were saguaro cactus, mesquite trees, and hawks wheeling in the deep blue bowl of sky as we crossed arroyos. Arroyos are dry river beds that fill up in minutes when it rains, and can lift a big car when only 8 inches deep in water.

The road is two-lane and largely deserted. I stick to the speed limit, because I’m sight-seeing and not in a hurry, and 65-75 is plenty fast for me. But cars appear behind me, fill my rear-view mirror, then explode past me.

When that happens, I back off the throttle, slow down, and move over. If you ride a bike, you know that you stay out of the grease-strip in the  middle of the road, and ride on either side of your lane—the first rider on the left, to protect the space, the second rider two seconds behind on the right, to fill the lane, and the third rider back on the left side.

When a car or pickup comes flying past, I move over in case they cut back too soon, and slow down to give them more space between us. My full-head helmet is expensive—it’s a “single-use helmet,” and I’m not eager to give it the single use I bought it for.

Watching a pickup truck cut back into the lane in front of me, I realized that that motion of slowing down and moving over is a creative tool, too. When I’m dealing with ideas that are approaching fast and need to pass, I let them go. I don’t try to speed up and catch them. Nor do I  try to stop them or teach them a lesson. Ideas are plentiful, and not all alike. The people who participate in my art classes (and some of my business classes, as well) are always worried that each idea may be their last. It’s unlikely. There are a lot of ideas, and a few really good ones. Like the cars that whiz past, I remember the interesting ones, the unusual ones, the ones that remind me of something useful. The rest I just watch as they vanish in the distance.

Seeing a lot of cars, like ideas, allows me to choose what I want to remember and use. And let go of what is commonplace, too fast, or not remarkable. It’s a good idea to let ideas go speeding past. It helps develop discernment.

–Quinn McDonald is a writer who teaches writing. Her book, Raw Art Journaling, will be available in July, 2011.

Journal Page Frame

This gallery contains 1 photos.

Framing a page in an art journal is a good way to highlight a poem or quote. You can also use a smaller frame for a pull quote (sure you can use them on your handwritten page), or an illustration. … Continue reading →

Creative Risk. Worth It?

Roadsign: Dangerous but passable

This sign is on one of my favorite motorcycle rides. It seems so much more than a road sign. For me, it was an invitation to do some creative work. Dangerous? Well,  I could make mistakes, I could not like the finished piece. (It’s just a piece of paper.)  It also might be an interesting ride, if I can get over the fear. A little danger can be fun.

A lot of creative work is dangerous, but passable. the ride takes some skill, but that’s the fun.

Journal prompt: In your creative work, what seems dangerous to you?

–Quinn McDonald is a writer and certified creativity coach. She runs workshops and seminars in raw-art journals.

Prescott, AZ–Found Art

Prescott was the original capitol of Arizona. It’s an old town that’s tucked into mountains high enough to support snow in the winter. This weekend there were broadleaf trees that had turned to bright, brittle yellow. The smell of autumn leaves was unmistakable; I haven’t smelled it since I left the East Coast.

Autum leaves, Prescott © Quinn McDonald, 2009

Prescott is a lovely town, a town that shows art to anyone who wanders into The Raven (either the cafe or the pen-and-paper shop) or Van Gogh’s Ear, one of the art shops that line Whiskey Row.

Prescott also puts out its own art, the town as it is, for anyone to enjoy.  Cortez Street is packed with antique shops that are stuffed with vintage, old, worn, odd, and delightful objects.

The Armadilla (yes, it ends with an ‘a’) Wax Works is a candle factory with a retail shop. It’s at the top of the hill that makes Cortez Street, before the antique shops take over.

This candle factory is in the building of a former bank. Arizona produced a lot of copper in the old days, still does,  so the entire front of the store is still home to the old vault and safe.

The detailed copper molding that is both bold and delicate,  and a sun-mirror that is rich and polished to match the older copper safe wall with the dentil and decorative molding. In some light, you can see the copper has taken a lot of polishing, but it’s thick and hefty and won’t wear out any time soon.

Antique copper moulding and mirror © Quinn McDonald, 2009

On the opposite wall was a grouping of candles and grasses with blossoms. The sun was at the right angle to make it a perfect photo all its own.

Candles from the Armadilla Candle Works, Prescott © Quinn McDonald, 2009

The Raven Cafe is a wonderful old building. I’m a fan of the collages that sprout in bathrooms, and this was no exception. This one seemed to be planned–it had originally been created, quilt-like, a block at a time, then mounted on the wall and continued with paint and pen.

The Raven's Cafe's artful bathroom © Quinn McDonald 2009

This garage was graffiti’d and then painted over unevenly. The resulting unfinished raw art is perfect the way it is.

Garage Mural © Quinn McDonald 2009

The next building was painted when it was too cold. Half the paint popped off in the dry air, leaving a great pattern that looks like an angel food cake.

Peeling Paint, © Quinn McDonald, 2009

Prescott has art around every corner, great weather to enjoy it, and astonishing rock formations around the town. A great place for a quick getaway. If you have time to drive up from Phoenix, don’t take the Freeway. Nothing against I-17, but the scenery is not spectacular. Take a bit longer, go through Wickenburg and Yarnell and see mountains and thumb buttes that will astonish you.

Out of Yarnell, don’t take the switchback road that 89 turns into. Turn left onto Kirkland Road and go through Skull Valley and into Prescott. It’s 10 miles longer and worth every inch.

–Quinn McDonald rides a motorcycle and takes pictures with her iPhone.

What “Being in the Moment” Means

If you ride a motorcycle successfully, you know this–your attention is always immediately around you. Your mind does not wander to the grocery list, the plans for next weekend, or lunch. You are focused on where you are, who is behind and in front of you, and what is happening right now. As you ride in this moment and focus on it, you begin

Image from BestBeginnerMotorcycles at http://tinyurl.com/nbo57f

to know what others in cars are thinking, what they will do. Your circle of awareness expands and you are alert and calm, aware and easy on the bike. As a creative, I know this is a moment of flow that Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi writes about. (Watch Csikszentmihalyi’s TED YouTube video.)

This afternoon, I was on the freeway entrance ramp, accelerating and ready to merge with traffic. Behind me, in the lane I was about to enter, was a gray car. When I clicked the signal light, the car slowly accelerated.  I had an instant to make a decision–hit the brakes, hard, or continue to accelerate and merge. Because I was more than two car lengths ahead of the gray car, I hand-signaled and merged. I felt the driver’s flash of anger and although she neither had to brake nor react, she didn’t like my decision. Freed from my own thoughts, I could feel hers.

Although bikes come equipped with turn signals, many motorists don’t see them. When I make a lane switch, merge, or turn left, I make a definite, strong arm movement in which I point to the space I’m going to move to. There is no doubt what I’m going to do. It’s hard to miss.

On the freeway, I changed lanes again, using the passing lane to avoid a turnoff, and joining the speed of traffic, which is fast here in Arizona. Traveling 70 mph on a bike keeps you alert. Traveling 70 mph on a crowded freeway keeps you as alert as you have ever been.

I don’t like to ride in the passing lane, I like to leave it free for cars to pass each other. I crossed into the middle lane,  felt the relief of the pickup who swung into the passing lane and edged past me, and knew without checking that the driver coming up on my right behind me was on the phone. It’s amazing what being in the moment tells you. It informs the way you handle the bike, it feeds you information on your position in traffic.

The car on the right behind me pulled even with me, then dropped back. I checked. Yep, he’s on the phone. Impaired driver. Not in the moment. Not fully engaged in driving.  On the other side, the gray car was now a car length behind me. I knew what she would do 10 seconds before she started her move. She was going to pass on the left, then cut me off and slam on her brakes. This game is incredibly dangerous, it can cause a multi-car accident, but that wasn’t her intent. In her mind, she was justified in punishing an arrogant motorcyclist who took her lane. Had a car done the same thing, she would not have given it a moment’s thought. You ride on the road with a lot of people, and you don’t get to pick any of them.

I couldn’t change lanes, but I slowed slightly to build a space cushion. She cut in front of me sharply and braked hard, but then accelerated, not looking back. She had achieved what she needed to do. She wouldn’t be a problem, and I had not had to brake hard, risking a skid on pavement that hasn’t seen rain in eight weeks.

On the right, the phone talker passed me. His car was not centered in the lane, he wanted to merge into my lane. I wanted to be out of his way, so I checked my left and saw a white car racing up the passing lane. Although the phone-driving had seen me ahead of him, he was not aware of me. I felt his decision before his wheels crossed into my lane while I was even with his back door. He’d forgotten me. I was in his blind spot, and his attention was on his call, not his car.

But I had the passing lane free, so I hit the horn at the same time I moved to the left of the center lane, ready to pull into the passing lane if I had to. Phone driver swerved back into his right lane, and I passed him. He waved apologetically at me, using his phone hand.

This is what driving a motorcycle is like–a constant awareness of the world around you, the emotions and patterns of drivers. You know what is around you in that moment, and it changes in the next. Your mind doesn’t drift or waver, you know just what you have to know to stay upright and moving forward on your bike. It’s why most bikers ride, it’s a feeling like no other. It’s what being in the moment means, and I learned how from Suzy Lightning.

–Quinn McDonald is a writer, trainer, and creativity coach. She rides Suzy Lightning, her motorcycle, as often as she can when the weather is good.

Traveling Journals Update: Loose Pages-6.25.09

Some loose pages came back from the traveling journals. These are from Poughkeepsie, NY, pages done by Becky Nielsen.

There are many ways and reasons to keep a journal. A vital reason is to witness world events. We often can’t change anything on our own, but the ability to witness and pass on is enormous. Awareness comes before action.  Thanks for your powerful contribution, Becky.

Becky Nielsen, watercolor on paper

—Quinn McDonald is circulating four journals (and loose pages which she will bind into journals) among strangers who want to share the raw-art-journaling experience. Read more about the journals. Take a peek at some of the images. Join the project by sending an email to rawartjournals [at] gmail [dot] com