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.

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.

Creativity Lesson From the Bike (again)

The middle of the road is a little darker than the sides. The middle is the part that gets the oil and gas from accelerating and braking. If you ride a bike, it’s called the grease strip. You don’t want to spend a lot of time there.

A lane on a road can be divided into the right side (by the curb or breakdown lane), the middle (the grease strip) or the left side (by the stripe). A motorcycle can easily fit into one of these thirds.

If you ride on the grease strip (the middle of the road), you have more places to maneuver, but you have a higher chance of skidding when you stop. Same thing when you are working on a creative project. The middle of the road is familiar, and you can get through the problems of your work, but it’s also the one that is filled with the danger of skidding away from making meaning. Look closely at where you are working–is it the place filled with starts and stops you’ve done before? If so, move out of that project and into something that’s not filled with a history you already know.

If you are riding on the left, it’s hard for a driver to squeeze you off the road by passing you and then moving over too soon. It’s also easy for you to get blasted when a car coming toward you is driving close to the stripe in the road. On a creative project, you want to protect yourself from getting blasted by other people and their project. Meaning making is a personal, private thing, not a competition.

If you are on the right side of the road, it’s easy for people to pass you, but it’s also very dangerous, as there is a big space where you don’t show up in their right-side mirror, and they can push you off the road. On a creative project, you don’t want to stake your meaning and existence on others who are rushing past. Establish yourself firmly in your plan and take up a lot of space in your studio. Making meaning is about you and your creativity. That takes up the whole creative path.

(c) Quinn McDonald, 2007. All rights reserved. To see all of Quinn’s work, visit QuinnCreative.com Image courtesy douglascountywa.net