On ambition, arrivals, and calligraphy drills
January is on its way out, the herd of new runners in my neighborhood has already thinned, the onslaught of talk on intentions and newness and break-taking, dulled to a murmur. And here in the US, Inauguration Day has finally passed.
We’re settling in, aren’t we? And it’s all good, friends.
By the magic of physics, pressure always finds relief, and we’re hardwired to both seek and secure it. The first weeks of a new year always bring, to most of us anyway, a natural shift toward change.
I’ve written previously about what can happen around these cultural reflection points, specifically when thinking in decades, and there’s a similar tendency at work here in Q1—it’s that inherent desire for setting a path of progress that can do lovely things for us, unless it doesn’t. Our actions ultimately tipping the scales.
Independent of what you’ve set out to do or not do this year, there’s a slinky beast I’d like us all to take a closer look at; plump, shiny and beckoning, it’s the lure of a particular brand of completion of a thing, of arrival at the finish line of a goal… of satisfaction.
We may not realize we’re chasing it, and it may not be all the marbles, but reaching a state of satisfaction, in our career, in our relationships, with our bodies, health, our creative work, is most certainly a particular flavor we crave. It’s a generalized condition of achievement, of having done something to its perfect, or even near perfect, realization. It’s natural and human, and, it’s total fiction.
Said Agnes de Mille to Martha Graham, many moons ago:
“But then there is no satisfaction?”
And Martha to Agnes:
“No satisfaction whatever at any time,” she cried out passionately. “There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”
From one American icon of prolific and genre-changing creativity to another, an almost eye-rollingly simple dismissal.
For context, de Mille sought this counsel from Graham in the wake of her own self-sabotaging. Her work on the Broadway smash Oklahoma! was a recent and comprehensive success, and yet she remained deeply confused; she felt it was good but surely not that good. Her barometer for quality was in question, the potential for satisfaction based on achievement, completely out of whack.
Graham’s directive in response is so absurdly clean and decisive, how can she/we possibly refuse?
And how are we so quick to deny ourselves the freedom that clearly lives within the clarification of it?
Yes, these two courageous and inarguably ‘successful’ humans were discussing the creative process in particular, but the same quandary applies whether it’s choreography or oceanography.
We’re denying ourselves the release from satisfaction because it’s deceptively hard, because it means maintaining the discomfort that is dissatisfaction.
I took up calligraphy late last year, one of several handicrafts I’ve worked into my life’s mixtape in an effort to reengage with my broader creativity. I’ve always been a writer and reader, but the complexity of older adulthood squeezed out a number of significant and deeply pleasurable pursuits. Meaningful stuff. Yummy stuff.
I used to paint, was a college-trained photographer and worked for a time in the film industry, made a few pieces of clothing here and there, restored furniture… it should be surprising to no one that most of things took their greatest hit once I started a family.
I’m not super keen, as yet, on making art from calligraphy, or even using the skills I’m developing to write whole words let alone sentences. What I love most are the drills; the repeated loops, waves and zig-zags that combine into singular letters. When repeated, for an entire line or even an entire page, the effort. becomes so driven by the want of precision, all of existence seems to hinge on the tip of a pen.
I bring this up now because writing calligraphy is a one of the most deeply, yes, satisfying, experiences I’ve yet known. The reward-to-effort ratio is high, a testament to the brain’s rather slutty play for any amount of dopamine—a factor often dismissed in the midst of the satisfaction shakes. It’s why even watching a video of someone writing calligraphy can make it happen for us.
People. Even our kids are watching power-washing on YouTube. And don’t pretend for a second you’re not primally territorial when unpacking anything that comes with a protective film to be peeled off just so. No one believes you.
Deny it to your own peril, observing precise execution, whether via pen, lathe, knife or pastry cutter, cuts to the quick of exactly what we seek with our larger intentions, resolutions and goals.
We crave precise conclusion. A neat denouement. Reaching a brand of stasis that feels like all our exhaustingly constant hard work has really meant something, has achieved something. Proof that our efforts are effective and effectual, that WE are effective and effectual. That by way of our actions mattering, we matter.
And of course, we do.
But wait… is pleasure seeking out too then? Or is it quality over quantity?? Is gratification okay in smaller doses but dangerous when overindulged?
What I’m arguing for here is adjacent to the argument for favoring ‘the journey’ versus the outcome. And I not hating the connection. But/and, there’s a specificity here to satisfaction as the particular outcome that I think is important, and particularly this time of year, and for a lot of us, this particular year.
If we take these moments, of writing calligraphy, extruding pasta, laying ski tracks in fresh snow (favoring the doing over the watching), as opportunities for experiencing satisfaction in the micro, we’re relieving the pressure valve on that hot pot of our macro pursuits. The bigger goals that, in their perpetually simmering state, encourage in us a desire for resolution.
We’re working in this way in partnership with our own chemistry, providing sips instead of gulps, portion-controlling our cravings for fulfillment. In fact, if we do ambition right, the value of our efforts will undoubtedly exceed our satiation from them.
How really are we to derive any distinct sense of satisfaction from the unquantifiable significance of our own descending ancestry, from the immeasurable value of our creative progeny, any of our lasting contributions… our legacy?
The gratification we often desperately yearn for will actually outlive us.
Do you, dear reader, actually want to reach a point in your career, your marriage/partnership or creative project, where there’s nothing left to learn? Zero improvements to be made, all the fulfillment, all the satisfaction, all the marbles?
I sure don’t, and I think most of you are with me.
Our mission: Recognize these bite-sized servings of satisfaction for the benefits they provide.
Observe, recognize and respect how you feel when you’ve cleaned a window to near imperceptibility. Tune into your awareness and your appreciation the next time you get your signature just right or crunch purposefully over a gravel path.
Allow these sensations to scratch the itch, freeing your larger efforts to remain steadily in that state Martha Graham so beautifully deemed the ‘blessed unrest.’
Let’s not then deny ourselves the distinct and important pleasure of exactness, AND let’s also incorporate it in a way that doesn’t become a rule to apply where no rules can.
Bree Stilwell 