Hustle & Flow
By Julie Christine Johnson | July 24, 2024 |
“The moment my legs begin to move my thoughts begin to flow – as if I had given vent to the stream at the lower end and consequently new fountains flowed into it at the upper.” – Henry David Thoreau.[i]
Thanks to my parents’ foresight, little-girl me took swimming and tumbling lessons. I had a canary yellow bike with streamers dangling from the handlebars that carried me up and down the half-mile road leading from our house at the end of a cul-de-sac to the highway, whereupon I spun around and pedaled like the wind in the other direction (No helmet? What? Nah. This was 1977!).
But athletic I was not. I was an introverted, nose-in-a-book kid who made up mysterious ailments to get out of P.E., huddling miserably in the bleachers when it came time for a unit in basketball or soccer, knowing I’d be picked last for any team. Terrified of breaking my glasses, I would duck and cover my head if a ball—basket, base, volley—headed in my direction. Anything that demanded strength, coordination, and the ultimate horror—teamwork—would send me running for the hills. No pun intended.
Or rather, no pun at all. Reality was, if I wasn’t reading or writing in my room, I was outside and in motion. The pastures behind our house on the Olympic Peninsula of Western Washington state once fielded herds of dairy cows. An old barn, abandoned and caving in on itself, provided endless hours of make-believe, from Laura Ingalls-inspired frontier scenarios to Frances Hodgson Burnett-like secret gardens. The cow skulls and rib-cages hidden in overgrown fields of Timothy hay made for wild west and survival reenactments only fans of Grizzly Adams could appreciate. I rambled from open fields through forests of Doug fir and western red cedar until the sun dipped below the Olympic Mountains, coming inside only when the porch light clicked on, signaling it was time for dinner. I recall no feelings of loneliness—only a deep solitude that comes from having nothing more than my imagination for company.
Somehow that reserved, solitary kid who convinced herself she was hopeless at anything that involved Nikes and a gym bag became a reserved, solitary young woman who found her way first to a gym (because who wasn’t doing Step Aerobics in the nineties?) and then into a pair of running shoes, onto a bicycle (without streamers, sadly) and into a pool and finally swimming laps in Lake Washington. Into hiking boots that led her up mountains, into snowshoes that shushed through forests. Onto a yoga mat.
In fact, I became an athlete—regularly running half-marathons and competing in sprint triathlons—years before I became a writer. Prone to bouts of anxiety and depression, I turned to physical activity to keep my mind and my moods on an even keel. But it wasn’t until I began writing creatively in my early forties that I found full equilibrium. I needed both laps around a track and laps around a page to settle my mind and manage my world. It was then I discovered how physical exercise was critical to my creative expression.
Researchers have long agreed that there is a link between physical movement and enhanced cognitive and creative ability, even if they don’t fully understand the mechanics behind it or agree on the cause. [ii] But many of us recognize the need to take a walk to “clear our mind,” whether it’s to process difficult news, escape a tense situation, or think through a vexing problem. There is a special something about rhythmic flow of our limbs in repetitive, forward motion that creates space for the mind wander, or energy to unravel mental or emotional knots.
In Wanderlust, her beautiful meditation on the intellectual and spiritual rewards of walking, Rebecca Solnit writes:
Thinking is generally thought of as doing nothing in a production-oriented culture, and doing nothing is hard to do. It’s best done by disguising it as doing something, and the something closest to doing nothing is walking. Walking itself is the intentional act closest to the unwilled rhythms of the body, to breathing and the beating of the heart. It strikes a delicate balance between working and idling, being and doing. It is a bodily labor that produces nothing but thoughts, experiences, arrivals.[iii]
It’s that last sentence— It is a bodily labor that produces nothing but thoughts, experiences, arrivals—that hits home. I think of all the writing arrivals that have landed on me while I’ve been in motion. Bike rides when I’ve ironed out plot holes. Hikes that have witnessed
the composition of a newsletter or a blog post. Lap swims that introduced me to a new character.
My passion for travel married with my need to be in motion has resulted in unintended creative consequences. My first novel was inspired by rambles through Le Pays Cathare (Cathar Country in Languedoc, France); my second through hikes in southern Ireland. Even walks around the neighborhood bear fruit: I still have the Note I dictated into my iPhone six years ago when the premise of my fourth novel landed unbidden but complete while I was out stretching my legs after work.
I laced up my running shoes for the final time nearly ten years ago, after accepting that I wasn’t just sore, I was hurting. And it’s not as though those training miles were spaces where I could let my mind wander. All I thought about, really, was the mile I was grinding out and all those that stretched ahead of me. Low impact, moderately-paced activities like walking, swimming, or bike riding on trails (never in traffic), and gardening all benefit my creativity. It’s when I hustle that I find my best flow.
How does movement factor into your creative life? What are the creative inspirations or problems you have solved by stepping away from the screen and heading out for a walk, a ride, a vigorous session of gardening, or shaking your booty in the living room? How can you make more time for movement and still meet your deadlines/goals?
[i] Thoreau, H. D. (1851). A Year in Thoreau’s Journal: 1851, (Penguin Classics, Paperback: USA).
[ii] Etnier, J. L. et al. The influence of physical fitness and exercise upon cognitive functioning. A meta-analysis. J. Sport Exerc. Psychol. 19(249–277), 1997. https://doi.org/10.1123/jsep.19.3.249 (1997).
Oppezzo, M., & Schwartz, D. L. (2014). Give your ideas some legs: The positive effect of walking on creative thinking. Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition, 40(4), 1142–1152. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0036577
Rominger, C., Fink, A., Weber, B. et al. Everyday bodily movement is associated with creativity independently from active positive affect: a Bayesian mediation analysis approach. Sci Rep 10, 11985 (2020). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-020-68632-9
Steinberg, H. et al. Exercise enhances creativity independently of mood. Br. J. Sports Med. 31, 240–245. https://doi.org/10.1136/bjsm.31.3.240 (1997).
[iii]Solnit, Rebecca (2001). Wanderlust: A History of Walking (Penguin Books: USA).
Julie is the author of the historical fantasy In Another Life, which was awarded the 2016 Foreword Indies Gold Prize for Book of the Year (Fantasy), and the eco-lit ode to Ireland The Crows of Beara. Her short stories and essays have appeared in several journals and anthologies, and she offers writing workshops and developmental editing services to fiction writers and memoirists. Julie hold undergraduate degrees in French and Psychology and a Master’s in International Affairs. She recently completed a work of crime fiction and is laying the groundwork for another historical fantasy, which may or may not feature Mary of Magdalene and the poet Rilke. A hiker, yogini, and wine geek, Julie makes her home on the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington state with four cats, seven chickens, a Labradane, and a painter.
Wonderful post, Julie. I majored in math in college, and several of my professors had studied in Germany. There, the daily regimen began with classes from 7AM to noon, then lunch, then long walks with their instructors in the wooded paths around the university. The walking was considered crucial to digesting all that had been absorbed that morning.
This line from your Solnit quote, I believe omits something important (which, however, I believe she addresses elsewhere): “Walking itself is the intentional act closest to the unwilled rhythms of the body, to breathing and the beating of the heart.” It is also the closest activity to the rhythm of thought. It is not for nothing that a great many writers, when they sense themselves stuck, defy the dictum to “keep your butt in the chair” and instead get up and pace.
Thanks for kicking off the writing day in such a wonderful manner.
Thank you for the lovely comment, David! The “Socratic Method In Motion” image of those students and professors in Germany is delightful, and so apt. I couldn’t agree with you more-as we walk, our ideas, longing, problems and solutions move forward with us. That rhythm is priceless.
Preach! Movement is as essential as breathing–we are designed to move and it helps us remain fit in all areas. We recently had to put our 16-yr-old golden mix down and I’m still not used to walking without her. I ride my bike more now, but I find walking more conducive to thinking, imagining. Sometimes I stop and swing for a few minutes as I watch a gator sunning himself in a pond, swishing his tail when the bolts of the swing creak. I eat loquots and figs along the way when they’re in season, pick flowers, and images and ideas coalesce into something more. I also enjoy playing in the waves. The Lowcountry has its own beauty, so different than that of the Pacific NW, where we lived for many years, and where you live now! I can picture the trails you walk… thank you for your lovely essay.
Oh Vijaya. My heart breaks for your loss. Daisy, our Labradane, is a constant companion on my walks and hikes and I never take the joy her presence and spirit bring me for granted.
You present a beautiful reverie of movement and thought in your images. Thank you for the gift of your words! It’s a part of the States I long to visit, all the more so now. I wish you continued blessed rambles!
Movement is a gift, Julie, one we often take for granted. Just working with our hands on the keyboard starts a process from brain to words. When you think about it, it is a daily miracle. Work of human hands…a phrase that is also a prayer. So much we humans do is creative: an organized working space…my desk needs attention! And so does my garden. There are weeds to pull there, and in my WIP as I reread and edit. We can highlight our day to day chores: let’s honor the gift of movement and those fingers on the keyboard.
Beth, my partner, who is an extraordinary gardener, often refers to his work planting, tilling, weeding, watering, as his “prayer.” I echo you both-our bodies are a gift, in all their shapes and sizes and abilities-and the work we do with them, whether it’s with the hands, the head, or the heart (usually all three in some combination!) is both gift and prayer. You are so right-we honor them by using them. Thank you for the lovely words.
This IS a good post. I went and poked around your website, and recommend that other WU peoples do, too. A lot of good reading in there.
Oh Michael, you are so kind- thank you!
This was a fantastic post, thank you, and one that everyone needs to hear. You couldn’t have expressed it better. Movement is critical to my writing life. Keep in mind that I’m 65, missing 33% of my lung capacity due to lung damage from a viral infection, and have an auto-immune lung disease. None of that matters. Movement is life, and it’s creativity.
I walk two miles each morning—every day. No exceptions. I’ll cover that distance in 30 minutes, depending on conditions. Last January, I walked when it was -12F. I saw no one. When I came back through the door, I was ready to edit. Bring it on!
I also bike, practice yoga, and hike (over 50 miles and 6,500 feet this summer). I live in a hiking oasis in Montana, after all. Last year, climbing towards Heart Lake, I stopped short. A scene I was editing where the setting felt wrong became clear in an instant because I was standing in it. I come up with ideas, reimagine ideas, and often compose poetry while walking. I can’t explain the connection, either, but when my legs move it makes it easier to walk to the fantasy world I’ve created.
Christina, you are extraordinary! What an inspiration you are, and a testament to the lifeforce of our bodies, even when they have suffered illness or injury. Thank you for sharing your courage, grace and determination and the power of your creativity!
In grade school I logged five to ten miles a day on my trusty Stingray three-speed, a hand-me-down from my older brother. In my mind I went much farther than the confines of my city’s streets — from ancient Greece to the tony, East Coast horse-show circuit. I met — and became — a dozen different characters daily. That’s when I started to think I might be good at this writing thing.
Thanks!
I love grade-school you! I still feel like a kid when I ride my bike… What a joy there is in that memory of your trusty Stingray and how it’s carried on through to the writer you are today. Thank YOU!
Beautiful post, Julie. As a fitness professional turned novelist your words sing and, as the novelist, they’re a full chorus. It seems my best words come to me in the shower or while swimming laps when paper and pen are nowhere nearby. I was thrilled when I found a waterproof pad and pencil that sticks to the shower wall! Keep the body moving, keep the words flowing.
Thank you, Linda. I’m so glad it resonated!
Showers are worthy of an essay all their own! I head to the shower as soon as I get home from work- to sort through the day’s events and hopefully let them wash down the drain. And yes, many a good idea has found its spark under the cascade of water- you’re so wise to capture them in the moment!
I love your essay and its focus on movement. I was a toe-walker in childhood during the 1970s, a perplexing curiosity for parents and healthcare professionals, which to this day, is still a bit of a mystery. Toe-walking was pure joy for me. It morphed into an adolescence spent chasing an Olympic Dream as a sprinter and then a career as a physiotherapist, collecting stories on how movement or lack thereof impacted my patients’ lives. Sadly, studies have shown that by the age of 12, adolescents are already deciding on whether or not to engage in an active lifestyle, a precursor to the epidemic of sedentary lifestyles and the concomitant chronic illnesses that can result.
Story arc’s that include the mysterious connections between thinking, doing and moving, seems to me to be a garden of plenty for storytellers.
Janice, it fascinates and delights me that toe-walking launched you into becoming a serious athlete and then into a career working with bodies managing different abilities.
I fear that the generations following ours haven’t played outside with abandon, enjoying the sort of freedom we and those generations who preceded us, as least post-Industrial Revolution, enjoyed. I was definitely a late-bloomer as far as discovering sports and using my body in competitive athletic ways, but I know those early years of simply playing outside set me up to loving being in motion.