You ever come across a quote, a song lyric, even an image that rearranged your mental furniture? I’ve probably come across dozens. I have them scribbled in notebooks and on sticky notes and in ink on my body, for the ones I really want to keep close. Many years ago, I came across this one from actress Liv Ullmann that has always stayed with me. She wrote:

In search of my lost innocence, I walked out a door. At the time I believed I was looking for a purpose, but I found instead the meaning of choice.

That moved me beyond words in the days I believed my innocence lost. Today, I’ll admit, I likely wouldn’t wander off in search of lost innocence. I mean, isn’t the loss of innocence where wisdom starts? No, today, I find myself listlessly lying around trying to build up the energy to search for my lost motivation. I know it’s around here somewhere. I just can’t get off my butt to look.

A study of snow

Rather than pursuing the activities that normally fill my days and evenings—prospecting for new business, fixing up the house, reaching out to friends—I find myself burrowing deeper into my favourite chair in the kitchen and staring out at the snow. My view lets out into the backyard, where no cars have spoiled the pristine white. Instead, I can see the brilliant flecks of blue reflecting like diamonds in the rare splashes of sunshine. Teardrops of ice hang from the trees’ branches, dazzling even in the overcast. And footsteps—from the squirrels, raccoons, I even saw a possum the other day!—make shallow tracks, moving from here to there to somewhere else. At least some creatures seem to have a plan for their days. It sure isn’t me.

Better than the alternative

Before jumping full bore into the client interviews that consume much of my working days, I generally spend the first few minutes of these phones calls just gabbing—y’know, building rapport, catching up, talking weather. Often, very often, my clients tell me how crazy busy they are, how full their days, and I say: “Better than the alternative.” And they agree. Busy-ness confers its own form of motivation. If there are things that you simply must get done, you generally do them, and that seems productive even if that isn’t always the case. These days, I’d even welcome the momentary motivation that comes from fake productivity. Which makes me think I’d truly suck at retirement.

The days of yore

Have you ever read Walden, by Thoreau? I tried a few years ago, got about halfway through. I’ve been thinking about the half I did read lately. The part that says:

I have a great deal of company in my house; especially in the morning, when nobody calls… I am no more lonely than a single mullein or dandelion in a pasture; or a bean leaf, or sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a humble-bee. I am no more lonely than the Mill Brook, or a weather cock, or the north star, or the south wind, or an April shower, or a January thaw, or the first spider in a new house.

Motivated, with no source of motivation. Just the sounds of nature and the call to create. Is it possible to miss an age that you never lived in? I find myself missing a world that would allow me to disappear into self-contemplation, where the contemplation itself is goal enough. I have just enough motivation to think. It’s the action I’m taking umbrage with.

Lost keys

In her book, Pay Attention for Goodness’ Sake, Sylvia Boorstein says,

Beds—and minds—get rumpled. It’s the same rumple, over and over, requiring the same straightening, day after day. Tidying up—beds and minds—reveals lost car keys and lost insights. Perseverance in tidying depends on faith: “I’ve seen it before. I know it’s in here somewhere.”

Perhaps my motivation is hiding with your lost keys. I know it’s in here somewhere. If you find it, can you give me a call? I may even answer the phone.