No Rules Playlist Decoded

No Rules Playlist Decoded

In the 1970s, music was our connectivity to one another in a world without smart phones. It both influenced and reflected our shared experiences. Concerts were abundant and inexpensive. When a song from the 70s is played now, nearly everyone who was young at that time can tell you a story about it, recall a special memory, or describe a concert they attended where they heard that band. It was integral part of our youth culture.

In my memoir No Rules there are eleven songs mentioned by name in the text, and four more that are described. There are eleven others on my playlist that may or may not be obvious to the reader as to why they are included. In this article, I provide the reference for each piece of music, including why those not in the book were selected. Each song does not completely describe my personal experience, so don’t be concerned if it deviates from my story. As much as possible I have tried not to include spoilers, but sometimes the selected paragraph gives out hints, and you can sometimes tell where something takes place. This is why I don’t explain who ‘we’ is below. If possible spoilers concern you, don’t continue reading this until you have read the book.

Enjoy while you listen and read.

 

She’s Leaving Home (The Beatles) – This one is not in the book, but you can probably guess that it relates to the opening chapter where I am leaving home, although not meeting a man from the motor trade.

 

Norturne No.2 in E Flat, Op. 9 No.2 (composer Chopin) – From Chapter 2, this music is described in this paragraph about my mother who wanted to be a concert pianist. Chopin was her favorite composer.

Another time, she was playing a difficult Chopin piece and was getting frustrated, replaying the same section over and over, until she finally stopped, looking defeated. “All I ever wanted to be was a concert pianist, but my piano teacher told me I wasn’t strong enough,” she said. She turned her hands to look at them as she spoke. “He said a woman’s hands aren’t big enough, which is why there are no women concert pianists.” She looked at her hands a moment longer before rising from the piano stool.

 

California Girls (The Beach Boys) – Also in Chapter 2, this song is implied by this paragraph when my sister Anne and I are younger in the 1960s.

That summer, when the Beach Boys became popular, Anne and I fantasized we were surfer girls with boys dropping at our feet.

We pretended we lived on a beach in California where we hung around with surfer boys as we lounged on chairs in the backyard and listened to the transistor radio she’d bought with babysitting money. We put on sunglasses and pretended to be sunbathing, though we were actually sitting in the shade so our pale skin wouldn’t get burned.

 

Mama Told Me (Not To Come) (Three Dog Night) – In Chapter 4, Anne and I have our first encounter with Eddie, which sets off a chain of events.

I wished I was old enough for Eddie to like me but knew he probably thought I was a kid. Anne put a quarter in the jukebox at our table and “Mama Told Me Not to Come” by Three Dog Night began to play.

 

Still Raining, Still Dreaming (Jimi Hendrix) – In Chapter 5, the first person we meet is Ed. I wasn’t familiar with the music of Jimi Hendrix, but Electric Ladyland was one of his favorite albums to play.

We entered his living room, where a huge American flag with a peace sign in place of the stars hung across one wall; on another was a psychedelic poster of a couple sitting in a tantric sex embrace, facing each other, arms and legs encircling one another. Peter Max posters of each of the Beatles hung in rainbow hues along the side wall. I was awestruck.

As we walked across the room, my feet sank into the wall-to-wall carpeting. It felt like I was walking on pillows; I wondered what was underneath.

Ed switched on the stereo, then the TV, leaving it silent. The first guitar riffs of Jimmy Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland blasted as colorful electrical streaks pulsed through an attached globe in time to the music.

 

Your Song (Elton John) – In Chapter 7, the one I love is singing. To me?

Music had returned to the transistor radio, and Elton John’s love song, “This Is Your Song,” played. Bob sat across the room, watching me, and began singing along to the words as if he was singing them to me. His eyes looked full of emotion, telling me things I longed to hear him speak. Is he telling me he loves me with these lyrics? I wondered.

 

Guinnevere (Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young) – Later in Chapter 7, he is definitely singing to me.

We spent the next few days together sharing greeting card experiences.

We rode through the canyon and stopped at another beach, watched sunsets from the rock jetty near our house, and stayed up together until dawn. We sat on our rooftop eating spaghetti for breakfast and watching the sun rise. One afternoon as we lay together with our bodies intertwined, listening to the Crosby, Stills and Nash album, he looked into my green eyes and sang along with the haunting song “Guinnevere.” The intimacy between us was growing.

 

What’s Going On (Marvin Gaye) – From Chapter 8 at night.

During one ride, the opening notes of Marvin Gaye’s new song “What’s Going On” came over the radio followed by his haunting voice—and a chill shot through me; it was as though I was feeling his song in my body. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, dreaming awake, wondering how life would ever feel right again.

 

Me and Bobby McGee (Janis Joplin) – Also in Chapter 8.

I had never known pain like this before, pain that crept into my dreams and got under my skin. There was a new hit Janis Joplin song called “Me and Bobby Magee” that was on the radio constantly. I cried along with her every time she wailed about how much she missed holding Bobby, and I felt like I too had nothing left to lose.

 

Wild Horses (The Rolling Stones) – In Chapter 9, we attend a party where this song is described.

He walked in without knocking, and we squeezed our way past people standing in the hall and into the overcrowded living room. The sweet aroma of pot and incense flooded the air, and Mick Jagger’s voice wailed about wild horses from the stereo speakers, mixing with the loud drone of conversation.

 

Wild World (Cat Stevens) – Chapter 10, listening to music with a friend.

He removed the headphones from his neck and placed the pillow-like plastic cups over my ears. The music vibrated through my bones as though I were directly plugged into an amplifier. I closed my eyes and listened to Cat Stevens singing “Wild World” and I felt like the refrain could be about me. It made me sad.

 

California (Joni Mitchell) – Chapter 11. This song is not in the book, but in Chapter 11 as a result of what occurs, all I want to do it to get back to California.

 

Funk #49 (James Gang) – While this song is not specifically mentioned in Chapter 11, I attend a James Gang concert where they play this song. Attending the concert has unexpected results.

 

Maggie May (Rod Stewart) – In Chapter 14, I attend a concert that included Rod Stewart as the warm up band for Deep Purple.

“Yeah, England,” Rod screamed into the microphone, staggering across the stage, as the predominantly French audience booed. “Maggie Mae” was a hit song, but Rod Stewart was making no fans with his obnoxious remarks. He appeared to be drunk and the crowd began chanting, “Deep Purple, Deep Purple, Deep Purple.”

 

Like A Rolling Stone (Bob Dylan) – Later in Chapter 14, musicians are playing at the youth hostel.

At last the musicians stooped to crawl into an arch-shaped stone dungeon lit by one red light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Those still with us followed, crouching into the space and sitting cross-legged on the icy stone floor. They began singing a Bob Dylan song, “Like a Rolling Stone.” It had been a hit when I was younger, but now I felt like it was my song, a story of homelessness and life on the road, of being lost and searching.

 

Bitch (The Rolling Stones) – When the Rolling Stones went on tour in 1972, it was their first tour in the United States since the Altamont concert in 1969. Meanwhile, their album Sticky Fingers had been released in the years in between. It was their first album to hit number 1 on nearly every chart around the world. They had now advanced to super stardom. People were trading motorcycles for tickets which were nearly impossible to get. Truman Capote covered the tour as a travelogue for Rolling Stone magazine. Stones mania was everywhere and the tour was labeled a “rock and roll legend” by critic Dave Marsh.

In Chapter 16, a friend of mine scores tickets in another city. Road Trip! This is a classic song from that time that was often on the radio.

 

Street Fighting Man (The Rolling Stones) – In Chapter 17, we attend the concert and this is their final song of the set. 

Before their final song, the house lights came on and the riot squad linked arms, standing shoulder to shoulder and boot to boot across the front of the stage in defiance of the crowd, as Mick screamed out the lyrics to “Street Fighting Man.” The song had been banned from Chicago radio stations in 1968 following the violence during the Democratic National Convention, where thousands of police and National Guardsmen had clashed with half as many anti-war demonstrators and hundreds had been injured. It had been released a week after the event. Now the Stones sang it like an anthem for the Chicago protestors, and the crowd responded. 

Bad, Bad Leroy Brown (Jim Croce) – In Chapter 18, this popular song from that summer plays at a party we hear about.

“Chicks! All right! Come on in.” A guy with light brown hair in a ponytail and wire-rimmed sunglasses motioned for us to enter as we stood in the doorway. He handed Joanne the bottle of vodka from the table.

“Here, have some juice. Not much else left, but you can get a good buzz with this shit.”

The song “Leroy Brown” was playing on the stereo; our host proceeded to dance around the room to the tune while Joanne took a swig of vodka and then passed it to me.

 

Welcome to Goose Creek (Goose Creek Symphony) – Although not in the book, we traveled with a group of people from Hope in two large vans to attend a free concert to see Goose Creek Symphony. Bluegrass music was becoming very popular as the back-to-nature trend was growing. This corresponds with the timeframe of Chapter 20.

 

In The Beginning (Emerson, Lake, and Palmer) – Also not in the book, but this was our song circa Chapter 21.

 

Ohio (Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young) – Another song not in the book, but in Chapter 22 its relevance is clear.

 

Black Water (Doobie Brothers) – At Hubbard Hill, we used a car battery connected to a radio and an 8-track player to hear music, considered a necessity. We played this song often although it isn’t mentioned in the book. Timeframe of Chapter 23.

 

Dancing in the Moonlight (King Harvest) This song was written by King Harvest about the people living with nature in the community surrounding Ithaca. While at Hubbard Hill, we attended a party with a band that played under the full moon, and of course they played this song and we all danced. Timeframe of Chapters 23 – 24.

 

The Corn Won’t Grow So Rock ‘n Roll (Goose Creek Symphony) – This song well describes how life typically transpired at Hubbard Hill. All types of people would drive up for conversations. Some nights you could find us all dancing around the cabin with whoever else was visiting. Everyone was invited for dinner. Timeframe of Chapters 23 – 25.

 

The Boxer (Simon and Garfunkel) – In Chapter 27, it’s the night before Christmas Eve.

We finished our dinner and talked on into the night. After a while, Mike brought out his guitar and his new book of Paul Simon songs, and the three of us sat around singing “Lincoln Duncan,” “The Boxer,” and “America.”

 

I Am Woman (Helen Reddy) – No song expresses better the spirit of how woman felt in the 1970s as they awakened to feminism and abandoned the rules designed to keep women in their place. It’s not listed in the book but you can sign along while in Chapter 28 and during the Epilogue.

 

If you have any questions about this playlist, or would like more information around it, please contact me at [email protected]. I will be happy to answer.

Peace.

 

The Older I Get The More I See

The Older I Get The More I See

The older I get, the more I see the beauty I never recognized in my youth.

I was at a baby shower on Sunday, and the mother-to-be was a gorgeous woman in an off the shoulder tight fitted dress. All the words that have been used many times for a woman close to giving birth applied to her. But there were others I hadn’t thought about before:

  • how soft her skin looked
  • how her eyes seemed to radiate peace
  • how her calm demeanor made me feel more comfortable about the state of the world, even though it is about as  uncertain a time as I can remember.

The older I get, the more I see the beauty that comes with age. My husband’s wrinkled face has the most contagious smile. I once saw his now shrinking arm muscles lift the front end of a pickup truck away from the edge of a dirt road. I caressed those strong muscles with their pleasing allure when he was younger. They still hold me in a most tough and tender way.

The older I get, the more I see how little it takes to influence a child’s life. Yesterday we took our five year old grandson on a hike through the woods. It is one of his favorite activities and we can finally enjoy it again with spring temperatures. He has developed a fascination with animals and all living creatures. My husband showed him how to find insects by stripping bark from dead trees. They uncovered an ant’s nest where the queen scurried out and the other ants all picked up the eggs and began to sprint off in random directions. They watched the ant’s activity, then replaced the bark and made sure the queen was back in the nest so the ants could continue to turn the tree into dirt for the forest. We looked at lichen and discussed how they eat rocks. At the end of the trail, our grandson picked fresh green grass and fed it to the Shetland pony on the other side of a fence, stretching his hand out flat so the pony wouldn’t bite his fingers. We see our grandson is learning a love of nature, and understanding the cycle of life.

The older I get, the more I see how my priorities change about what matters most. I used to think that when older people stopped worrying about how they looked, it meant they were losing touch with reality. Now I know it means they have freed themselves from the need to impress anyone. I still like to look my best at times, but I’ve come to realize that it’s not worth shortening the experience to spend more time preparing for it in superficial ways.

The older I get, the more I see how I am less attached to material possessions. I shop less because I don’t need more. I seldom think of a material gift I need. The weight of my possessions feels more like a burden than a blessing. It’s not like I feel I will die soon and not need them. It’s more like I want life to be simple and flexible. I care about love, writing, reading and all things involving movement. I care about music and art and sunny days. Malls are annoying and stores seem like a waste of time.

The older I get, the more I see how time is shrinking. When you are a child, and you have only lived a few years, a year feels like an eternity, because it is. It may be one-fifth of your life. As you age, a year is merely one-sixtieth or one-seventieth of your life. A much shorter period of all you know of the world. As a result, you pack on years like calories at Thanksgiving, and before you know it, the years have altered your shape.

The older I get, the more I see how your shape is formed by all you have been throughout your life. We carry that inside us and it adds up to the essence of our spirit. What we have made of our lives from the pieces given to us is our creation. We can turn it to beauty or we can let it languish in an unfinished pile of possibilities.

The older I get, the more I see that everyone I have ever been still lives within me. I have grown. Sometimes I’ve shrunk. I have made mistakes and had regrets. I have been mean and lazy and selfish. I have also been kind and caring and giving. I have forged paths in new ways that needed to happen. I have tripped over old paths and cursed their creators. I have given birth and witnessed death. I have been a true friend and a spiteful bitch. I have been judgmental, forgiving and opportunistic. I have been so poor I stole food to eat. I have dined at exquisite restaurants. I have been a vegetarian and a carnivore. I have been desperate to be loved, and cruel in breaking a heart.

The older I get, the more I see that I am human— completely imperfect, utterly vulnerable, strong as a rock, and just like everyone else.

Sharon Dukett

Sharon Dukett

Author

Sharon Dukett is the author of the award-winning memoir No Rules: A Memoir. It is the story of her counterculture journey in the 1970s when she ran away from home to join the hippies at age 16, and how the women's movement awakened her to feminism. 

Sharon writes a blog, and has been a technology and project manager, as well as a computer programmer.

What If Your Life Had a Sensational Soundtrack?

What If Your Life Had a Sensational Soundtrack?

There was a time when it seemed my life had a soundtrack. It was fluid and rich and it drowned out all the other noise going on. Music could make me feel connected to those around me as much as my phone sometimes makes me feel disconnected from my surroundings now.

When I wrapped myself into a cocoon of sound, music sent emotions through me like waves. It could have been my youth, or the times, but it felt contagious.

That’s what drove me to create a play list of the music I mention in my upcoming memoir, No Rules. The book takes place in the early ‘70s when music seeped into every moment of my life. FM radio that played rock had just begun to take off. It replaced the ‘60s style of AM radio jocks who chattered as they spun top 40 songs in between dazzling commercials. The FM radio announcers all sounded stoned as they spoke thoughtful descriptions of the bands or the music they were sharing and explored album cuts beyond hit singles.

This music was inspiring. It was experimental—bluesy, folksy, or jazzy, sometimes all at once. At times it sounded like it came from outer space. There was hard rock with pounding guitars, soft rock with melodic harmonies, and acid rock meant to be listened to while tripping. There were protest songs, stories, wailing harmonicas, music sung from the gut and lyrics of poetry. It became the elastic that pulled us close to one another in ways that transcended our differences and emphasized our commonality. Our origins, race, gender, and economic background became meaningless.  

With no internet or smart phones, music was our communication and musicians became our gods. There was always a radio or a stereo and in some cases, speakers as large as a pair of doors. That stereo was the center of focus in a room and we played it with the television picture on and the sound shut off. I have no memory of what was on TV at those times, but the songs I heard work like an index for thousands of my memories. I know I can conjure up those moments into vivid images because they are tied to the music that is embedded within me.

A few years ago, my mother lay in the hospital dying. She faded in and out of consciousness, her eyes sometimes open slits, and other times fully shut as she gradually moved away from life. I wanted to give her some moments of joy as she transitioned, and I had to think about what that might be.

In her youth, she wanted to be a concert pianist, and she studied the piano for several years. Her favorite composer was Chopin. I had heard her play his music frequently in our house while I was growing up, as though she was still living a bit of that dream. I decided I would download some Chopin Sonatas and Nocturnes I remembered her playing, and I took them with me to the hospital on my phone.

As I stood beside her bed stroking her hair, I started the music. Her eyelids flickered open and her breathing took on a different pace after a few minutes, a pace of calm. I wondered if she was reliving her fingers gliding across the piano keys, sensing their movement as she tapped out the notes that sometimes came in rapid succession. I couldn’t tell if she was enjoying it, but it felt to me like an essential component of her life—one of her happier ones.      

Chopin is also part of my life’s soundtrack. When I hear his compositions, it connects me to my mother. I can feel her in the room. Both piano classics and classic rock make up the music that plays inside me.

The piano she played now sits in my living room, aging and worn, and in need of tuning. I’ve been promising myself to get that done. I want to start taking piano lessons. I did play for some time as a child, but never well enough to play classics. Am I too old to do that now? I don’t care what else I learn to play on the piano, except to play Chopin. Maybe one or two pieces will be enough, so I can understand what it feels like to make those beautiful sounds flow from my fingers and run through my body like waves as I feel my mother live on beside me.

 

Sharon Dukett

Sharon Dukett

Author

Sharon Dukett is the author of the award-winning memoir No Rules: A Memoir. It is the story of her counterculture journey in the 1970s when she ran away from home to join the hippies at age 16, and how the women's movement awakened her to feminism. 

Sharon writes a blog, and has been a technology and project manager, as well as a computer programmer.

Summon The Courage To Be Heard

Summon The Courage To Be Heard

 

When I was in high school, I used to sit in history class in the back row next to a friend who was a boy. I was afraid to speak up for fear of being wrong, so when the teacher asked a question, I would whisper the answer to him. He would raise his hand and speak my words. It turned out I was nearly always right, but only he knew that.

People who know me now will be surprised by this admission. I’ve spoken in front of groups. I’ve volunteered to go first, announced guests at conferences, started conversations with strangers, and advocated for myself and my family. I’ve asked to be promoted, run complex projects, reached out to superiors and authorities. Now with my memoir and blogs, I’ve written personal truths about myself that I’ve long kept secret and exposed my inner feelings to the public.

Some see me as brave. Perhaps they also see me as foolish, but I ignore that. Inside, I still need to summon up courage every time I put myself out there. It’s always an effort. I feel that anxiety I had raising my hand in high school with warning signs flashing in my mind: What if I’m wrong? What if I get hurt? What if I hurt someone else?

A thousand fears conspire to keep me silent.

I don’t think this is just me. I believe most of us cower at the thought of exposing our vulnerabilities.

This hit home for me in a big way last week when reading about the testimonies of women against Harvey Weinstein. Imagine the bravery needed to face him and the press in court, to raise their hands and be called upon to speak about graphic personal details they have likely worked hard to forget. How much courage did it take each of them to face the criticisms, denials, insinuations and public scrutiny that they knew they would confront? Their strength is inspiring.

Most of us won’t be faced with something so extreme. But even smaller challenges can feel huge when we lack the confidence to power through them.

That’s why we need to remember that we are always in the process of learning. We may have become experts in one area, but we’ll be complete novices in another. Don’t let that dissuade you from moving forward in your life in new ways. No matter your age or background, the world around you is always morphing into something else, so we are in a constant state of discovery. Why not use that understanding to allow yourself to make mistakes, to try again, to grow?

Seek out those who support your efforts and will lift you up—the ones who will catch you if you fall. And most importantly, make sure you lift up others along with you, using an open mind and an open heart. That fear you’ve felt exists in all of us, and may be even greater in those who have struggled against barriers beyond our personal understanding.

This is how we build our base of courage: by creating a web of strength we share with each other, a resilient space to hold us up despite our fear of speaking our truth. Then when we raise our hands, our voices will be loud and we will make sure everyone knows who spoke.

Sharon Dukett

Sharon Dukett

Author

Sharon Dukett is the author of the award-winning memoir No Rules: A Memoir. It is the story of her counterculture journey in the 1970s when she ran away from home to join the hippies at age 16, and how the women's movement awakened her to feminism. 

Sharon writes a blog, and has been a technology and project manager, as well as a computer programmer.

Do You Have The Guts To Love?

Do You Have The Guts To Love?

 

I was born to parents who loved me. That made me lucky right out of the gate. I have heard many stories told by those who did not share this luxury.

They also loved each other, but it was complicated.

My mother grew up in pre-WWII England where she lived a comfortable life as the daughter of a bank manager. She watched her parents engage in an active social life as a result of her father’s position.

My father grew up as the child of non-English speaking Lithuanian immigrants who worked in a textile mill in Lawrence, Massachusetts. His parents worked hard and drank hard with the other immigrants in their neighborhood.

Neither of them strayed outside of their well defined social circles until war made it necessary. They met on a train while dressed in their respective nation’s uniforms, each returning to their military base in England.

My future parents had one face-to-face date, then wrote letters for a few years before my father asked my mother to marry him and come to America. She said yes.

That took guts. Imagine letting go of everything you know about the world and taking a chance on love. Just saying “yes” and diving in. It wasn’t a fairy tale ending, but their marriage lasted for thirty-five years until my father’s death.

I’m not recommending that people give up their lives and fall in love with strangers. At least I don’t think I am. We have far more opportunity now to know everything about someone before we jump into a relationship. You would think this would make it easier to find a life partner or even a friend, but I suspect it is more difficult. Is it best to consider everything you discover about someone over social media or from web searches? Should you do a criminal and financial background check before you consider dating someone? Or do so later if you start to grow serious?

With so much gossip, random facts, awkward moments and sensitive data floating around in the digital universe, it is possible to form a strong opinion about a person without ever talking to them. Is that an accurate assessment, or has something important been overlooked? How many flaws does it take to eliminate a person who hasn’t even entered your life? Five? One?

While our shortcomings and mistakes are on display for the world, studies are popping up in developed countries exposing the growing loneliness of people of all ages.

Loneliness. An epidemic on the rise. Humans unable to connect with one another but aching to do so. How do we transcend this gap that keeps us apart?

We are bombarded with information: warnings about scams, news of tragedies, articles about how to stay safe, exposés of individuals that have deluded trusting people, rapes, murders, drug deaths, child molesting, human trafficking—an onslaught of the worst that people can be. We’ve become socialized to trust no one and fear everyone.

It’s not that we don’t know how to love. Just look at how many people love their pets. We hold them in our hearts, hug them, play with them, care for them, organize our lives around them, treat them with dignity and respect, all the while knowing the day will come when we will outlive them and we will have to let them go. That takes guts.

Love and guts go together. Letting another human into our lives—whether it is our own child or another’s, a new lover, a potential friend—letting that human touch our hearts and touching their hearts back, without knowing where it will lead or what we may gain or lose, that takes guts.

We could all use more love. What if we each took a step forward and reached out to someone to see how that goes? And tried again with another even if the first time failed? We could make new connections in person, and by doing so make the world a smaller, kinder, more human place.

It’s scary.

Do you have the guts?

 

Sharon Dukett

Sharon Dukett

Author

Sharon Dukett is the author of the award-winning memoir No Rules: A Memoir. It is the story of her counterculture journey in the 1970s when she ran away from home to join the hippies at age 16, and how the women's movement awakened her to feminism. 

Sharon writes a blog, and has been a technology and project manager, as well as a computer programmer.

Are You A Lazy Ass Daydreamer?

Are You A Lazy Ass Daydreamer?

 

When I was a little girl, my mother would walk into my room and ask me what I was doing while I sat on my bed staring into space.

“Thinking,” I would answer.

While I was thinking, my mind was churning out stories of characters encountering monsters in castles or outrunning them on horseback through forests in faraway places. I was the princess, or the girl jockey, or the lost adventurer hiding in the woods from the wicked witch.

“You have a vivid imagination,” my mother would say if I told her what was on my mind. “While you’re thinking, you should clean your room.”

The problem with cleaning my room was that it interrupted my thoughts and put a halt to the stories parading through my brain. I didn’t know how to explain it then, but now I do. Creativity requires focus. And mundane activities like housework require attention to the details of the activity. The two don’t play well together.

To create art in whatever form speaks to you, you need to daydream. You need to free your mind to loosen the flow of thoughts, words, and images, then pluck out the best ones and nurture them.

With writing, you can sometimes indulge your imagination while running your fingers over a keyboard, if you know that keyboard well enough. It had better feel like an extension of your hands, where touching the keys is mindless and you could even drift off to sleep doing it. Otherwise, you’ll need a pen and paper in hand, perhaps even a pencil to let those thoughts lead you on a journey.

But while you and your creative mind are busy searching for the right phrase to convey a complex image, those around you may see you as lazy. At the end of the day, what have you accomplished? You probably piled up some more papers on top of the papers you already had in a pile, or wore down the battery on your phone doing research or checking on your social media platform. At best, you increased your word count.

Does anyone besides you care about your word count? Probably not. When I glance at my to-do list, I realize it’s as long as it was that morning, or longer, and meanwhile those around me are stacking up check marks next to their completed tasks like Santa Clause on Christmas Eve. Perhaps I can count finishing my tea as an accomplishment.

This is the dilemma of trying to live a creative life, especially now when lack of free time carries bragging rights. People are expected to exceed last year’s levels of productivity, not spend time staring at a blank page in a trance. So where can you find the space to sit alone and just think?

Here’s a suggestion: if you keep your fingers moving over your keyboard, no one will know your mind is off wandering through an unexplored landscape. Keep typing keep typing keep typing keep typing—you will look productive instead of like a lazy ass daydreamer. And the words will form thoughts, and the thoughts will start to speak to you, and a world will begin to form in those empty spaces you left for them.  

Let’s keep this a secret just between us creative types.

Sharon Dukett

Sharon Dukett

Author

Sharon Dukett is the author of the award-winning memoir No Rules: A Memoir. It is the story of her counterculture journey in the 1970s when she ran away from home to join the hippies at age 16, and how the women's movement awakened her to feminism. 

Sharon writes a blog, and has been a technology and project manager, as well as a computer programmer.