I like to review books before I’m finished reading them…or so my conversations tell me. I began reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic this weekend and it’s become the epicenter every discussions of mine in the last 24 hours. So to dodge the possibility of me ranting about her book for a prolonged period of time, I thought I’d just write about it…mind you, I’m 40 percent through it. But the point of the book is crystal clear and I could probably put it down and come away with what she intended to convey right now.
Inspiration is not our own. That’s the premise. Gilbert describes inspiration as a “house elf” that comes and goes as he/she pleases. A spirit that indwells a human for short stints, allowing that human to express whatever idea the spirit carries. There are a thousand different ways of saying this, but everyone knows that feeling of utter drive, like you’ve been possessed by something otherworldly and will not be content until you accomplish a certain something. It’s the only time we really care to be “possessed.”
Inspiration. The Middle English translation of the word is: divine guidance. And whenever we do enter that “zone” where we just. can’t. stop. it’s profoundly beautiful.
There were points in swim practice where I’d find my groove and turn into a machine. All of a sudden my self talk would say “Give me more!” instead of “I have no more.” I’m not sure if most people would call that a moment of inspiration or an endorphin rush. But isn’t it sort of a chain reaction?
Typically, if I’m touched by inspiration, or what I believe to be the touch of God, my momentary genius comes with waves of euphoria aka endorphins releasing and swimming their hearts out. (That’s how I picture endorphins…as little fish who swim through my limbs and must be made of air, because they make me feel like I’m floating.) So, during those arduous sets, even though the yards and muscular demands pointed to the scrap heap, my body somehow levitated through the water. What a phenomenon.
Gilbert calls it Big Magic, and I guess those moments can seem mystical and magical, but more than anything, they’re celestial. They’re the moments I feel closest to God and feel like He is affirming that I am doing something purposeful with the life he bestowed me with. It’s our reward for being good stewards of our gifts. And yes, sometimes we are reminded that our gifts are not our own…
Like in those times where I want to write something great. Something that will change lives. Something that will make me sit back and say wow, look what I’ve created! And to my dismay, those times of forced creation are the worst. Those words turn out to be superficial and mechanical and pleading for attention.
But then, you might read something, and it makes you think. All of these things Gilbert describes as ghostly genius seems like hard evidence of a creator. Someone who knows each of us SO well that He occasionally pushes us into a current and helps us undulate forward, making progress with little of our own efforts.
I listened to a TED talk by Rick Warren this weekend. If you do not know who he is, he’s the pastor of one of the hugest churches in the country (Saddleback has 11 locations in CA and 4 outside of the US) and he wrote an insanely successful book entitled The Purpose Driven Life. The title alone nabs people, because we’re ALL in search of purpose. I can picture myself in the self-help section of the book store (those archaic buildings), my eyes jumping from book spine to book spine, in search of an title that may lift every part of my life up. The Purpose Driven Life. Uh, yeah, that’s what I’m yearning for.
Warren was caught off guard when his book skyrocketed to the top of the NYT Bestseller list….and stayed there…for one of the longest durations of any book ever. He sold 30 million copies, and he candidly says in his TED talk, that he made a boat load, a cruise ship load, of money.
What was the purpose of that? Warren says he became a minister to minister, not to rake in money or rise in fame. But he was presented with both dollars and celebrity. Why God? The answer Warren eventually found was stewardship. He gives away 90 percent of his income and keeps 10. He uses his fame for speaking engagements he describes to be indescribably wonderful. It’s like purpose inception– there was purpose in his book on purpose’s mega income.
One thing Gilbert said that was reassuring (and troubling) to me was that she wrote her best-selling Eat, Pray, Love book for no one but herself. She almost didn’t write it because it was invasively personal. Celeste Ng, author of “Everything I Never Told You” (which I haven’t read) was quoted by an author in an NPR interview (of her cousin’s wife’s daughter’s cat…long intro clause. Sorry.) with the mantra, “write what terrifies you.” I like that. Any time I’ve hesitated before writing about a subject seem to be the times I most appreciate that I pressed on. Same goes for Gilbert’s crazy successful Eat, Pray, Love. She said many, many people have criticized her book, and many, many more have said nutty things like, “Your book is my bible!” and “It’s changed my life.” But Gilbert did not write to change anyone’s life. She wrote about her life, and it happened to touch lives. What a very cool side effect.
There are times I feel narcissistic when I write, because I (like Gilbert), share mostly about the person I know best– me. There have been times when writing anniecdotes that I cry because I’m sharing something that hurts, but feels good to expunge. So in a way, my endeavor is entirely selfish. And this is where I think God comes into play. The fact that my words about my life might affect you is not my power. That’s something I’m grateful for, and the main reason I’d like to keep writing. If inspiration, or the hand of God, gently guides me toward a topic, I think it’s my job to see that idea through.
And I think it’s everyone’s duty to identify a passion and make time for inspiration, because this is where lives begin to feel full. Not full like your calendar, full like you’re doing something marvelous, or attempting to do something marvelous with a gift you were born with, or a gift you’ve worked unimaginably hard to develop. Stewardship. We will fail as stewards and we might feel cursed after becoming smashingly successful…like Harper Lee.
As Gilbert sweetly says in her book, she wishes Lee had continued to write. Yes, there’s the exception of the recent release of Go Set a Watchman, but Gilbert say she wishes she had written all different genres over the years and not been scared of the ridiculous precedent set by To Kill A Mockingbird.
And who wouldn’t agree with that? The worst that would happen with Lee’s words are they are read and potentially touch the lives of millions, but maybe don’t impress as deeply as TKAM.
Gilbert writes on. And swears she will toil away with words as long as she’s alive. And I think that’s what we’re intended to do, eagerly awaiting and prepare for our next stroke of genius, loaned to us from above.
