I enjoy when pithy sayings impart big knowledge. I like when they get me to think. Most quotes and aphorisms meander in and out of my consciousness. But one quote sticks with me:
“Leap, and the net will appear.”
It’s generally attributed to John Burroughs, but I’ve seen it referenced as a Zen proverb and cited by many writing and spirituality authors. In my moments of writing (and living) clarity, I readily embrace it. Take risks. Breathe through your comfort zone. Try the new. Don’t be afraid of failure. What a lovely, creativity-percolating state of mind!
Unfortunately, I tend to forget it at times of stress or self-doubt. I lose my faith in the universe. I roll up into a tight ball of safety and “the known.” Not only do I not leap, I back away from the edge altogether. When I do this, my writing suffers. I would also assert my living suffers.
If we stay cloistered in a narrow comfort zone constructed of limiting beliefs about our talent and creativity, we never give ourselves the opportunity to grow. We do not explore the invigorating, fertile garden of creativity. We stagnate.
By its nature, creativity is about taking risks. It’s about exploring new ideas, new connections, new perspectives. If we hide in our shell of familiarity, we cannot be creative. And if we aren’t creative, we aren’t writing. We write to express truths. We write to explore the world around us. We write to discover. The way to write with “genuine-ness” is to be a part of the world, not to wall ourselves up from it.
Like most nuggets of profound advice, “leap, and the net will appear” is simple but not easy. Our vestigial lizard brain continually warns us about dangers. It keeps us from putting our hands in the fire or eating that odd-looking berry. It serves us well, thank you very much, by keeping us alive. But writing and creativity–even living a full, rewarding life–is much more than simply staying alive. If that were the case, we’d all be automatons or ants. We are not. We are creative, imaginative, vital beings capable of recognizing fire not only as something to be feared but also as a means to warmth, bread, and shadow puppets. We eat and enjoy blackberries, strawberries, and gooseberries because someone leaped.
“Leap, and the net will appear” means it’s OK to take risks. It’s OK to explore. It’s OK to leave our comfort zone behind because the universe is a supportive, encouraging entity. If we know risk is eliminated from the equation, taking a risk becomes easier. And when we take risks, we grow, explore, and, most importantly, create.
It’s easy to stay locked in our thought shell, writing variations on the same themes and characters we’ve written dozens of times. I know because I do it. I lose sight of leaping–or, more accurately, I lose faith the net will appear. But in my moments of clarity when I run up to the edge and refuse to hesitate, I find my fingers flying over the keyboard or my pen across the paper. I feel light. I feel unstoppable. I feel like I’m writing.