Thomas Edison. You’ve heard of him no doubt, but do you recall all of the creative output?
Edison invented the phonograph, the motion picture camera, and the electric light bulb.
Along with being a prolific inventor he was also a horrible fisherman. Nearly every day he would leave for an hour and go fishing and never catch a fish. How could someone so inventive not invent a better way to fish? How could a genius be this bad?
Someone finally asked him if he knew why he wasn’t a very good fisherman. His response: “I never caught any fish because I never used any bait.”
When asked why he did this, he replied, “Because when you fish without bait, people don’t bother you, and neither do fish. It provides me my best time to think.”
What was Edison really after? Space.
The invention beneath all of his inventions was a faulty fishing practice that afforded him what he most needed: space to think, space to consider, space to create. Space where silence and slowness could grow, and alongside them, ideas and even light.
And then it happened. One day, while fishing with a bamboo pole, he had the insight to try bamboo as the filament for the first ever electric light bulb.
—
A few weeks ago, I was in a coaching session with a leader who said, “I almost need to see the commitment to carving out space for reflection as part of the work.”
Yes, 100%. And, not almost need, but actually need.
This seems to be a hard reality to accept for those of us prone to the busyness trap—stacking up commitments, piling on back-to-back meetings, and filling every moment with tasks. We often equate productivity with constant motion, leaving little room for reflection (aka thinking).
I’ll share more on this later this week, but for now, a reminder that carving out space is not a luxury; it is part of the work.
Space for not only action but reflection,
for the outer work and the inner work,
for the exhale and the inhale.
Because it’s in the empty space where our creativity lives and flourishes.
And as Miles Davis said years ago, music isn’t only notes, but also the space between them—“It’s the notes that you don’t play”.
Or as Austrian pianist and composer Artur Schnabel wrote, “The notes I handle no better than many pianists. But the pauses between the notes—ah, that is where the art resides.”
Summer can be a great time to experiment with adding a bit more space between the notes. Or maybe, to even fish without bait.
Quote
“Today I am sad, or so I thought. But more I am tired of keeping up with all that doesn't matter. I'm sipping coffee, listening to rain. I like watching the leaves hang in long weather. I like to close my eyes and feel the rain quiet the earth. I welcome that quieting. I like to have my habits of going here and there interrupted. I was caught in the rain when coming here. The cool blotches sink in all over. The many lists I carry in my shirt are wet. I take them out to dry, and all the tasks have blurred. At last. Unreadable. Forgettable. We carry these lists near our heart and finger them like worry beads. It doesn't matter what is on them. They are the thieves, and it is the insidious virtue to have everything in order before we live that is the greatest thief. I feel the rain drip down my neck. I think I'm becoming unfinished.”
—Mark Nepo
Question
For you, what might ‘fishing without bait’ look like?
Poem
Dear Life
I can’t undo all I have done unto myself, what I have let an appetite for love do to me. I have wanted all the world, its beauties and its injuries; some days, I think that is punishment enough. Often, I received more than I’d asked, which is how this works—you fish in open water ready to be wounded on what you reel in. Throwing it back was a nightmare. Throwing it back and seeing my own face as it disappeared into the dark water. Catching my tongue suddenly on metal, spitting the hook into my open palm. Dear life: I feel that hook today most keenly. Would you loosen the line—you’ll listen if I ask you, if you are the sort of life I think you are. —Maya C. Popa
Thanks for reading,
Lance Odegard
unstucking.co
Hi there! 👋 My name’s Lance - I’m a writer, coach, and learning designer from Vancouver BC, Canada. In this publication, you’ll find a growing archive of resources for those looking for creativity fuel to keep moving and making. Thanks for stopping by.
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The quote in this one resonated big time.