on-losing-focus-picking-up-what-you-should-be-putting-down

On Losing Focus and Picking Up What You Should Be Putting Down

creativity, productivity, self-love

I’ve just had one of those weeks when you question everything, are too exhausted to do anything, and end up watching ‘Jane the Virgin’ and eating pizza instead of doing what you probably should be. I don’t know why I have these weeks, and they don’t come often. This time, I blame it on the fear of graduation, the shifts in my personal relationships, and the realisation that I’ve been in Berlin for a while, wondering if it’s time to move on.

I was feeling drained and unmotivated, trying to work at my boyfriend’s place. Suddenly, I noticed myself rearranging his bedroom in my head, imagining what it would look like if I brought one of my fleece blankets over or bought some flowers for his desk. “I’ll help you clean your bedroom when I’m done writing my thesis,” I said. He looked at me with a look of confusion and said: “Cool. You don’t have to do that, but yeah nice.” In the evening, he finally got into a workflow after a day of running around, and since I didn’t want to interrupt it, I went to the supermarket and made dinner for us instead. Then we watched Netflix and went to bed.

In the morning, I woke up angry. It was one of those weeks, remember. “What’s up? Are you mad at me or something?” my boyfriend asked, and I shook my head and packed my bag, getting my bike and half-shouting: “I just need to be alone. It’s not you.” It wasn’t him. Not at all. I just had a flashback. I had a flashback to the last time I felt lost and decided to find myself by building a life with someone else. I neglected university, lost the few friends I had made in London, realigned my goals to fit his. Again, it wasn’t his fault. But this is what I do: when I don’t know what to do, I project it by trying to help others. If I can’t be useful to myself, I might at least be useful to others.

I cycled home on that Friday afternoon and when I got home, I crashed in bed and slept until the evening. I never have naps because I find it hard to fall asleep in the middle of the day, but I just felt drained. I had no idea what I was doing – I was angry with myself for falling back into old patterns but I was used to running away from my head when being inside it became uncomfortable.

Somehow, a shift happened between that Friday and today. Well, not somehow, I know exactly how. Instead of falling headfirst into fixing other people, I took time off. I spent time by myself. On Saturday, I went for a walk and sat by the river while listening to Laura Marling. I read a book and watched a movie. On Sunday, I cleaned and cooked. On Monday, I lit some incense, meditated, and journalled. By Tuesday, I was back in my body.

This morning, I was listening to a podcast while running in the park. It was sunny, and that was probably the real reason I felt optimistic about life after several grey weeks in Berlin. But I was listening to Hattie Hill talk to Marie Forleo about how women tend to carry instead of to care – how we feel compelled to take on other people’s problems and fix them because that’s how we’ve been brought up. I loved the distinction she made between caring and carrying because it’s so accurate. However, I notice that I often choose to take on other people’s problems not only because that’s what’s expected of me – and very much how my mum operates too – but because it’s a way to escape my own ambitions.

Ultimately, it’s a form of self-sabotage. The thinking that drives this is: “If I don’t try well enough, I can’t fail. If I say that I couldn’t go for something 100% because my time was taken up by helping this other person, it won’t be my fault if I don’t succeed.” Not to say it’s bad to help other people or be there for others. But my boyfriend doesn’t need me to rearrange his room or make his dinner (unless it’s just a nice thing I want to do). And you can care about someone and be there for them without having to uproot your life to make theirs more bearable.

The thing is, sometimes I choose to lose focus. I lose focus because I’m afraid to fail. I lose focus because I think that what I want is stupid and unworthy of my undivided attention and commitment. I lose focus because I don’t want to miss out on all these other paths I could take if I spread myself thin. But it all comes down to fear, and we don’t ever want to base our decisions on emotions that ultimately hold us back. We want to make decisions we wholeheartedly believe in. I’ve already spent a year of my life losing focus before and I don’t want to go there again. If you’re going through one of those weeks where you’re desperately looking for something to distract you, here is what I try doing now instead:

1. Switch off.

I mean switch off from technology, work, and other people. Sometimes, we want to escape because we feel overwhelmed, but instead of slowing down and taking time for ourselves, we overload ourselves with social engagements and new projects instead. Turn off your phone, throw out your to-do list for a day. Go for a walk, journal, read a book. Be with your thoughts. If you’ve been running around for a while, it will feel incredibly relaxing to just be.

2. Have a ritual.

I’m not talking about routine here. I’m saying that sometimes, you need to reset yourself. If you’re feeling low and you feel like there’s no point to anything anymore, you need some symbolic new start to breathe new life into your aspirations. For me, that was a full moon ritual on Monday – I saged my room, journalled about what I wanted to release and what I wanted to welcome, and burnt the pages over the kitchen sink. On Tuesday, I felt like I was starting fresh. New starts are important, so think of one for yourself and how you can mark it – maybe you can journal or meditate, or start a new resolution. Examples of new starts are Mondays, birthdays, new moons, full moons, new months.

3. Meditate, manifest, write.

Once you’ve taken time out for yourself and you feel well-rested, it might be time to reclaim your focus again. Meditate on what you want and ask for guidance, write down your vision, make a mood board. Remember why your focus matters, think about where you’re going. Instead of trying to flee your fears, work through them – write down your limiting beliefs, think about the real reasons you’re feeling lost. Is it because you don’t know what you want? Or is it because you’re afraid?

how-to-be-okay-with-not-getting-the-perfect-take

How to Be Okay With Not Getting the Perfect Take

artist, music, productivity, self-love, songwriting

I’ve been struggling with that one myself for a while. My experience with recording has always been rocky. I did my first recordings in the attic with my dad, using a badminton bat with a nylon sock as a pop filter. I’ve taken recording very seriously and not seriously at all. I’ve released songs that I knew I’d done a half-assed job on and I’ve been proud of others. I never listen to my recordings once they’re out. Recording is a big part of who musicians are and having fits of anxiety over getting the perfect take is just not an option if I don’t want to die of a heart attack at 35.

I had two ways of accepting that fact – the first was to pretend I didn’t care about getting a perfect recording because no one was going to listen to it anyway. I’d probably forget it was coming out at all (and I did forget it when my first EP came out). The second option was to obsess about the recording because if people were gonna listen, the song needed to be fucking perfect. I’m an all-or-nothing type of girl.

Last week, I figured, there must be a third way. I came home from Berlin to get my dad’s sage advice on my songs and for him to press record and sit in the room while I played. Usually, those recording sessions are quite boring and stressful, made somewhat bearable by my dad’s jokes. But I had become spiritual in Berlin and I started to believe in detachment, visualisation, and the Universe. So, this time was going to be different.

I lit cedarwood incense and scented candles, said a quick prayer to my creative genius, and started playing. And God, it was a fucking struggle. I could hear my dad sighing from the other end of the room as I wrestled my way through the first song. I recorded songs in full takes, so after every mistake, I had to start from the beginning. Two hours later, we’d only got halfway decent takes of two songs. My dad called a break and we went to the kitchen for hot toddies.

We spent the whole day recording, and despite the incense and the candles and the prayers to the gods, I felt paralysed. It was the old second way all over again – if it wasn’t perfect, it was because I was shit. I went to bed feeling dreadful. The morning after, my hands shook as I listened back to the recordings. “Feels like a struggle,” I wrote in my notes about one of the songs.

I was confused. What was it that I was supposed to do to make recording fun? I’d tried the spiritual stuff, and that didn’t work one bit. So, I kept experimenting. And here is what worked:


1. If you can’t get a technically perfect take, get a heartfelt one.


I called one of my friends when I was at a recording low point last weekend. “You sound so depressed I’m legit worried,” she said. I felt stupid because even though I felt like shit, I am also lucky and grateful to be making music and I am aware of that. But what I said was: “Yeah, I think I’m a terrible musician.” My friend was quiet while I told her about my recording struggles. Then she said: “Well, who cares if it’s a perfect take? There’s always gonna be something you wish you would’ve done better. But if you put real emotion in the song, you give the recording something more valuable than technical brilliance.”


2. Have someone else in the room.


My whole phone conversation with her was full of useful gems. She also said that it’s really hard to do anything alone. And sure, I had the one recording session with my dad, but I spent hours afterwards recording by myself. “You need someone who tells you when it’s time to move on, and when you’ve done a good enough job. We’re always much harder on ourselves than we need to be.” I stand by recording on my own because it allows me to sit with my emotions and feel less self-conscious, but after 10 takes of the same song, it might be worth sending a couple takes to your friends to get their opinion. And more often than not, that weird lisp you keep hearing is just in your head.


3. Go for a walk.


Sometimes, you just need to step away. When I keep missing the same note time and time again, it’s more often than not because I need a break. Get out of the house. Stretch. Have some green tea. Laugh. Call a friend. I noticed that good recordings only come when your mindset is right. If you’re in a downward spiral of self-hatred, get out of the house. Reset.


4. Ask yourself if you’re self-sabotaging.


I spent three days telling myself I sucked. But then I stopped for a minute and asked myself why I was saying that at all. Did I even believe that? I know I’m a good musician, I know I love writing. I know that, for better or for worse, I’m true to myself and my music. But I was afraid to fail, so I was making excuses for not having to try. Yes, I might put out songs that no one will listen to. Yes, other people might not like them. But does that mean I should give up before even starting? Figure out the reason for your negative self-talk. You need to understand your fears before you can conquer them.


5. Write down what went well.


And if none of that helped, and your recording session still sucked, and you’re going to bed with a heavy heart and a deep feeling of incompetence, get your journal out. I keep talking about cultivating a gratitude practice, and how it puts things into perspective. And after any kind of bad day, that can help. But after a day of self-deprecation, it especially helps to remind yourself of what you‘ve done well. Write down three things. Don’t tell me you haven’t done three things well that day because I know you have. And you should know too.