Welcome back, you early birds! Last week, arriving early gave us a chance to rehearse our entrance and find more to do than count the seconds when we have a few minutes to spare. Did you transform that windshield wait into a comedic silent film, then write the opening scene of your new screenplay? Perhaps you turned that wait into something with more activity and agency by organizing your expired registrations and insurance cards into a bespoke ‘zine. I hope you found a few moments just for you in those minutes before your back on someone else’s timeline.
This week’s nudge arrives just as somebody else might be getting to the boring part: the urge to interrupt. You know the feeling: a thought gets halfway up your throat while somebody else pauses to arrange their thoughts. It’s hard not to turn that moment into an episode of Jeopardy! by guessing how that sentence was going to end. Perhaps you've thought of a better story, starring yourself.
Interruptions can be good things too, especially when danger and safety are concerned. Perhaps you can help. Perhaps there's wisdom you possess that others must know without delay. That desire to leap into helpful action is part of what makes us interesting human beings.
I understand, and strive to improve, my impulse to see my participation as part of a solution.
I recently interrupted an impressive transportation network growing in my backyard. Overgrowth of trees and bushes created a fast pass lane for ants, rats and squirrels to make quick work of my pomegranates this year. Interrupting that tide with some overdue landscaping means the things I actually want living in my yard have a fighting chance to make it to the next season.
Scale that impulse up and interruption can mean protecting a habitat from unsustainable development. Scale it inward and it might mean questioning the pace a phone screen sets for our thoughts. I recently read writing advice about following the direction an obstacle offers instead of battling through it. A limitation can change what we make, including the story we tell about being limited.
This week, let's interrupt our own momentum long enough to try one or more of these creative detours:
- Scene Stealer: With a willing partner, begin a thirty-second story. Give the listener permission to interrupt once with a surprising development. How does it feel to participate in this sort of improv? Notice how it feels to surrender the ending you had planned.
- Recalculating Route: Find an insect or spider and block their path with a sheet of paper or if you’re not skittish, your hand or foot. Observe how it calibrates and imagine how you would react if the roles were reversed. Use that to start a piece of flash fiction of an eventful road trip.
- Terms and Conditions: Take a piece of advertising mail and interrupt its promises with a pen. Cross out words until the remaining ones describe something you would actually enjoy doing, or at least change it enough to make yourself laugh.
- Pencil, Interrupted: Use scrap paper or pebbles to build a miniature obstruction for a rolling pencil. Notice how the pencil stops, turns or finds a way around. Notice how your movements influence the interplay.
- Rest Area: Tap a short rhythm several times. On the next round, leave one beat silent. Listen to the little hole you've made. Move that silence around. Give your composition a title worthy of the considerable work you didn't do.
I like the possibility that an interruption can give something a chance to continue towards a more desirable future. A monochrome story can gain another voice. A rushed thought gets time to catch its breath and honestly consider consequences.
An urge to interrupt gives us information about what we care about. This week, recognize and celebrate your ability to handle interruptions and still return to your path, perhaps even a bit better prepared for what’s to come.
This column was written with help from ChatGPT, programmed to be kind no matter how often it is interrupted.
