The dishwasher is the bane of creativity. Just my personal opinion, mind you, but one based on years of evidence. Seeing neatly regimented rows of mugs, bowls, dinner plates and silverware represents lost opportunities; for me, there’s no better time for thinking than when you’re elbows-deep in suds. You could say that dishpan hands and creativity go together like peanut butter and jelly.
It’s not that there’s an insane amount of concentration going on; it’s rather the opposite. It doesn’t take all that much concentration to do dishes, so your mind is generally letting something else brew while you’re getting those caked-on bits of oatmeal off your bowls. I won’t say that every dishwashing experience has produced Isaac Newton-quality stuff, but what I have gotten over the years has been useful, sometimes even startling, and usually better than what I come up with when I sit there straining over it.
Now, for you it could be something different. Some people have their a-ha moments in the shower (singing “Take On Me” doesn’t count, by the way), while gardening, or in the course of doing any number of usefully mindless things. They’re a good way to overcome mental blocks, whether it’s a creative block or a problem that stubbornly resists solving no matter how hard you’ve tried. And, lest this sound like some kind of new-agey crap, there’s actually scientific evidence to back it up.
In the current issue of the New Yorker (online teaser here, full article on newsstands), an article by Jonah Lehrer asks what happens when we stop thinking about thinking. As it turns out, problem solving involves both hemispheres of the brain (the original dual-core processor); the left brain is the part that’s engaged when you’re consciously thinking about a problem, while the right brain is wandering off and puzzling it over in a quiet corner somewhere. While the left brain makes the logical connections, the left brain is good at finding the less logical/obvious connections that the left brain tends to miss because… well, they’re not exactly logical (Mr. Lehrer, incidentally, is much clearer on this than I’ve managed).
Here’s the thing about insight: it’s the time when your brain thinks of the thing about which you’d normally say, “Why didn’t I think of that?” Only you didn’t, and couldn’t, because you were trying to think of what you were trying to think of. If you’re stuck–you’re not sure what to write next, or to write at all, or you’re trying to figure out some personal issue, or remember a song lyric–give it a few minutes’ solid thought, and then let it go. It’s counterintuitive, in a way; you know the problem isn’t exactly going to solve itself. But sometimes it’s helpful, if you’re banging your head against the wall, to let down your guard and let the solution find you instead.
I can already hear you saying, But wait a minute. What if this doesn’t work? Good point. It’s not a foolproof, one-size-fits-all solution. When you think about it, though, the worst that happens is you stop tearing your hair out for a few minutes and allow yourself to come back with a clear head.
A lot has been said and written–including a bit in this space–about cultivating mindfulness. And it’s true that there are times at which that’s helpful; that focus and discipline is sometimes the only thing to keep you going through longer projects, or to help you solve big problems. What those primers on meditation, with all their talk of “monkey mind,” don’t tell you is that there’s some use in letting your mind wander, and to see what it brings you when it gets back. If you find yourself stuck–or, better still, before then–cultivate your inner monkey.