Conversations For Transformation: Essays Inspired By The Ideas Of Werner Erhard

Conversations For Transformation

Essays By Laurence Platt

Inspired By The Ideas Of Werner Erhard

And More


When Your Creation Runs You

Muir Beach, California, USA

May 10, 2009

This essay, Attachment: When Your Creation Runs You, is the companion piece to Attachment / Commitment: A Fine Line

It is the first in a group of three on Attachment: It is also the fifth in a group of fifteen on Creating: It was written at the same time as

I like to write in awesome locales. I'm inspired by natural beauty, by geographic splendor, by orgasmic  views.

But actually I can write anywhere: in an airplane, at a bus stop, at home, in hotel bars, or at the beach. I'm inspired because I'm inspired. I say  I'm inspired therefore I am. I don't believe in writer's block  either. And if I ever did experience writer's block, I'd write about it. That's how I'd break it up. That's how I'd break through  it.

I'd prepared for a day of writing at the beach. I'd gotten up before the sun, completed all household chores, finished and put away all the paperwork piled on my desk, delivered all undelivered communications (mostly by e-mail, some by telephone). I'd carefully shut down and packed my Lenovo T61  ex-IBM laptop which is the medium  in which I write, coiled the power cord and put it in the computer carry case, and zipped the case closed. The last remaining chore, to take out the garbage, took but a minute, and then I was on my way, headed for an exquisite isolated beach on the rugged California coast just north of the Golden Gate Bridge.

It takes me about an hour to drive there. It's exactly  fifty point oh miles door to door from the amazing Cowboy Cottage to the seashore. As I parked, the clean salt air opened my nasal passages, cleansing my lungs, opening me up, reminding me of why I love coming here. That's when I looked over to the passenger seat to pick up my laptop computer case.

It wasn't there! In total disbelief, I looked again ... as if looking again would make it suddenly reappear - the classic double take. In one somewhat stoopid  moment, I realized I'd come all this way intending to write with it, but left it at home.

* * *

In the exact moment I realize I've left it at home, two things happen.

 1)  Anger, upset, disappointment, and frustration come up all at once along with physical components: lips pouting, breath inhaling sharply hissing through my teeth. A sound comes out of my mouth: "Bugger!". The first one is automatic. Then I add two more: "Bugger! ... BUGGER!".

I consider writing to be a freedom not an attachment. I consider one of the best uses I can put my freedom to is to write. I'm standing here, facing the empty passenger seat in my car, and I clearly see I'm attached  to what I consider my freedom to be. There's no lying about it. It's not a debate. The jury's back. The verdict is in. I see it clearly. And I don't like what I see. I'm humbled. There's a measure of chagrin  in being presented with absolute proof.

 2)  I see the attachment side by side  with choice in the matter. While it seems like I have all the time in the world to choose to be unattached  or not, in reality if I don't choose to be unattached right ... now, I'm attached.

It's evident. I'd not gotten it quite like this before, as in my face  as this before: without choice, my creation  runs me. Without choice, the inmates run the asylum. So choose!

* * *

I choose to distinguish attachment. I could say I cut myself some slack. But there's no rigor  in saying it that way. So I'll say I bring love and kindness to bear. And in the warmth of love and kindness, a miracle happens. The crazy glue  of attachment melts. The truth is no longer I'm attached to my creation. Instead it morphs  into simply what's so: I'm at the exquisite isolated beach on the rugged California coast just north of the Golden Gate Bridge, and my Lenovo T61  ex-IBM laptop, the medium  in which I write, is back home at the amazing Cowboy Cottage.

* * *

Today I'll sit on a rock watching the waves crashing, receding, crashing, receding. I'll stay for the sunset too.

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