Your Hands Know What to Do

Last night, I was watching a TV ice skating competition called “Skate America” and  gold medal winner was being interviewed. “How do you deal with the stress?” the announcer asked her. “The cameras are in your face all the time, the audience is expecting you to do something fabulous, and you have a knee injury.”

The gymnast said with no hesitation, “It's muscle memory. My body knows what to do. I’ve practiced my routine at the gym hundreds of times so if I can keep my head out of it and pretend I’m in the gym rehearsing, my body goes on autopilot and I sail along.”

Even though I've never been on the ice, her statement rang true with me. I recently had a leaky hose on my deck, the ice machine in my refrigerator was on the blink, I had a flat tire, someone I knew gave me a bad time about not replying to her message and I received ten spam calls. I know these are all fixable and I sound like I’m whining. I guess I am. But the point is that while these annoyances were happening and giving me stress. I was supposed to be writing.

I sat at the computer, wondering how in the hell I could manage to fill up a page with something of value while I was thinking about leaks, hoses, ice, spare tires and how to placate my friend. My attention was all over the place and I had no idea how I was going to write – until I thought about the champion figure skater. I knew what she meant by “muscle memory.”

As a teenage member of a professional ballet company, when we went on tour (a great deal of the time), we dancers had at least a dozen ballets stored in our memory banks. We performed four of them a night in all different orders but when I took my place on the stage and waited for the curtain to rise, I wasn’t thinking about the particular ballet we were doing or the steps involved. I was thinking about my tiara. Was it pinned on well enough that it wouldn’t fall off? Were the knots in the ribbons on my pointe shoes tight enough to make sure they wouldn't unravel? Were the hooks on my costume secure so I wouldn't have a wardrobe malfunction? Had I used enough hair spray to slick back loose ends and keep them from flying around?

When the curtain rose and the music began, these worries dissolved and my muscle memory took over. I didn’t think about how I would balance or pirouette across the stage. I didn’t feel the blisters on my toes or the pain in my ankle. I didn't think about the quick costume change I had to make during the intermission when this ballet ended and a new one started. I didn't wonder if I could do what was expected of me. Instead, with no hesitation, I got into the rhythm of the music and I did on stage what I had done in the rehearsal studio so many times, it had become second nature. I didn’t forget what came next, none of us did, and we moved with grace and lightness, inspired by the music and buoyed by the attention of the audience.

Back to the computer. This morning I woke up later than usual, I had several editing jobs, a list of emails to answer, and two pieces to write including this very one. I made some coffee, I sat down at the computer and the first thing I felt was overwhelm. I had no idea what I was going to write about, how long it would take, how many pages it would be or how I could accomplish the daily tasks that were in front of me. But instead of trying to quiet my mind or banish my anxiety, I simply placed my fingers on the keyboard and they started moving. My muscle memory had kicked in.

I had a few false starts. Delete, delete. I was confounded but when I searched my mind to see what I was thinking about, this piece came to mind and I was up and running. I had no idea where or what I was running to. I just let my hands take over. It felt like I had nothing to do with it and I wondered what would show up as one thought segued into the next. When I stopped to take a breather and read back what I’d written, it felt like the piece had written itself. It was all muscle memory. I had practiced every day for decades and my hands knew that to do. I didn't wonder if anyone would be interested or if it was valuable. Not my business. When I did the thing that I always did, curiosity about what would show up overcame the fear that I wasn't doing it right. Order interrupted chaos. Relief that my mind was filling with thoughts overcame the dread of having nothing to say.

It doesn't always happen right away. It takes time to trust yourself enough to authentically reveal your feelings. But the more you work on it, the more natural it becomes. When you watch champion swimmer Michael Phelps win eight medals in the Olympics, he practiced every single day, all day for years on end. He didn't wait to feel inspired and enthusiastic. He just showed up every day no matter how he felt, to do the same thing in the same place and by the time the Olympics came around, there was no difference between his daily practice and the competition.

Finishing a blog, a story or a book are a writer’s Olympics. Don't underestimate the practice or the discipline it takes, but if you want to enjoy the process, just write. If you want to improve on your craft, just write. If you want it to feel natural, just write until your hands and your muscle memory takes over. Then you can write yourself into your own private world where you make up the rules, you define the boundaries, you create the atmosphere and there are no thwarted hopes or impossible goals. It’s just you and your imagination taking a journey into the ethereal unknown and marveling at what you bring back to the material world.