The Secret to Creativity?

I have three close connections with this video…

First, I’ve been following Steve Washer for about 6-years now, and I enjoy his unique outlook when it comes to video production.  And, perhaps one reason I like his approach is that he’s hardly ever confined himself to the proverbial box.

Second, it’s Steve’s mention of Ruth Wakefield and her creation of Toll House cookies.  You see, I know the story well, mainly because I grew up right down the street from Mrs Wakefield and her family’s Toll House Restaurant.  Taking that a step further, is the fact that my dad grew up in the original toll house, or the old house down the street where tolls were collected, and the building for which the restaurant was later named.

Then, when it comes to the third, well…  I  think that’s going to take a little more space… 

Before going on further, my grandmother’s house was about a half-mile up the road behind the Toll House sign, while the house I grew up in was about the same — as the crow flies — from behind the right side of the restaurant. Sadly, that beautiful restaurant burned down one night maybe 30-ish years ago, and only a small monument and a Wendy’s now occupy the corner of Bedford and Auburn Streets.

Okay, so point three has to do with my rather unlikely ability to be pretty creative — as in formulating more than a few unique training methods and inventions that eventually reached rather broad usage, as in authoring a number of training manuals and several years of magazine columns, and also producing countless video and audio programs.  

So, how was an average C-student able to pull it all off?  Well, I’ve often believed it stemmed from the moment I realized exactly what Steve Washer pointed out in his video.  I mean, the further I got from the rinks or my office, the more productive I seemed to get.

One case in point…  Maybe 25-years ago I accompanied my ex-wife on a trip from our home in Massachusetts to say good-bye to her fast-ailing mom down in Florida.  I made a deal with my ex back then, suggesting that she should spend as much time with her mom as needed — and not worry about me (actually, I sensed I had another book in my head).  And yes, a book in my head I had, because I poured it from my noggin’ into my laptop in about 5-days, either on my mother-in-law’s lanai or while sitting at her complex’s pool.

On yet another occasion, another book poured into my laptop, this time while vacationing up in the mountains of New Hampshire.

Oh, and whenever someone would suggest that I head downtown to my office to meet a deadline for one of my magazine columns, I’d grunt and tell them, “There’s no way I can stare at four walls and be creative!” 

In fact, I came to trust that way of doing things so well that I eventually referred to my off-season method of developing in-season hockey plans as “going into the bunker”. Yup.  I eventually learned what I needed for tools to get the job done, and I’d pack them in a self-contained shoulder bag that could be taken to any “bunker”.  

You should know, though, that my kind of bunker wasn’t necessarily a physical place, but more a state of mind.   I spent a lot of time with rink diagrams, drawing utensils and hockey texts spread on a picnic table next to a fireplace in my backyard.  But as often I could, I’d sling that bag over my shoulder and get creative elsewhere — on a beach blanket, at a nearby park, or on a far away mountain roadside.

In wrapping this up, I’m not intending to come off as extra-bright.  From the start, I said I was a C-student (and some of my teachers likely thought of me back in my teen years as somewhat of a “jock”).  If there was any genius to my methods, though, it was that I discovered early in life that certain conditions hindered my creativity, while others helped it immensely.