Don’t you sometimes wish you could just go to the grocery store and buy some Zone? Or get some at the ATM, or even exchange Zone hours for hours logged at the gym? I do.
One of the first things we learn as writers is that these purchases and trades are not possible. And here’s where we often take a wrong turn.
We assume that because we can’t buy or trade for the Zone, we have no control over our access to it. We leap to the conclusion that it involves some kind of magic that may or may not descend, dripping with glitter dust and delivered by small, ephemeral beings with big smiles and bright wings.
This is so not true. In fact, we have more control over our relationship with the Zone than we do over most areas of our lives.
I COULDA HAD A V-8!
Where exactly is the Zone? This is kind of like asking, “Where is heaven?” Up? Down? Over? The Enlightened say that heaven is within us, and that’s my best guess about where the Zone is as well. So there’s not far to go!
But how to get at it? My best answer: Whatever you do to reach a place inside you that is peaceful, calm, confident, open, and suffused with a desire to share your thoughts and yourself.
I get there by meditating, by picking up my cat Frankie, or by watching a sunset. If I’m practicing going to the Zone regularly, I don’t even have to wait until sundown, or until Frankie happens to stroll in from a nap in an undisclosed or inaccessible location, or until I feel like sitting in one place for fifteen minutes. I can just “think Zone” and go there.
Oddly, I don’t always do this. Sometimes I spend a whole morning, or a whole day, struggling with what I’m writing or reverting to my Default Distraction, Bejeweled Deluxe. For some inexplicable reason, it never occurs to me to stop the music, get centered, and “think Zone.”
In these moments, I’m tempted to beat myself up and wail, “I coulda had a V-8! I coulda had a great day of writing and gotten a lot done, and instead I wasted the whole day!”
DON’T DOUBLE-DIP DISASTER
This is the moment of truth, where I can either get back on track without a lot of drama, or double-dip into disaster by topping off the unproductive day with guilt.
I have learned through aversion therapy that double-dipping dooms me. I’ve learned to turn the day productive by making it a lesson, a reminder of the wonderful truth that the Zone is an inside job, available whenever we remember to reach out for it—and that this is true whether we are writing or living.
What do you do to call up the Zone?