Experience

‘I DISCOVER THAT VOCALISING THOUGHTS REALLY HELPS’

Day 1

I launch my experiment first thing on a Monday. I’m working from home, so I simply shut myself in the bedroom. My first revelation is that I’m tired. Really tired. This is, in fact, one of the reasons I’m constantly ‘doing’ rather than taking time out to reflect; the fear that if I stop, I’ll collapse. I just manage to dredge up a topic (I’m pregnant again and wonder whether we need to move), when the entry-phone buzzes. Two blokes are here to look at our dodgy loo. I deal with them, reset my phone timer… and then the washing machine malfunctions. I’m starting to think that jail might be an easier option.

Day 2

Today I have morning meetings so I don’t get to my ‘think sprint’ until 3.30pm (I’m not going to get up early; my toddler wakes at 7am, and I badly need what little sleep I can get). This time, it’s an all-out mental tantrum. That mind-fog has become a pea-souper. I stare vacantly at the carpet, desperate to do something, anything – even my tax return or folding the washing. Don’t creativity studies show that we do our best thinking when engaged in a menial task? But that would feel like cheating. I feel angry, frustrated and foggier than ever.

Day 3

I decide to switch to what Schwartz calls ‘directed’ rather than ‘undirected’ thinking: focusing my mind on a specific task rather than leaving it open to random thoughts. I’ve been wanting to pitch some ideas to a particular editor for a while, but have never found the time to brainstorm. I discover that vocalising my thoughts really helps, and by the end of the hour, I have five decent pitches. Result.

Day 4

Fail. I don’t sleep, I spend all day with the toddler, I cook dinner, then I spend the evening preparing for the 500-person annual conference I’m going to be Mcing at the next day. At 11pm, I cannot keep my eyes open, let alone summon a coherent thought. I grumble to myself that none of Schwartz’s 1950s trainees were pregnant working mothers.

Day 5

I’m at the venue by 7.30am, and on stage for most of the day. When I get home at 8pm I’m dying to dive into some Deliveroo and Netflix, but I’m only allowing myself one flake. So I banish myself to the bedroom and, actually, despite my weariness, the chance for reflection is golden. I reinforce the moments that went well and come up with some ideas for next year. I thought this was going to be the hardest day; it turns out to be the best yet.

Day 6-7

The weekend. On both days, once the toddler is in bed, I spend the hour thinking about my pregnancy: how I’ll spot the signs of postnatal depression, how I might juggle work. Again, speaking out loud works a treat and, actually, I do feel my mood shift. I feel like I’ve regained some control just by taking some time to examine my fears rather than avoiding them. Well, duh.

Day 8 - 13

I have six days alone in the countryside to work on my latest novel while my mum goes to London to help with the two-year-old. I decide to combine my think sprint with a bath. A revelation! Something about it releases my mind to roam freely. I end up spouting a rambling monologue about what I want from the week ahead, and get out feeling fired up. I get into the routine of a lunchtime ‘thinking walk’. Perhaps the landscape counts as a distraction, but moving helps to alleviate my twitchiness and liberate my brain. There are some dog walkers around to hear me wax lyrical about my plot issues and, frankly, I don’t care. I normally write my way through novel problems, but giving them some air is refreshing. I do tend to run out of steam halfway through each constitutional, though. Is it bad to admit that, after 10 days of thinking, I’m a little… bored with myself?

Day 14

Back in London, I wrap up the fortnight with another undirected ‘thinking bath’. As I reflect on my experiment, I do feel like my thinking muscle has got stronger. I take far less time to get into the zone, and as I jabber away at the ceiling, I’m definitely more comfortable with the meandering pathways of my brain. Have I achieved flawless insight and decision making? Hardly. It’s been a far more subtle and erratic process than that. What I have learned is that my mind is weirder but less scary than I thought; that talking to yourself is a killer mental weapon; that I could probably make millions flogging Neom-sponsored Thinking Baths. Most tellingly, it’s made enough of an impact that I resolve to block out an hour every Sunday to continue the habit. Go on, give it a try. Let me know what you think.