Process is the Powder, Forget the Spark
12:35pm at Alchemy Coffee, Philadelphia
I’m currently sitting in a cafe I have never been to. It's charming in that pseudo IKEA, white minimalist, ceiling-to-floor windows kind of way. In any case, I made it my mission to sit and figure out how to write this month’s newsletter because I spent nearly $10 on an iced matcha latte (with oat milk).
I’ve been sipping, not chugging this drink in order to figure out what’s so special about it. After thirty-five minutes, I decided there is absolutely nothing special about this drink.
However, the atmosphere in this cafe on a sunny Sunday afternoon feels like a dream - poetic even. And we all know I will break my bank any day to feel less prosaic in this city.
Dressed in beige linen pants and a ribbed camisole layered under a bright key-lime button down, I knew today was the day to look the part of what I so desperately needed to do. Write.
I. Two Truths and a Lie
I love writing. I get anxious when I think about writing. I am an insufferable perfectionist.
The lie: I love writing.
Shocking, I know. But here’s the deal, I think over time writing became something I feared and loved at the same time. There’s no singular emotion that feels constant when I write or even think about writing - they move like a pendulum.
As pretentious as this sounds, I think it has little to do with my actions and more to do with my thoughts. Or the fact that (as any writer) I am constantly overwhelmed with ideas and thoughts and am too much of a perfectionist to write them down, and have them float across the page without structure, in pure disorder.
In this realization, I found that structure is extremely important to my day-to-day life. Without it, I would be lost. In thoughts, in routine, in socializing, in art, in relationships, etc. In this comfort also lies the notion that after structure, there is an immediate need for action. And after action, there is success.
It’s a pretty little formula I created isn’t it?
Does it work?
Sometimes, depending on the occasion, but most times absolutely not.
So I’m re-calculating. Because there is something between structure, action and success. An entire space I’ve refused to tap into.
II. Process, What Does it Mean?
Merriam Webster defines process as a natural phenomenon marked by gradual changes that lead toward a particular result. In a similar vein, process can take form in a:
feeling
changing
framing
shifting
balancing
They all flow within this pool we call a “process”. A word which mirrors a state of motion. On the other side, I see it as a journey where it teaches you to keep going despite the cost, the circumstances, and the inevitable risk of getting lost.
I find it quite dangerous to be in a mindset where all you can see and feel is your present task at hand, where the end-goal does not exist yet, where the result you expected to emerge is not at all what you imagined initially.
It is a vulnerable space to live in. But, with bated caution and an intense need to step out of my creative skin, I am ready to inhabit it - indulge in it. For me, living in the process can look like a few different things.
It can look like starting a new poem, thinking it’s finished and then three weeks later rewriting it completely. It can look like making brunch for twenty minutes and then eating it slowly for thirty minutes, with little distractions.
It can look like sketching in a book without analyzing every line, shade or color. It can look like taking a long walk after a terrible day at work, forgetting about the laundry that needs to be folded or the dishes that need to be put away.
The atmosphere of a process in itself feels so vast, almost isolating and quiet. Yet there is something satisfying that emerges after - a slow gratification.
III. On Spark & Powder
Some time in the summer of 2019, I was obsessed with goal-setting. I created aspirations out of thin air and let myself breathe into it. It was addicting because I was constantly achieving.
This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing but I was teetering between the sky and the clouds, feet hardly ever planted on the ground. So when I finally dreamt too hard and fell on my ass, I decided to check in with reality.
For emerging artists, we are often made to think that our dreams are too big. We survive with the direction that hard work pays off - in some shape or form. And sometimes in our lows, we think that our contributions will never reach those in power and will never impact experiences bigger than ourselves.
But it’s not about the spark, it's about the powder.
It’s never about the fire really. It’s in the moment when you find a purpose and it doesn’t matter how big you want to make an impact or how deeply you want to be remembered or how long of a legacy you want to lead. What matters is in that moment where you confidently believe in your potential, accept the ugliness of failure, and face that dreadful pride of yours.
The unsettling truth is when the time comes to ignite that spark, a fire might not start. That is okay.
It can feel unfair when you’ve spent your whole life magnifying your goals rather than the process of your art, but on a larger scale, the process takes up much more space than the end-goal or the echoes of success thereafter. And on this metaphorical scale, it never goes away. It’s cyclical by nature.
So why am I so hell bent on cultivating an end-goal when I don’t need to know what it looks like yet?
Why the hell does any of that matter when all I want to do is just be the powder.
