Motivation is a Mechanism in your Brain

(by Daniel R. Jones)

If I had a dime for every time I heard someone weasel their way out of the creative life by saying they don’t “feel inspired,” I could quit my day job. Others will go days, weeks, or even months without picking up their pencil to work on a new drawing.

If you are comfortable with this lack of production, that’s entirely acceptable. For most, there is no moral imperative to keep creating artwork. We often place unrealistic stress on ourselves to “produce,” and the goal of this blog post is certainly not to shame others for their lack of consistency.

But at times, most of us find that we do wish we were more motivated. We hem and haw and wait for the moment that inspiration will strike. This, however, is a fundamental misunderstanding of motivation.

Most people think that the chain of events that leads to the accomplishment of something goes like this:

Motivation>Task>Task>Task>Completion

Since the first domino never falls, they don’t begin their first task, and they make no headway in their creative life.

We tend to think of motivation as an abstract concept, like that of the Muse. In reality, we can easily dupe our brain into providing “motivation” through simple physiology.

The neurotransmitter most associated with motivation in the brain is dopamine. Simply put, when your brain needs to get things done, signaling of dopamine occurs, and you feel the compulsion to complete a task. This is why people all across the world guzzle coffee each morning, desperately trying to tap into this physiological reaction in the brain.

Endogenous dopamine, (that is, dopamine naturally occurring in the brain,) can actually be utilized in a much simpler way. Numerous studies have shown that ticking a task off your To-Do List, no matter how simple or trivial, activates this neurotransmitter.

In much the same way that strength-training tells your brain that it needs to grow more muscle, completing a task tells your brain that you’ll need more dopamine.

So, in actuality, the chain of events that leads to productivity goes like this:

Task>Motivation>Task>Motivation>Task>Completion

Have you ever wondered why on some days, you’ll get into a rhythm and clean your whole house in a whirlwind, while on other days, you can barely muster up the strength to do anything but watch TV on your couch?

This is why.

It’s the same rationale that leads countless self-help experts to advise people to start their day with the simple act of making their bed. These “gurus” know that by accomplishing one menial task, you’re cascading a series of events in your brain that will likely lead to the completion of many more.

So, what’s the secret? An incredibly simple one: any time you’re feeling unmotivated, complete one miniscule task, and give yourself permission for that to be the end of it. Tell yourself, “I’ll just sharpen my pencils to prepare them for the next time I’m ready to draw,” or “I’ll open up my Word Processor and just jot down three ideas for a short story.”

Before you know it, you’ll be halfway through drawing or writing your next masterpiece.

Not Chess

by Daniel R. Jones

(Note: this poem was originally published by Anxious Poet Society in their November 2018 issue.)

It’s nothing like a chess problem,
the toggling ardor,
this advance and retreat;
forward then back all black,
white and cerebral. 

It’s nothing like chess;
like the leather hand
stuck to a black bishop
I saw in a public park,
an ancient mind whirring overhead. 

It’s not chess,
but one could be forgiven
for assuming it was that
premeditated.
More like a dance. 

An ebb and flow,
fluid undulation of hips
he pedals her back.
She retreats, persists,
parries and twists; 

she comes on again
and he surrenders
before regrouping to
flit forward.
The two wax and wane. 

She was head and hands
when all he’d ever known
were girls made up of wrist and throat- 
Romances filled to the brim with heat and steam–
that fissured and cracked
when they cooled too quickly. 

It’s nothing like chess
in any way whatsoever,
save one. 
The Queen’s range of motion
far outmatches the King’s. 

And maybe it’s something of a game.
Amusing, at least, when she quotes Hemingway:
”What do you want to do?
Ruin me?”
“Yes. I want to ruin you.” 

Lessons from Chess

(by Daniel R. Jones)

Arguing about vinyl siding on their dream home—
whether her canary yellow was better
or his forest green.

I don’t understand synapses,
those dastardly electric impulses
throughout the brain.

An odd time for it to pop in my head, I know:
‘the queen always gets her color.’