Hey Creator: The discipline of disappearing

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Every day, I try to disappear. It is my version of staying sane, of getting in touch with what matters most to me. Depending on the day, I spend an hour or so walking, typically surrounded by trees, hills, and hopefully an animal or two. This is how I clear my head, how I work through difficult and uncomfortable feelings, how I come up with my best ideas.

But sometimes, I need to leave for longer.

Last fall, I went on a hiking retreat to Zion National Park with some friends, and we hiked to the top of Angel’s Landing, one of the most dangerous hikes in America. Along the way, there is a long chain for hikers to hold onto as they ascend the peak.

This was during COVID, so the area was closed since they didn’t want people licking the chains or something. Seeing the CLOSED sign, I immediately looked at my friend and said, “I want to go.” He grinned a boyish grin and nodded. We both grabbed the chains and made our way up, no licking involved.

After thirty minutes of climbing, we reached the summit, surprised to see we were the only ones. We spent an hour exploring, each of us disappearing into our own activities. My friend started meditating or praying, I think; or maybe he just took a nap.

I walked to the edge of the mountain, sat with my feet dangling, and took a deep breath. Below was a 1500-foot drop, and I felt… alive. This is it, I thought. This is the art of living: to be so close to death that you can’t deny the power of life. To sit and stare at the beauty of creation, to breathe deeply in the mountain air. To enjoy the stillness and just be.

I returned from the trip a different man, clearer. It took many months to unfold, but after a trying and difficult season in which I could not see beyond my own pain and confusion, I was finally able to get a vision for what was next. This is what disappearing does.

This is nothing new for artists. At the age of 22, Bob Dylan was on the verge of quitting music and decided to spend a few days in Woodstock, NY after a long and exhausting tour in Europe.

One night he started writing something, the result being 10-20 pages of stream-of-consciousness that became “Like a Rolling Stone,” what has been called the greatest song of all time and the first song I ever illegally downloaded in college (true story).

Retreating from the world, it seems, just might be the best way to change it.

Disappearance can also refresh a person, reminding us of what we are truly capable of. It can invigorate and inspire us, as it did for Agatha Christie, whose own disappearance made international news and marked a shift in both her work and life, leading her to travel the world, find new love, and become the bestselling writer of all time (tied with Shakespeare).

What makes a disappearance good is nothing, by which I mean that nothingness is an essential part of the process: no responsibilities, no to-do lists, no contact with the outside world (if possible). This kind of detachment is hard in our modern world—and it is necessary.

To do our best work, we must leave what we know, as Van Gogh left his Impressionist cohorts to retreat to the South of France, where he entered the most prolific and productive season of his life.

Leaving allows us to create the space we need for something new to emerge.

Our best work, ironically, doesn’t always come from working. Thoreau, who was not only a writer but a surveyor, considered his daily walks a matter of survival. He wrote in the last essay he ever published:

Sometimes, going forward sets us back, and what we really need to grow is to slow down. This is the quest of the artist, the visionary, the creator. She must go to the heart of life, tasting it at the very marrow, and only then return to talk about it.

This is not a weekend stay at the Ritz; it is a Campbellian descent into the belly of the beast. Discomfort is the point. When we retreat, even if only by turning off our devices for an evening, we reconnect with what we really are.

For some traditions, such as the Jewish Sabbath, this regular unplugging and reconnecting with our souls is built right in. But for many of us, it is foreign. We are stuck in the rut of routines, and retreating from such a humdrum existence, even for a day, seems almost unthinkable.

But this is a natural part of life, the becoming and unbecoming, and to be more creative, we need to do more of it.

If we don’t disappear, we miss so much, getting lost in the myopia of our daily dramas. The discipline of stepping away from the outer world to access a deeper, inner one is what makes our work—and our lives—meaningful.

So, try it. I dare ya. :)

—Jeff

“When should a person’s ‘permanent digital record’ start recording, if ever? To what extent should social media be a space for trial-and-error exploration around identity and social behavior?" The Washington Post asks if social media posts should disappear as teens get older. (The right to be forgotten already exists in Europe.)

​Ephemeral tattoos use ink that disappears in a year. (This reminds us of The Most Dangerous Writing App, which deletes all your work if you stop writing before the timer goes off.)

The fact that imperial fashion editors have gone extinct (NYT) is kinda-sorta relevant to our theme this week, but the article itself includes a gem that all thriving creators can relate to about how the editors themselves had become necessary caricatures: “It was almost as if in order to be the editor in chief of a major style publication, you had to adopt the persona to succeed. Indeed, the nuttier and more dramatic the antics, the more connected to the myths of the ‘creative’ the editor could seem.” Later in the article is a great quote about what that kind of culture does to a creator (and, I would argue, to their art): “You can’t just be a symbol. If you don’t really have independence and you don’t have authority, what are you?”

Craving a disappearance of your own? Here are some of the world’s best treetop retreats. (And here’s the NYT on the growing trend of “small travel”, which appears to be a pandemic-informed midpoint between staycations and disappearing off the face of the earth.)

What happens when a controversial, inarguable “hit maker who helped define comedy for Millennials and Gen Z” disappears almost overnight...and then wants to come back to TV? (NYT)

How important is it for me to be on social media? How do I choose which outlets to devote my time to? I feel like I spend all my time trying to be everywhere, and I can’t get any real creative work done. How can I grow an audience when all I want to do is disappear and just create? —Ariel

Hi, Ariel. Great question! And right on theme. I suggest stepping away for a few days, a weekend perhaps, and getting really clear on what you want to create. Then, do a little research and find out where people who are doing what you want to do are hanging out. You don’t need to be everywhere; that’s a recipe for burning yourself out. You need to be fully present, somewhere. I suggest starting with one channel or platform that makes sense to you. For me, this was Twitter. I liked it, got it, and could dedicate some time and attention to it for the long haul. Of course, over time, my presence broadened and even shifted; but it started simply by showing up in a conversation where I could fully immerse myself and learning to do it well. To quote Jim Elliot, “Wherever you are, be all there.”

Just launched: the Hey, Creator podcast! Join Jeff and his co-hosts and guests every Tuesday for a dose of inspiration, information, motivation, and shenanigans. The trailer just dropped last week and the first audio issue should be up soon. Listen wherever you enjoy podcasts, and be sure to leave a review on iTunes!

Our team of creators is growing fast, and we’re currently looking for talented ghostwriters, book proposal writers, editors, and copywriters. If you’ve done any of these things before and want to do more as part of a dynamic remote team, we want to hear from you. Fill out our application here.​

“No matter how far away you are from yourself, no matter how exiled you feel from your contribution to the rest of the world or to society...all you have to do is enumerate exactly the way you don’t feel at home in the world—to say exactly how you don’t belong. And the moment you’ve uttered the exact dimensionality of your exile, you’re already taking the path back to the place you should be. You’re already on your way home.” —David Whyte​

Jeff, our fearless leader, who has found that the best and quickest way to find your missing Airpods is to order a new pair. He’s about to be on to his third pair.

Chantel, our editor, who disappeared (like, yesterday) from her whole country of Canada to move to Tennessee for the summer. She is working on her “y’all” as you read this.

​Sandy, our community leader, who just pulled an epic vanishing act on Facebook by moving our online community to Circle. Have you signed up yet?​

Matt, who is on retreat right now, which means he wins this week.

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