Overcoming Inertia, or Carving Out Room for Reflection

One of the drawbacks to taking even an abbreviated respite from writing is having to overcome the resulting inertia. I find myself sitting at the computer, fingertips poised above the keys, eyes staring off into space all the while wondering what to write. There is nothing wrong with taking a break, of course, nor is there any rule that says I must write and post at any particular frequency. But I've enjoyed the last two years of blogging, and would like to continue.

It would be easy, in a way, to simply comment on the news of the day or to expound upon meanings and mysteries for which I still seek wisdom and understanding. Indeed, when I find myself searching for a topic, I will often hit the internet, looking for something that catches my eye. Lately, there hasn't been much that offers fresh soil for cultivation. Besides, I'm in a mode where what stimulates me is not the bounty of information available at the click of a mouse, but rather the simplicity of a quiet moment - unplugged, but not necessarily unconnected.

I know I touch on such themes from time to time. I read an article a while back commenting on the impact of information overload on our ability to think (emphasis mine):

While the Internet has enormous benefits in delivering incredible amounts of information at incredible speed, it's also a distracting and interruption-rich environment.

Carr said it encourages quick shifts in focus -- and discourages sustained attention and the ability to think deeply and creatively about one topic and to challenge conventional wisdom.

Popularity-driven search engines, in one of the ironies of an information-rich Internet, worsen the problem by leading everyone to the same sources, he said.

Social networks, while pleasurable and fun, increase distractedness by bombarding users with brief bits of information.

"We take in so much information so quickly that we are in a constant state of cognitive overload," Carr argued.

"Multitasking erodes cognitive control. We lose our ability to say that this is important, this is unimportant. All we want is new information."

In contrast, when readers open a printed book, "there's nothing else going on except words on a page, no distractions. It helps train us to be deep thinkers."

The older I get, the more aware I become of just how limited our time and our resources truly are. I'm finding that I'm seeking more than basic awareness, however. I do not merely want to know about things; I want to understand, and I want to deepen that understanding. I seek formation - not merely information. I also seek revelation, that flash of insight that illuminates the puzzle pieces of our experience and begets the transformation of our inner being. Is that too transcendental? Too metaphysical? Perhaps so, but I believe the point I'm trying to make is that the pursuit of wisdom is lifelong, and worthy of effort.

The irony, of course, is that the formation I pursue leads to a place that is already known. At least in part. To know fully, the journey must continue. The summit of wisdom is bound to reveal the splendor that is the simplicity of being, the simplicity of our being.

Perhaps the writer of Ecclesiastes was right when he lamented "Everything is meaningless, a chasing after the wind." He spoke this with regard to many endeavors, including the pursuit of wisdom. But he also suggests that even if it is meaningless, the pursuit is better than the alternative. As songwriter Steven Curtis Chapman once penned, "there is more to this life than living and dying, more than just trying to make it through the day."

A key for me is to be intentional about carving out time and space for formative reflection, which itself requires a change in inertia. Indeed, what value is it to be always in motion, but never moving? Always consuming, but never growing?