The inherent creativity of service
How do we define creativity? As the expression of an idea originating from the imagination? Or the act of combining two (or more) seemingly unrelated things to make something innovative?
I used to think of creativity as being solely to do with the production of an artistic artefact (in my case, writing). Now, my definition is broader. Life itself is art, if we allow it to be. These days, where possible, I look for creative potential even in things that might not seem to resemble ‘art’ at all, even things that we do from a place of service at times when we might feel that we are prioritising others above ourselves.
I’ve just returned from rural Scotland, where I assisted on a four-day residential called ‘Embodied Poetry.’ I supported the workshop activities and acted as a sounding board for the facilitator (my dear friend, the writer Em Strang). I was also responsible for the myriad domestic duties that go with hosting a residential workshop: cooking the arrival dinner and lunches; rustling up energy-giving mid-morning snacks; washing up; laying the table; putting on the kettle ahead of tea breaks to optimise time. In short, my role was one of service to the group.
The concept of service—especially when helping others –sometimes has negative connotations. We might associate it with the loss of our own needs, our autonomy or individual identity. On retreat, my tasks were mostly simple and repetitive; on the face of it, they might be regarded as menial. Yet, along with the other elements of the residential experience—the workshop activities; social connections; companionship; sharing of mealtimes, conversations and living quarters; witnessing mutual creative and personal development—those tasks contributed to the creation of a mood, an atmosphere, a feeling of love and care beyond just the making of soup or flapjacks.
As passionate as I am about supporting the creativity of others, that wasn’t the sole outcome of my time in Scotland. The experience was also creative in and of itself for me: not just because I found the cooking delightful and fun but, fundamentally, because I was contributing to building creative community.
More than attention just to the material needs of the group, the small acts of service—the food preparation and domestic organisation—were in themselves an expression of creativity. There was imagination in envisaging what it might look like to gather around a table a group of people with their own experiences and stories. There was innovation and originality--the creation of a space that can never be repeated, since it is specific to time and place, and to each of the individuals that made up the group. And there was possibility: the possibility of connection with and between the participants; the possibility of the imagination and originality that the retreat experience might release for each of them separately and together.
My retreat experience reminded me that when we’re faced with simple or tedious tasks (like doing admin or accounts, marketing, cleaning or the laundry), we have a choice not to contract into resentment around service. There is always the capacity to shift perspective, to keep in sight the overall vision and possibility we hold for ourselves. We just need to be able to see that possibility and to reflect on the relationship between the single, small task we are undertaking and where it contributes to the ease or pleasure it creates or frees up in the rest of our lives.
You could say that, in assisting on the retreat, I did make ‘something’. That thing was a context for possibility, not a material thing but tangible nevertheless: a space for growth and connection, amplified through numerous simple actions, repeated over time. It is as though I metaphorically pulled up a chair and said, as in ‘Love After Love’ by Derek Walcott, one of the poems we explored on the residential:
…sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self…
Sit. Feast on your life.
