Originally Posted @ http://poptart.vox.com/library/post/the-7-vices-of-highly-creative-people.html
If you go through life free of bad habits, you won't live forever, but it will feel like it
By D.A. Blyler
It all starts one quiet afternoon at the brew-pub. I'm sitting with my
associate Bobby, enjoying a pint of the house ale, when Stephen Covey
(author of The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People) suddenly appears on
the bar television. I can't quite describe the level of annoyance that
the bald business guru brings to a room of gentle drinkers, trying to
enjoy themselves while the rest of the populace is at work, but a
sudden wail from a man in the far corner, similar to that of a small
dog yanked forcefully by the tail, alerts everyone that something is
terribly wrong. In a matter of moments all eyes are fixed in distress
upon the television.
Soon customers with clenched fists start to share horror stories of
managers who force-fed Covey's book to them. And of group leaders who
scurried around the office pasting up signs like: "Synergy!" or "Be
Proactive!" or "What would Covey do in your situation?" Rage and
desperation had finally forced our fellow drinkers to leave their
professions and find solace in the thick, rich ales fermented by the
pub's microbrewery.
Bobby and I are amazed. Having spent 10 years carving out lives as
professional grad students, we've been oblivious to the rising tide of
worker despair. I remember seeing a Covey infomercial several months
back; it seemed harmless enough. Watching employees become automatons
spouting Covey's catch phrases at every opportunity was the funniest
thing I had seen on television in quite a while. But now, as the man in
the corner begins weeping, Bobby and I realize that larger issues are
at hand.
Covey is no business guru, but rather the result of a world gone
awry -- the world of work made worthless. Gone are the large expense
accounts. Gone are the smoke breaks and three martini lunches. Gone are
the innocent office flirtations. Good lord, who would want to work in
an environment like that?
I slam my fist on the table. "We need a book about the 7 Vices of
Highly Creative People before the whole country ends up in a
straitjacket!" Bobby agrees enthusiastically, grabs a stack of napkins
and begins writing. All the years we've spent studying history and
literature are finally paying off. It isn't easy. But after six hours
and five pitchers we finish the job. The pub closes so we gather the
napkins and head for a late-night bar to celebrate. It isn't quite a
book, but what the hell. We have better things to do than write another
damn self-help book.
Vice one: Be a drinker
Winston Churchill, a great fan of the martini,
once said that it must always be remembered that he has taken more out
of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of him. For Churchill, like many
other great drinkers, alcohol was a tool used to feed creativity and
social discourse. For others, like Ernest Hemingway, alcohol was a way
to place the mind on a different plane after writing all day at a desk.
This is what old Papa had to say:
"I have drunk since I was 15 and few things have given me more
pleasure. When you work all day with your head and know you must again
work the next day, what else can change your ideas and make them run on
a different plane like whiskey?"
Some people might say that this is to use alcohol as a crutch, but
that's always been the case. Mark Twain, who drank from morning until
night, would periodically abstain from drink and smoke just to silence
the critics who said he was a slave to his vices. And on his feistier
days, he would give them a severe tongue-lashing. "You can't get to old
age by another man's road!" he'd scream. "My vices protect me but they
would assassinate you!" His critics would then shuffle away to their
12-step programs and the organizing of their sock drawers.
To be a drinker means, of course, to be social. Sure, it's all
right to drink by oneself on occasion. But because the highly creative
live so often in the private world of ideas, they also need to mingle
with their friends at a good party. That's why F. Scott Fitzgerald
threw his fantastic "Gatsbyesque" parties on Long Island, inviting such
other besotted artists as Gloria Swanson, Sherwood Anderson, John Dos
Passos and Dorothy Parker. Remember, though, that when entertaining the
highly creative some ground rules need to be set. Fitzgerald's were
posted at the entrance to his home in Great Neck:
"Visitors are requested not to break down doors in search of liquor,
even when authorized to do so by the host and hostess ... Weekend
guests are respectfully notified that the invitation to stay over
Monday issued by the host-hostess during the small hours of Sunday
morning must not be taken seriously."
It's always good to think ahead.
Lastly, something should be said for the occasional weekend bender,
that is as long as your head is in the right place. If a person is
suppressing problems or going through severe emotional distress,
alcohol can bring out bad tendencies ... like singing karaoke. But if
you're secure with yourself, the occasional bender can be a rather
helpful mystical experience. As Henry James once wrote, "Sobriety
diminishes, discriminates and says no, while drunkenness expands,
unites and says yes!"
Vice Two: Begin with a Smoke
In today's climate, smoking might be the most
unpopular of all the vices. To say that the furor over its ill effects
has reached irrational levels is an understatement. Let's accept the
guidance of journalist Fletcher Knebel, who keenly observed as far back
as 1961 that smoking is the leading cause of statistics. The fact is
that most people who smoke don't die of lung cancer. But all people who
don't smoke do die of something. Marlene Dietrich, who had her own
special love of cigarettes, put it into proper perspective:
"People who quit smoking think that they have made a pact with the
devil and believe they will never die. In reality they die from other
illnesses: intestinal cancer, stomach cancer, cancer of the pancreas.
Cancer forever gropes around for further victims."
So let's not place blame on the lowly cigarette for the infirmities of
the world. Yes, smoking has its risks. So does getting out of bed in
the morning. But a good smoke is often a lovely affair worth pursuing.
Take the great Spanish filmmaker Luis Buñuel, an ardent lover of
tobacco and life's pleasures. He elevated cigarettes to the level of
poetry:
"If alcohol is queen, then tobacco is her consort. It's a fond
companion for all occasions, a loyal friend through fair weather and
foul. People smoke to celebrate a happy moment or hide a bitter regret.
I love to touch the pack in my pocket, open it, savor the feel of the
cigarette between my fingers, the paper on my lips, the taste of
tobacco on my tongue. I love to watch the flame spurt up, love to watch
it come closer and closer, filling me with its warmth."
Makes you want to light one up right now, doesn't it?
Smoking has often been linked with creative genius. For example,
French philosopher Albert Camus is well known to have savored his
smokes though his lungs were withered by tuberculosis. And who can
imagine Albert Einstein without his pipe, George Burns without his
cigar or Jackson Pollock without a cigarette dangling from his lips?
Though a stimulant, smoking has a relaxing influence and allows the
mind to empty itself, enabling new thoughts to enter. Following the
wisps of smoke as they leave one's mouth might actually be thought of
as a creative exercise or, at the very least, as Oscar Wilde once
observed, smoking a cigarette is "a perfect pleasure, because they are
exquisite and leave one unsatisfied."
Vice Three: Put Gambling First
Gambling is at the heart of every worthwhile
accomplishment in life. Consequently, vice three is essential for the
success of your creativity. Instinctively, the highly creative person
knows that nothing matters except the throw of the dice. As the French
say, "There are two great pleasures in gambling: that of winning and
that of losing." Or, in the words of Mark Twain, "There are two times
in a man's life when he should [gamble]: when he can't afford it and
when he can." These are vital lessons.
The world is full of stories of highly creative people whose
success was based on the big gamble. A young Steven Spielberg sneaks
into a Hollywood film studio, sets up an office and proceeds to act
like an employee, thus beginning the most lucrative directorial career
in history. Thirty-year-old Henry Miller moves to Paris with little
money and no prospects, determined to become the most talked-about
American novelist of his generation, and does. Hugh Hefner boldly walks
into the offices of John Baumgarth and acquires the rights to reproduce
the photograph of a nude Marilyn Monroe, a little known starlet, for
his yet-to-be-published magazine.
Certainly, there are horrifying stories of those who gambled
and lost heavily, whose compulsive involvement in games of chance,
often played out in the arena of big business, nearly ruined them and
scores of others. But it's not until the end of life that we truly know
what we've won or lost. French philosopher Denis Diderot summed it up
eloquently:
"The world is the house of the strong. I shall not know until the end
what I have lost or won in this place, in this vast gambling den where
I have spent more than 60 years, dicebox in hand, shaking the dice."
Vice Four: Think Oysters
The hysteria concerning eating habits has nearly reached the grotesque
levels granted smoking. Fat or non-fat? Cholesterol free? Salt or no
salt? Most eaters, as long as they exercise a modicum of restraint,
don't have to worry about dying from their diet. And all those critics
who have tried to convince us that food is poison should be taken
behind the shed and whipped with a massive slice of uncooked bacon.
Let us bow to the wisdom of the marvelous chef Julia Child, now an
octogenarian. When asked about so-called health foods and non-fat
products, she gnashed her teeth and stated emphatically that she never
would buy such crap, that they have nothing to do with the enjoyment of
life.
Make no mistake, the highly creative do enjoy life. Sure,
sometimes there is a suicide among the group, and many are often prone
to fits of depression. But when they finally decide to stop wallowing
in their suffering, they embrace life with passion. And when it comes
to food, they want to eat well, and eat properly. In other words, foie
gras, fresh asparagus and filet mignon will always win out over a plate
of french fries and greasy burgers. At least it will for those who are
truly creative and whose imaginations permeate their lifestyles as well
as their art. Something that sadly can't be said of lesser creatives --
Rosie O'Donnell and Tom Arnold come to mind.
Certain foods are frequently associated with highly creative
people. None more so than the oyster. The inspiration of this shellfish
can be traced throughout the canon of English literature. From Geoffrey
Chaucer to George Bernard Shaw, it reaches its zenith with a tribute by
Saki, who wrote, "The oyster is more beautiful than any religion,
nothing in Buddhism or Christianity matches its sympathetic
unselfishness."
I'm not sure I would describe them in such exalted terms, but I
do know I have had more invigorating conversations with writers and
painters over a plate or two of fresh oysters than any other food. The
elegant bivalves inspire a level of discourse often missing in our
quick-meal culture -- yet one that any dining experience should never
be without. And for many people there is the added pleasure of oysters
being the next best thing to sex. After all, we don't eat for the good
of living but the enjoyment of it.
Vice Five: Seek Fashion First, Then seek to be Understood
In these days of dressing down and "casual
Fridays," it's prudent to remember that the highly creative have always
known that communication with words is secondary. When winning friends
and influencing people, the primary concern is your attire -- your own
peculiar fashion statement. It is through the impact of this image that
both friends and enemies will initially come to know you. What is more
gratifying than having everyone stop and stare, wondering why they feel
so drab and ineffectual, when you enter a room? If you've got a stylish
wardrobe, the battle to be understood is merely a stroll in the park.
One of the inevitable consequences of dressing down is that
everyone today looks the same -- and those with designer logos like
Hilfiger plastered on their clothes look plain stupid. The highly
creative always choose their wardrobes with a more consistent flair.
Whether it be Picasso with his striped sailors' tops, which he imagined
gave him an eternally boyish edge; or Hugh Hefner with his classic pipe
and silk pajamas, which he believed gave him a kind of worldly
nonchalance (and could be stripped off quickly when opportunity
knocked); the creative spirit picks a style and sticks with it.
Today there is a growing demand for comfort without any regard
for style that numbs the mind. Comfort is, at times, a worthwhile
consideration. But simply because your clothes aren't comfortable
doesn't mean you can't enjoy them. In the days of Mozart, fashion was
notoriously uncomfortable. Yet in a letter to his sister he once
gushed, "We put on our new clothes and were as beautiful as angels."
Sure, he sounds like a twit, but the important point is that the beauty
and style of Mozart's wardrobe overshadowed any discomfort. And it is
this attitude that inspired our own Benjamin Franklin to proclaim, "We
eat to please ourselves, but dress to please others."
Vice Six: Sex
The sexual appetite and prowess of those
possessed by creativity can't be argued. Anecdotes abound regarding the
bedroom antics of famous writers, artists and actors. But why is it
that sex yields such power over these individuals?
Perhaps Omar Sharif summed it up best when he remarked, "Making
love? It's communion with a woman. The bed is our holy table. There I
find passion and purification." This sense of purification is extremely
important, because such an experience is needed to begin the whole
creative process anew, and is a state difficult to achieve now that
religious rituals have fallen by the wayside.
The catharsis that comes from this experience often leads
highly creative people to pursue several lovers. And many are
venomously referred to as philandering Don Juans. But it isn't for lack
of affection that a Don Juan goes from woman to woman, as Camus
explained: "But rather because he loves them with equal enthusiasm and
each time with all himself, that he must repeat this gift and this
exploration. Why must one love rarely to love well?"
Richard Burton's lovers would agree. They proclaimed it made no
difference if he were with another woman the following week because
when he was with them they were his whole world (try finding a woman
that understanding these days). But it's not surprising that Burton
found so many willing lovers. This is how he described his lovemaking:
"When you are with the only woman -- the only one you think there is
for that moment -- you must love her and know her body as you would
think a great musician would orchestrate a divine theme." (Today most
men maneuver themselves the way a line cook orchestrates a three-minute
egg.) Consequently, Burton felt that in many ways he was monogamous,
because when he was with one woman, he never thought of another.
Needless to say, the highly creative are highly creative at
rationalizing their behavior.
Lastly, something need be said with regard to the highly
creative who are lovers of the same sex. Writer and historian Gore
Vidal is quoted famously as stating, "There are no heterosexuals or
homosexuals, only homo- or heterosexual acts. Most people are a mixture
of impulses." Maybe. But before the days of George Michael and public
toilet rendezvous, sex for those driven by a desire for their own
gender often took an even more mystical form than heterosexual love. In
the mind of American poet Walt Whitman, sex encompassed:
"...all bodies, souls, meanings, proofs, delicacies, results,
promulgations, songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery,
the seminal milk, all hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions,
loves, beauties, and delights of the earth."
Heckuva list.
Vice Seven: Abuse the Card
To nurture the previous six vices resources are needed. Because most
highly creative people never fully enter the work force, nor make a
salary sufficient to their needs, credit is a necessity. Hunter S.
Thompson cut to the chase nicely when he declared that the first and
most important rule of a writer is: abuse your credit for all it's
worth. The highly creative travel an expensive road, and the best way
to stay between the yellow lines, or at the very least keep food on
your table, is to Abuse the Card. And the larger the debt the better
the bet. As the essayist Samuel Johnson observed:
"Small debts are like a small shot -- they are rattling on every side
and can barely be escaped without a wound. Great debts are like a
cannon, of loud noise but little danger."
Which must be the reason I feel so safe and secure when my card authorizes another round of drinks for the table.
Don't fear if your creditors come closing in on you. When the highly
creative find themselves in financial straits, they skip town. For
example, in 1891 Mark Twain took a much-deserved vacation in Europe,
which lasted nine years, leaving his legion of creditors to antagonize
the less fortunate along the banks of the Mississippi. Today, it is
even easier to take a long, literary holiday. And don't forget,
bankruptcy is an option always worth considering. In fact, some highly
creative people find utter destitution spiritually enriching. Novelist
John Updike once wrote:
"Bankruptcy is a sacred state, a condition beyond conditions, as
theologians might say, and attempts to investigate it are necessarily
obscene, like spiritualism. One only knows that he has passed into it,
and lives beyond us, in a condition not ours."
Having nearly reached this "sacred state" several
times already, I can't say I would describe it in such lofty terms. I
prefer the more pragmatic view Shakespeare took: "He who dies pays all
debt." Or Oscar Wilde's strangely sentimental one, "It is only by not
paying one's bills that one can remain in the memory of the commercial
classes." For my part, I'm doing all that I can to be remembered for a
very long time.
In the end, everyone should remember that the highly creative
always have expectations of great things. Their accumulated debt should
thus be viewed only as an advance on their future earnings. But it's
not an easy life. One should never underestimate the amount of distress
caused by overzealous creditors. Especially when they bear down on poor
debt-ridden artists, for these harassed souls are often the true
visionaries of our time, or any time. When approached yet again by one
of his many creditors, Lord Byron implored, "It is very iniquitous of
you to make me pay my debts. You have no idea the pain it gives one." I
feel his pain.
Conclusion
If anyone should still be left unconvinced on the benefits of
pursuing these vices, let us remember these sage words of Abraham
Lincoln: "It has been my experience that those with no vices have very
few virtues."
Keep that one in mind during the next presidential election.
About the writer
D.A. Blyler is the author of two collections of poetry, "Shared
Solitude" and "Diary of a Seducer." He is also the author of "The
Expatriates," a screenplay and "The Pillars on Horseback," a play. He
lives in the Czech Republic.
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