peonies and creative containers

Fixed Earth: containers, support, grounding

Content note – a brief mention of alcohol and drugs

I recently attended a birthday party. I played with my nephews, I ate cake and drank Appletiser beneath the shade of a tree. The garden was filled with roses in bloom. It was a pleasurable experience, but the social side was still challenging.

Large social gatherings used to be something I could solve easily by drinking heavily or taking drugs. Now I have no barrier, so I need a container instead.

In this case, I knew I would stay for one night, and two days. I knew I could plan my energy, and be present in the moment, because the container would hold me. To mark the end of the weekend, I had arranged to send myself flowers. A frivolous treat, but cheaper than booze.

Today, I thought more about containers. I work on multiple projects with clients, and each one is a little different. While I can't plan for every outcome, I have a process that structures the project, and which acts as a container for me and the writer I work with.

Some people see the container as a capacious space to experiment in, and some people feel it is a barrier that needs to be broken down. I fluctuate between these positions, but I know that a third entity in a collaboration can be the difference between success and failure.

No one wants to work with a deadening formula, or a paint-by-numbers approach, but often restrictions can support spontaneity. If you can sink into the work, it is easier to be creative.

When I got home and arranged the flowers, I saw that my little jug wouldn’t support the complicated structure suggested on the box. So, I snipped everything a little shorter, and clustered the blooms together. The container forced my hand, and, in the end, I think they looked even cuter than the intended design.

Where could you use a container in your writing to hold your work, and give you the freedom to experiment?