How to Get Unstuck

Life lessons from a shrimp.

“Look how beautiful.”

I glanced to the other side of the bed, where my partner’s face was bathed in the blue glow of his phone. “So colorful,” he murmured, transfixed by something undulating onscreen.

It was a YouTube video of the mantis shrimp. This may sound random, but it’s pretty much par for our nighttime routine since he started reading An Immense World, a book about how other creatures sense, perceive, and experience life.

The previous night, apropos of nothing, he proclaimed, “Did you know female lobsters urinate into the faces of males, to tempt them with a sex pheromone?”

No, I did not. But now I know, and so do you.

“Wow!” he exclaimed, a few moments later. “Male mice produce a pheromone in their urine that makes females attracted to their odor. Do you want to guess what it’s called?”

“Ummm…” I struggled to think of a sexy mouse pun.

“Darcin! After Mr. Darcy, from Pride and Prejudice.”

Now I was getting acquainted with the mantis shrimp, scuttling along the sea floor like a curious hybrid of a dachshund, a lobster, and a clown.

I’ll save you the trouble of looking it up.

Admittedly, it was mesmerizing. And if I’m being honest, I was jealous of it. Not because it managed to hold his rapt attention. Nor because of its ability to pull off bright colorways better than anyone at fashion week.

I felt jealous because it was a crustacean. Guided by instinct. Moving about its days, likely never second guessing the impact of its actions. I cannot know the stakes of being a shrimp, or any other being, for that matter. But sometimes, particularly when faced with things like taxes, trauma, and trolls, shrimphood seems attractive by comparison.

I spent the better part of this week feeling stuck. It was that sort of self-imposed stickiness where even with the best of intentions, you can’t gain any traction. I sat. I tried. I went through the motions. But my words were stilted, my ideas failed to gel. I started and stopped. Typed and deleted. Nothing — nothing! — worked.

Such is the nature of both writing and life. Sometimes it flows. And other times, it doesn’t.

In a particularly frustrated moment, I picked up my phone and started scrolling. That’s when I saw it. Right next to a video of a red panda eating grapes was the permission I’d been looking for.

It was a quote I’d flagged some time ago, from an interview with Toni Morrison. Though she was talking about writing, her words are relevant to many things:

“I tell my students there is no such thing as ‘writer’s block,’ and they should respect it. You shouldn’t write through it. It’s blocked because it ought to be blocked, because you haven’t got it right now. All the frustration and nuttiness that comes from, ‘Oh, my God, I cannot write now’ should be displaced. It’s just a message to you saying, ‘That’s right, you can’t write now, so don’t.’”

And because I am never one to argue with a literary genius, I didn’t.

Me, in front of a blank document, at least once a week.

Apparently, one of the phrases most commonly uttered in therapy is, “I feel stuck.”

There are myriad ways stuckness can manifest — in a job, a relationship, a living situation, a rut. We may feel creatively blocked or embroiled in an emotional pattern. We may be trapped in the past or scared of the future, guided by a core belief that doesn’t ultimately serve us. We may know exactly what we want but feel powerless to make a move.

There is no shortage of materials promising solutions to stuckness — talks, articles, books with punny titles (e.g. You Turn) — suggesting everything from an energizing playlist to buying a new planner to enlisting professional help.

Seeing as stuckness is an inevitable part of the human experience, perhaps it’s due for a rebrand. A process rather than a problem. An invitation to rest, reset, redirect. Not something to rebel against or force our way out of, but merely a message along the way.

When we engage with a work of fiction, whether a show or a book or a film, we often see solutions the characters can’t.

“Quit!” we shout, as the protagonist trudges back to their nightmare job working for a toxic overlord.

“Leave!” we yell, as they put up with an unsupportive partner, or else hem and haw in a love triangle where neither person is the right choice.

Then in our own lives, we look around, bemoaning the lack of doors and windows. If only we had our own audience to help illuminate the way.

The next best thing may be to seek out a different perspective — another person, another view, even another creature.

The mantis shrimp has some of the best eyes in the world. (“They move independently, until one eye spots something, and then they scan it, like a UPC scanner!”) Its punch is strong enough to break your finger or shatter aquarium glass. I hoped this combination of sight and might would yield the wisdom I hoped for.

“So, have you learned anything about what animals can teach us about stuckness?” I asked.

He considered this for a moment, then looked back at the book.

“The mantis shrimp has a small, weak brain,” he read.

I blinked.

“What I’m saying is, you wouldn’t want to trade places. For better or worse, we’re a bit more complicated.”

Complicated indeed.

Like creativity, stuckness is a gift of being human, our copilot as we navigate the intersection of fear, necessity, and desire. Perhaps this feeling is merely a sign, a guidepost urging us to seek and welcome something new.

I cannot experience the world as a platypus or an antelope or a scallop, and at least in this lifetime, I never will. But I’ve seen enough to know that in most cases, we’re all just doing our best, making the most of what we’ve been given. The roving eye of the mantis shrimp isn’t all that different from the wandering heart of a human — ever searching, in the hope that we might land on something that inspires us to break free.

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Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring the Voyager Tarot by James Wanless

One of my friends has this colleague we’ll call Todd, who stars in most of her work stories. “Todd” has a very assured way of moving through the world. He talks a big game, but it often works out, even when the odds aren’t in his favor.

Todd is what some people would call a manifestor and others would call an a**. You say tomato, I say tomato.

The hubris! The gall! The incredible ability to alchemize desire into reality.

Every time I hear a Todd story, I say something like, “I wish I could drink just one cup of that” or “I wish I could experience life as Todd, even if just for five minutes.” This is Knight of Swords energy.

We’ve all encountered someone like Todd. (Perhaps we’ve all been this person, too.) Whether their behavior is worthy of being emulated or their boldness is becoming an issue, we can admire their ability to take action.

In the 1980s world of the Voyager Tarot, the Knight of Swords has been recast as the Child of Crystals. But the energy remains the same – a curious, enthusiastic figure, not yet inundated with fears and mired by patterns, intent on seeing (and taking on) the world.

At first, I found it ironic that this card decided to show up during a week I’ve been focused on stuckness. But of course, that makes perfect sense. The tarot is nothing if not reflective, offering suggestions for how we may benefit from the energies embodied in the card.

The Knight of Swords may not be familiar with feeling stuck. But he sure does know how to get things moving.

Featuring the iconic Smith-Waite Tarot, with art by Pamela Colman Smith

Most depictions show the knight rushing in — full speed ahead, sword brandished, face bared to the world. Even the horse is like, “Dude, are we sure?” But we already know the answer. The knight was born sure, and there isn’t much anyone can do to change that.

The little guidebook definitions of this card often burst with words like, “ambition, drive, action, motivation.” It sounds like an adrenaline-fueled tour of the stock exchange. Or a movie starring Vin Diesel.

But if you boil it down to its essence, this is really a card about desire.

The knight is sure in his aim and his purpose. This doesn’t mean he has no fear, merely that his goals are strong enough to override it.

The character on this card encourages us all to follow their lead — to get clear on what we want. Much is made about motivation, but nothing is as encouraging as knowing our why.

What moves you? What matters? What dreams do you have, even if you dare not whisper them to another person? The why is what matters. If we keep it in focus, the route will take care of itself.

However, we don’t need to rush in if that isn’t our style. We can also chip away, take one step after another, wade in before taking the plunge. All action is action.

Both the Child of Crystals and the Knight of Swords carry the wisdom of this line from Antonio Machado:

“Wanderer, there is no road. The road is made by walking.”

In those moments when the path is not clear, may we trust in our why, letting our steps lead the way.