Thinking Like an Octopus

An unusual technique for making decisions and getting unstuck

My book. The one, that three months ago, I excitedly announced I was writing is stuck, stalled out. Yep. No movement.

For the past few weeks, I’ve sat down to write, even just a sentence and nada.

I’ve pulled out some of my favorite tools, ones that have worked for me in the past. Getting up from my computer and stepping outside, putting on some music and chair dancing…and still nothing. Just the cursor taunting me with its slow blink.

I get the brain geekery behind the stall out. I’ve checked in; is there a story I’m telling myself, a cognitive traffic jam that I’m unaware of blocking the flow?

The science of the stuck and stalled out makes sense, sure.

There’s no story. No sign of procrastination lying in wait. No “what if-ing.”

So, I guess it’s just a case of good ol’ writer’s block.

And I need something different. Something that will shake loose the book from the grip of that writer’s block.

Enter the Octopus

Years ago, I learned that an octopus doesn't just navigate the world from one command center. It has a central brain, but its arms also carry a lot of their own know-how.

Each arm can sense and respond on its own, gathering information from its surroundings…and all of that feeds into what the octopus does next.

So, why not look at my book from eight different angles? Not necessarily to understand the stuck and stall out. Really just to get things moving and grooving again.

Arm 1: Looking at my book, what do I see?

I see an outline, a road map for writing the book. I see the Introduction completely written. I see the first category of cognitive traffic jams fleshed out, with the experiments to try and the matching journal prompts. I see the second category of jams almost completely fleshed out.

Arm 2: Taking another look at it, what else do I see?

I see a powerful and empowering manifesto that was the inspiration for this book.

Arm 3: Now what do I see?

I see heart, raw honesty and vulnerability mixed with relatable brain geekery.

Arm 4: And now?

I see a movement that’s all about no longer shrinking and ghosting who we are and the ideas that are most important to us.

Arm 5: What else do I see?

I see a vehicle to support others in feeling “at home” in their own skin and owning what they’re capable of.

Arm 6: What else?

I see innovative ideas and creativity.

Arm 7: And now?

I see something really viable.

Arm 8: What’s the last thing I see?

I see the makings of a powerful book. One I wish I had when I was in my 20s, so I could’ve stopped my own shrinking and morphing.

And Now, Using My Central Brain?

Thinking like an octopus showed me that this book isn’t like anything I’ve ever written so it’s going to take time to show itself on the pages. Which means, I need to practice something I’m not great at…patience.

And I also need to give myself grace. Grace for the days when I sit down to write and nothing comes out. Grace to remember that because this book's important to me, forcing it or rushing it won’t produce one I’m truly proud of.

Oh, and that there is no timeline. Just the one I’ve self-imposed.

And here’s the major aha from this little exercise. An octopus doesn't wait for all eight arms to agree before it moves. It just needs one arm to gather enough information to guide it.

That’s the “fuel” needed to get moving and grooving again. And my one arm, the one that gave me what I needed?

I’m creating something I wish I’d had when I was younger…which means it deserves time and space, not force.

Now, with that insight, I'm excited to go and work on my book. But before I do, I've got a question for you, my friends.

Whatever you’re working on, or a decision you’re trying to make, what happens if you look at it like an octopus? Eight arms, eight angles, no pressure for them to agree.