Should we consider it friend, foe, or frenemy?
Happy Sunday. This week I'd like to explore something I've been thinking about for a while – the role of friction in modern life and the creative process.
What comes to mind when you hear the word “friction”? Sometimes, my mind conjures up the image of hands rubbing together for warmth in cold weather. Sometimes, it’s the burning rubber smell of brake pads pressing against the tyres of my childhood bike. Sometimes, it’s the grating sounds of a sheet of sandpaper rubbing against plywood.
When I learnt about friction at school, I was taught a definition which went along the lines of “friction is what happens when two surfaces come in contact and run against each other”. We discussed examples of friction in everyday life, and when we got to a section about the benefits of friction, it struck me as an oxymoron to have a sentence with “benefits” and “friction” in it, because to my prepubescent mind, friction was by definition, a force of opposition, a thing that makes other things unnecessarily difficult, an obstacle that prevents two surfaces from interacting in the way they want. How, then, could this force of opposition pose any benefits?
One of these benefits of friction in everyday life, as I was taught, was how, without friction we wouldn't be able to walk. For reasons I can't explain, this example stayed with me. It may be because it’s something I’d never given much thought to, but when it came to my attention, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Imagine for a moment, what would happen if you wore shoes with perfectly smooth soles and had to walk on a perfectly smooth surface. You’d struggle to put one foot in front of the other, is what. There’d probably be some friction, but perhaps not enough for your feet to gain enough traction on the surface, which would result in you slipping and falling on your bum, or worse.
I’ve spent the opening paragraphs of this essay focussed on the primary definition of friction, which probably gives you insights into my literal mind, and if it seems like I’ve used up valuable literary real estate rehashing old memories, you’re not wrong. Still, bear with me, because the walking example serves to illustrate a point, which is to say you wouldn't wish away the friction between the soles of your shoes and the surface beneath your feet. You just wouldn't. Why, then, have we bought into the equivalent of frictionless soles on frictionless surfaces in modern life?
This brings me to the less literal interpretation of friction as a concept, which is anything – tangible or intangible – which gets in the way of a stated goal or desire. We can all relate to this in our daily lives. Perhaps it’s the extra step you have to click through when you’re trying to access your favourite website (cookies, anyone?). Perhaps it’s the seemingly well-meaning policies at work which introduce bureaucratic bottlenecks and end up making things less efficient at best, or insufferable at worst. There are countless cases where we’re all the better for removing or reducing this type of friction, but I’d like to suggest that friction isn’t something we should do away with entirely. Sometimes, we might be better off purposefully introducing friction. For instance, friction – say in the form of a series of questions you must answer before you can access an app on your phone – might be beneficial to someone who’s trying to reduce their screen time.
I’ve spent inordinate amounts of time thinking about friction, or the lack of it, in daily life. It’s the sort of thing that’s become difficult to unsee everywhere I look. I find myself wondering whether the absence of friction is the result of modern living, or a symptom of larger problems that plague modern society. We can speculate on the reasons why modern society is set-up the way it is, and we can attempt to identify cause and effect all we want, but it’s difficult to deny that we have the allure of convenience as facilitated by modern technology to blame, at least in part.
For instance, when you're pressed for time and sapped of energy because you've been working all day, who wouldn't want a bit of respite in the form of ordering food with a few clicks and getting it delivered by a guy on a bike, as opposed to putting your shoes on, walking to a restaurant or grocery store, and interacting with strangers for said food? This has its appeal, and I’ve been there, maybe you have too. But at what point does an act like this, aimed at occasionally reducing or removing friction, morph into a practice, activity, or service which we find ourselves reliant on? At what point does it start to create problems which are bigger, intractable, and more significant than that which it was supposed to ameliorate?
I feel the need to introduce a caveat here. I'm all for progress. I’m not advocating for regression to less civilised times. I’m merely suggesting that it behoves us to consciously embrace friction in certain facets of life. I appreciate food delivery, online shopping, and remote work as much as the next guy. However, we need to have an honest conversation where we ask ourselves, at what point do these things cease to be benefits and start to become hindrances?
Is it any wonder that our society is plagued with a loneliness epidemic, lack of cohesion, and a steep rise in the proportion of individuals who report being isolated, at the same time there's been a proliferation in tools, services and tech that purport to make our lives easier? Have we considered that although there’s friction inherent in having to go out to buy groceries or dinner, there are also inherent benefits, which include the potential for serendipitous interactions with strangers, old acquaintances and friends?
This is the part of the essay where I ask and attempt to answer the question: What does this have to do with art and creativity? To which I answer: Well, everything. A few weeks ago, I wrote about constraints and deadlines. Most writers I know have a love-hate relationship with deadlines. We dread looming deadlines, but we have to admit that without them, we’d be far less productive because they make things seemingly more difficult in the moment, thus causing us to focus on the task at hand, and ultimately helping us to achieve our desired goal. There’s something paradoxical about the increasing likelihood of getting more work done when there's less time available for said work. Cyril Northcote Parkinson best described this inversely proportional relationship in what’s come to be known as Parkinson’s law, when he said, “work expands to fill the time available for its completion."
Deadlines introduce friction in places where they wouldn’t have existed otherwise, thus causing you to spring to action, just like the friction between the sole of your foot and the surface you walk on helps to keep you upright and forward-moving. But there are other agents of friction that propel the creative process. Tim Hartford tells the story of pianist Keith Jarrett who arrived at a concert only to find that the wrong piano had been set on stage for him. Instead of walking away from the venue and cancelling the performance altogether, Jarrett spent some time getting to know the piano, which keys were out of tune, which keys were stuck, which registers sounded harsh. He ended up improvising what was later described as a magical, breathtaking masterpiece. Sure, his ability to pull off that critically acclaimed performance can be attributed to his skill and pedigree as an accomplished musician, but more importantly, he was able to create what is now known as the most successful solo jazz album of all time because he was willing to get creative in the face of constraints. In other words, he leaned into the friction, found a way to make it work for him, and jazz lovers everywhere are all the better for it.
This is all to say that friction isn't always something we should fight, but something to lean into on occasion. Friction is not just functional, but beneficial. It behoves us to identify the parts of our lives – and the creative process – where we can use it to make the proverbial walk of life not only possible, but easier. So, to answer the alliterative question posed in the subtitle of this essay, is friction a friend, a foe, or frenemy? I'll have to go with frenemy, but that should come as no surprise given the arguments I've laid out.
To end this essay, I’d like to leave you with the words of James Clear, whose weekly newsletter arrived in timely fashion as I gathered my thoughts on all things friction this week.
"Practice the art of small daily discomforts. Modern life is optimized for convenience and comfort. Your food can be delivered straight to your door. Your car seats can be heated. Your favorite show is available at the press of a button.
We all enjoy convenience and comfort, myself included. But our bodies and souls yearn for challenge. We want to be stretched. A deeper satisfaction awaits after pushing yourself to learn a challenging concept or complete a humbling workout or have an important but difficult conversation.
Should the whole day feel difficult? No, I don't think that's necessary. But a good day — a meaningful and fulfilling day — requires small moments of discomfort. Growth demands discomfort. We need something to push against to learn how strong we can become.” - James Clear
My new album, Hope on the Horizon, is out everywhere now. Not a fan of streaming and want to support my music? You can download a digital version or buy a CD now here. Thank you for listening, spreading the word, and reaching out to share your thoughts. I appreciate it. Have a great week.