Hilde Østby - The Key to Creativity: The Science Behind Ideas and How Daydreaming Can Change the World

First published in English by Greystone Books in 2023

Originally published in Norwegian as Kreativitet,

copyright 2020 by Cappelen Damm

English translation copyright 2023 by Matt Bagguley

Illustrations by John Tenniel

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a license from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For a copyright license, visit accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

Greystone Books Ltd.

greystonebooks.com

Cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada

ISBN 978-1-77164-830-1 (cloth)

ISBN 978-1-77164-831-8 (epub)

Vowels by Arthur Rimbaud. English translation by Paula Ayer 2023.

Could Have from Map by Wisawa Szymborska. All works by Wisawa Szymborska copyright The Wisawa Szymborska Foundation. English translation by Clare Cavanagh and Stanisaw Baraczak 2015 by HarperCollins Publishers. Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Editing for English edition by James Penco

Proofreading for English edition by Meg Yamamoto

Jacket and text design by Fiona Siu

Jacket artwork by John Tenniel and Edvard Munch

Greystone Books thanks the Canada Council for the Arts, the British Columbia Arts Council, the Province of British Columbia through the Book Publishing Tax Credit, and the Government of Canada for supporting our publishing activities.

In memory of Vera Micaelsen (19742018)

INTRODUCTION
I HIT THE WALL BY THE RIVER AKERSELVA

Can bumping your head make you more creative?

Good ideas, and eight hundred aha moments that can turn your life upside down

I learn to be spontaneous and follow my intuition

What is it you are actually doing when you make something?

The mysterious source of creativity, DMN

I start school again

I quit my job

I learn how to live in the future

Weaving is believing

A walk in the future forest

She had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.

LEWIS CARROLL,

Alices Adventures in Wonderland

OR: CAN BUMPING YOUR HEAD MAKE YOU MORE CREATIVE?

SO I HIT the wall. Literally.

It was a stone wall, which I could almost taste when I smashed into it. It tasted like... stone. A cold, strangely metallic taste. Or that could have been just the taste of blood.

It was the day my sister Ylva and I were due to launch a book we had written together called Adventures in Memory; we were scheduled to meet radio and press journalists to talk about the book, which was all about memory and the brain. I had just deliveredwell, more like thrownmy daughter at kindergarten and was cycling hastily along the riverside path to work, following the unbroken strip of steel-blue water that cuts through the middle of Oslo, under bridges and past long embankments of gray autumn grass. My heart pounded as I mentally prepared myself for what I was supposed to be doing that day. Thenin a split second of distractednessI turned my head, convinced there were a good few feet remaining between my bike and the low bridge arching over the path ahead of me.

When I turned around again, there it wasthe bridgestout and steadfast as it had been since 1827. It didnt move an inch as I slammed into it, although I think it should have, out of pure courtesy; were talking about a grand old gentleman, raised in the early 1800sand this was definitely no way to treat a lady. When I finally hit the ground after what felt like minutestime slowed down, it really didit was with quite a thud. My bike, which had just trundled on as my head struck the masonry, now lay several feet away.

My face was a pulverized mess of cuts and bruises, and a giant lump had sprouted from my forehead. Blood cascaded down my brown overcoat, and I found out later that my nose was broken. Ironically, and luckily for me, the bridge Id just collided with was right next to the local Emergency Room.

The bridge, called Nybrua, was once a proud new addition to the citys road network and an unquestionable boost to the lives of those living in Christiania, as Oslo was called at the time. Now, as I staggered over it with help from a passing jogger, it was both my worst enemy and my savior. Moments later I lurched through the doors of the ER, massive forehead first, where they sent me for a CT scan to check for intracranial hemorrhaging.

I can safely say that my life has been turned upside down because of what happened to my head beside the river that day. That ordinary Tuesday in late October.

But what had actually happened?

After a couple of days, Id developed whats called periorbital ecchymosis, dark blue rings around my eyes, like a raccoon. But by then Id already been sent home from the ER with a leaflet explaining that I shouldnt do any reading (thats right, I read a leaflet about not reading and felt somewhat tricked), that I should take it easy for three weeks, and that everything would be okay. I had a mild concussion, apparently. It wasnt dangerous. I hadnt even fainted. Id just had a little knock. Thousands of people are similarly injured every year. Its so normal that its almost not worth trying to evoke sympathy from a reader.

So I was now just a statistica cyclist without a helmet with a head injury. A TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury), according to medical literature. According to the Head Injury Severity Scale (HISS), which has been used in Scandinavia since 1995, I didnt even have a mild head injury. Since I hadnt fainted, and therefore hadnt lost consciousness, my injury was classified as a minimal head injury. So, theoretically, the severity of my accident was so minuscule I was unlikely to experience any symptomsand would soon be totally healthy again. But even while Id been writhing around in the dirt, bleeding and in shock, Id already suspected that what had happened might lead to memory problems. It wouldnt be unusual, I thought, since memory is so fragile and involves so many networks throughout the brain. After all, I have a sister with a PhD in neuropsychology and memoryand, as I already mentioned, I had just cowritten a book with her all about the subject.

But it turned out, unsurprisingly, that my self-diagnosis wasnt entirely correct. After the accident, my memory was still crystal clearnot just regarding my life experiences, but also on all the scientific research Id read while writing the memory book. My brain seemed to be injured in some other way, and besideswas it really