Fear and Creativity

There's a book by Elizabeth Gilbert entitled Big Magic.  I have read this book once, and I decided to read it again...it was that good.

As the author states, if you're someone who is already comfortable with your relationship with ideas and creativity, the book is not for you.  This book is for people like me, who feel that they are not the creative type, but wish they were.

Ms. Gilbert talks about the magic of creativity.  She literally thinks that creativity comes from the supernatural realm, and that ideas seek human vessels willing to host and nurture them.  Ultimately, each person has a choice as to whether or not they choose to welcome the ideas or not.  Saying yes can mean a great deal of work and struggle, but also accomplishment and fulfillment.  Saying no might be the right decision based on many different factors, but it can also mean missed opportunity and emptiness.  She also points out that we often say no to ideas because we are afraid.

In my own experience, I find myself quite capable of persuading myself to say no to most ideas that have even a hint of creativity.  As I have gotten older, it has become quite clear that fear is really the common denominator of all of the reasons that I give myself.  And if creativity dwells in the supernatural realm, fear is definitely a shape shifting nemesis.

When ideas come knocking on my door, I look through the window.  I'm usually quite happy to see the idea, and I really want to open the door, but the key to the deadbolt has been hidden from me.  I ask for the key to the door, and a sensible voice asks me if I think that is a wise decision.  It is a familiar voice, and I listen.

For me, at least, ideas do not typically come to visit me alone.  Ideas tend to bring along their cunning friend, fear.  Fear is quite savvy.  It knows that it is not typically welcome when it enters undisguised; no one wants to be afraid, after all.  In an effort to survive, fear takes on many forms, including but certainly not limited to:  an efficient project manager concerned about my available time; a shrewd accountant warning me that there's not enough in the budget; a trusted psychologist who feels that the pressure and rejection might be more than I can handle; and a security guard who wants to shield me from injury.

Fear can also take on some unfriendly forms: the older sibling that laughs at my inexperience, and leaves me behind because I am not cool enough to be part of their world; or the bully that steals my lunch money and threatens to beat me up for being different, forcing me into hiding.

It is true that fear can be useful.  Sometimes fear is right.  But as I get older, I am starting to see that fear should not be my superior.  Like a trusted adviser, fear should be consulted and considered, but never in charge.

I try to have a discussion with fear (or whoever fear is pretending to be at that moment).  I share my thoughts in an attempt to win the debate.  Words are powerless; the only thing that keeps fear in check is action.  Action is made manifest by confidence. But confidence is ironically quite shy in many of us, and like a child unfamiliar with people and surroundings, needs to feel a level of comfort before it will stop hiding and interact.

Unlike fear, confidence does respond to words, and luckily, confidence is quite gullible.  When I tell confidence that there's nothing to worry about, even if I am lying, she will believe me. She peeks out from behind the wall, and I can keep coaxing her along.  I tell her we will learn as we go, even from - no, especially from - our mistakes.  The key is the volume of my voice; I need to speak loudly if I expect to steal the attention of confidence.  She is hearing impaired, and the voice of fear is powerful.

Practice makes perfect; as they say, I need to fake it until I make it.  The fear of failure, the fear of hard work, and even the fear of success can be very powerful forces.  When creative ideas knock on my door, confidence and action need to overrule my tendency towards fear.

Manageable Bites

I tend to bite off way more than I can chew.

Take this blog, for instance.

I am really interested in learning how to express my thoughts and interests in writing.  To learn to write, I need to practice and write on a daily basis.  This seems simple and intuitive.  Write every day.  Write about what I'm feeling and thinking; what I'm eating and drinking; what I'm photographing.  Write about the exciting, write about the mundane.  Get the words out of my head and onto the paper.


A while back, this desire peaked the interest of my inner perfectionist.  This component of my personality tends to get very excited and dreams big, and for all intents and purposes, has a mind of her own often dragging the rest of me kicking and screaming on her path to do something big.  "We'll start a blog!" she said.  Immediately she began to think of all the beautiful blogs she like to read, and decided that she was going to design one.  It couldn't be one of those free, simple looking ones; of course it needs to be a fancy, professional looking blog.

Not a single word was written, but a huge bite was taken; the quest for the perfect blog template began.

After some intense time was spent on the search for perfection my inner perfectionist started to become frustrated.  She knew nothing about blog design, and didn't really have the time to put into learning.  She had me convinced that I couldn't possibly pursue my desire to write without having the perfect looking blog to publish the posts.  The idea was scrapped, not just the blog, but the writing, too.

The big bite was too big, and so I spit it out, just like I always do.

The urge to write has returned, and I've made it clear to my inner perfectionist that she needs to stay out of this.  I will take small manageable bites.  I will write regularly and establish a habit of writing and editing.  If I am tenacious enough to commit to this journey, I will learn more about blog templates and hosts, and migrate to something fabulous down the road.

For now, it will be enough to write.