Creativity
Like a glass of Cava, Prosecco, or Champagne, creativity is your go-to aperitif. It’s light, bubbly, and delicious—just like creativity.
Sometimes I wish the words “artistic” or “creative” didn’t exist. They’ve caused the same damage as the word “spiritual”—you either are or you aren’t, just like you’re either smart or you’re dumb. We’ve jammed ourselves into corners we can’t wiggle out from.
Sampling creativity isn’t about getting spiritual—it’s about getting out of your own way. It’s about bulldozing blockers, freeing up time, and having more fun (remember fun?). It’s the process of “re-childing,” the act of remembering what playful, weird shit you used to do as a kid, then nurturing that attitude enough to try.
As artist Julia Cameron puts it, “Creativity is an experience—to my eye, a spiritual experience. It does not matter which way you think of it: creativity leading to spirituality or spirituality leading to creativity.”
And remember: You don’t have to commit to a life of creativity; you just have to sample it.
How to Start Sampling
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There’s a proverb in the Bible that goes like this: "Every prudent man acts with knowledge, but a fool flaunts his folly.” In this case, flaunt your folly.
We think we need more inspiration, motivation, and more knowledge before we can put pen to paper, brush to canvas, foot to field, spoon to flour, or finger to string. We’re waiting our whole lives for a sign that whispers the quiet message: Begin, begin.
Well, this might happen in romantasies, but it rarely happens in real life (you know, the place where Excel documents exist). Instead there are a million things that separate you from your creativity, so the only remedy is to fuck the permission slip and start.
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The fast follow are the doubts. What if I suck? What if they question it? What if they mock it? What if they mock me? What if I like it too much? What if it reveals my hatred for my job? What if it takes too much time? What if, what if, what if.
Here’s the permission slip to doubt. In fact, it would be odd if you didn’t doubt. You haven’t done something creative (or thought you’ve done something creative) in a very long time. That “just do it” mentality doesn’t work when it runs counter to society’s mixed messages. We read reviews, listen to experts, celebrate awards, and admire perfection. Why the hell would we choose to suck at something?
The answer is the payoff: We suspect there might be a payoff in all of this, but we’re not sure what. This is the point where our desire must outweigh our doubt, but only by .001%. If creative desire can nudge past doubt, even by a hairline, then we’re onto the next step.
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If you’re a perfectionist like me, your thoughts pierce the mind like a machine gun. You lived through the failure before you even started the task. It will keep you from sampling, from trying, simply because the agony of being bad at something hurts that much. And worse if someone else sees how bad you are. That’s just too much emotion to deal with.
The only remedy I’ve experienced (so far) is the powerful art of faking. This is a technique that works wonders because it overcompensates for your fear. Your fakeness has to be equal or greater to your fear of failure. Make it bold, make it obvious, make it unbearably obnoxious. “OMG, mine is going to suck. Ha, ha, ha!”; “I messed that one up. Oopsies” (sheepish grin); “That’s okay, it was my first try;” “Eh, whatever!”
Your attitude should feel fake as shit. The words should sound stupid and oily in your mouth. You are purposely tricking yourself into thinking you don’t care because you secretly know you always will care. So instead of trying to solve that unsolvable problem, you’re going to battle fear with fakeness.
“Fake” is no longer a four-letter-word (well, technically, it is). “Fake” is the thing that rescues creativity, that keeps it in survival mode so that it lives to see another day.
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It’s going to suck: your art, your music, your dish, your writing, your scarf, your dance, your whatever. Fake not caring (“Oh well! At least I tried”) and accept that the next thing is going to suck too. And maybe the next thing.
Where’s the payoff, you ask? It’s that you fucking did something! You put something into the world that didn’t exist before. And the best part is what happens next—because what happens next is creative connectivity. It’s like you logged onto a WiFi network with one bar. The signals are weak and inconsistent, but you’re connected.
Samples
🍇The Artist’s Way
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The Artist’s Way is a 12-week program that mirrors the structure of a 12-step program. Created and written by Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way uses the phrase “creative recovery” with the same reverence that addicts use for “recovery.”
The phrase is intentionally applied because the idea is the same: You’re recovering from damaged living (in this case, a world bereft of creativity) and you’re reclaiming a creative life (which is our birthright).
While many people follow the 12-week journey, others adapt the book for modern times (listening to the audiobook or podcast; scanning the chapters; cherry-picking creative exercises; etc.). There are two rituals, however, that Cameron stays pretty firm on: daily morning pages and one weekly artist date.
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I once was reading The Artist’s Way at a coffee shop when a man walked by and commented, “I love that book.” We smiled at each other, silently knowing the difference the book made in our lives. It’s as if we were part of a secret club, only that “secret” club has sold over 5 million copies.
The Artist’s Way is popular among artists (no surprise), but it’s also touched the lives of people whom you wouldn’t expect: lawyers, teachers, investors, and all manner of titles that span the workforce gamut. It seems that creativity never gets old—and for most people, is never enough.
Sample The Artist’s Way if you’re short on cash but thirsty for therapy. It’s going to take you on a journey (12 weeks if you—ick—commit), but the journey is worth it. You’ll get introspective and try new things, which might turn your life into something worth waking up for.
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This book was published in 1992, which means it’s got some street cred and some history. The “traditional” way of approaching The Artist’s Way is by reading it and following the 12-week program. Cameron says you can do this alone or form a group for support. (Personally, I hosted a 12-month program where we went through one chapter per month—something more manageable for a group of busy professionals).
Since we’re sampling (not specializing), you may want to listen to the audiobook first. Remember that Cameron may use cringe or dated words such as “rotten” or “hooey,” but it doesn’t detract from the valuable lessons. Keep an open mind (very spiritual) and consider that you may be more creative than you think.