Shape Ideas Like Time Carves Landscapes

The more I think on it, the more I notice parallels between different approaches to the creative process and geological processes. I’m not sure there’s a one to one correspondence, but there’s something worth digging into here (pun intended).

Start by considering the deposition of silt on the ocean floor. This is how a lot of rock is built up. Slowly. Strata by strata over time.

And it’s the same for a lot of creative ideas. We don’t have them all at once. Instead little insights or smaller parts of the idea arrive one after the other.

If you’re trying to watch the process in real time, then it looks like nothing is happening. Each individual layer is too small to register. But when you come back at the end you can easily see the procession of instances that led from nothing to a towering mountain range.

Or to a revolutionary new idea or piece of art.


Then there are rocks that form under pressure. 

This is a result of their materials being confined together with great force over long periods.

A similar thing occurs when you have two unrelated ideas existing in your brain and capturing your interest at the same time.

Somewhere in your subconscious is a pressure — a feeling that these things belong together. But your conscious mind doesn’t make the leap.

So they incubate. Gradually, over time, something manages to force them together and you return later to find that a new thing has been born.

In the geological world these include the diamonds and other precious stones. In the creative world they are the rare insights. Tiny, and in need of shaping — but immensely valuable.


Erosion comes next.

Rock eroded away piece by piece over time by the wind is a painstaking slow process. But it’s also exactly the way that we shape our creative insights.

As you work with the seed of an idea you throw off multitudes of thoughts and possible directions to take it in. This is an important part of the creative process, but the vast majority of it will turn out to be irrelevant.

We need to chip away for ages in order to get rid of all the unnecessary stuff. And leave only the true core of what we’re trying to create.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry captured it perfectly when he said: “Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”


Finally (for now, at least) consider rivers.

A river bed, or a great valley or canyon doesn’t appear overnight. It can take millions of years.

This is the same with some of our insights and ideas.

They start out as uncertain channels. To start, they may change course each time the rains come — as the flow of water finds whatever channel is favoured by the landscape at this particular point in time.

But as we revisit over and over, our sense of what’s really here gets stronger. The river no longer shifts its path from season to season. No longer searches for one course out of  possible thousands.

Now it’s going over and over the same channel. Deepening it.

Until it eventually defines the very landscape that originally gave birth to it.

These are our most powerful ideas. Our convictions. And our unique style.

They need to be grooved out over time until we can see what they are. And then deepened until they’re strong.

Where we go wrong is that we don’t view creativity on these slow timescales. And that throws us off course.

Our desire to rush things is even baked into the language and culture around creativity. The standard cliche we fall back on is to describe things in terms of “lightbulb moments”. In geological terms, the equivalent would be “lightning strikes”.

So we’re constantly chasing the speed and adrenaline rush of those lightning strikes. When we’d be better served by leaning into the gradual slow process of geology over millions of years.

But it’s fast and flashy processes that catch the eye. So that’s where our thoughts are automatically drawn. While the slow and steady grind creeps on inexorably beneath our radar.

(This goes both for what we notice in ourselves. And what we notice in examples from others)

If you want long-term results then you need to deliberately switch this around.

Sure, the results of a lightning strike look seriously impressive in real time. Trees are obliterated. Rocks split asunder. Fires spark and then rage.

But these results are small scale in the grand scheme of things. And mostly don’t last.

Fulgurites may leave an intriguing, lasting memento. But trees grow back until everything is the same as it was before.

But what about the more subtle slow processes? That’s where we get the great mountain ranges. The majestic rivers. and canyons.

Those don’t simply distract us for a bit — they leave us in absolute awe. That help us forget the day to day and really reconnect with what it means to be a tiny human in an amazing universe.

This is exactly what the best creativity does. And it does it on a similar slow and imperceptible timescale.

So be patient with that.

As Epictetus said:

“No great thing is created suddenly, any more than a bunch of grapes or a fig. If you tell me that you desire a fig, I answer that there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen.”

Let the great things come slowly, blossom, and ripen. Don’t rush towards the immediate spark that flares brightly for a second… Then fades away.