My mind is always bursting with more incredible and enticing ideas than I can deal with. I marvel at their shimmering colours and graceful lines as I consider which one to work on next. But when I trap it on the page then I discover it’s broken, dull and lifeless.
This happens time and time again. It’s devastating.
But that’s something I’ve got to push past — unless I’m going to hang onto my ideas and never explore them simply so that I don’t sully the imagined version of my potential unborn creations.
And I don’t want to be stuck in that place of huge potential but zero output like a timid loser.
Sometimes your ideas simply don’t turn out to be as good in reality as they seemed in your mind. Nothing to do here but accept it. Let it go. Move on to the next one.
Other times you need to wrestle with them over and over again before you finally get them to the potential result you glimpsed in the beginning.
Either way I’ve got to fight the need for things to be perfect right now if I want to have any chance of producing something half decent in the long run.
And this is where I’ve got to be brutally honest with myself because I fall flat on my face here over and over again. I totally get that patience is where it’s at. And yet I don’t act on that insight.
And this is because — although I understand it rationally — I struggle to believe it deep inside. So every time I leave my thoughts to their own devices they jump straight back to unhelpful patterns.
“Rush, Mark! You’re going too slow. But you’d better make damn sure it’s perfect. And that you get it done now!”
It’s not enough for me to have an idea and wonder whether it will take me months or years to get it to a finished point. If I don’t feel imminent and inevitable success right from the start then it’s a real struggle not to lose belief and motivation.
I can’t use sheer force of willpower to stop my thoughts doing their natural thing (and, even if I could, it would be exhausting). But I can make sure my logical self steps in over and over again to bring them back to where I want them to be.
Here’s my plan for that:
Write down my “truth” on this and review it regularly. Use it to reground my mindset in reality over and over.
Then, over time, as I do each new piece of work with those thoughts fresh in my mind. I hope and expect that my natural set point will start to change for the better.
Will it prevent these problems coming up again? Not even close.
But it’s what I’ve got.
So here goes… Here’s my message to myself:
Don’t worry if most things you make are rubbish.
Worst case: you create something worthless (that you then discard). But there’s no upper limit when something comes out great. Just one or two major ‘successes’ can justify a lifetime of ‘failures’.
So keep stepping up and taking another swing. And get used to throwing things away without a second thought.
By definition, half your work will be below your average. The more you produce, the more chances for good ones to come through.
You need to be patient and let time work for you. When ideas are left to simmer, they change.
Accept that your taste will exceed your skill to start with. The only way through is to do bad work (seeing it as practice) until your skill catches up.
But never write anything off too early. Sometimes ideas you thought were worthless emerge from the chrysalis and become beautiful butterflies. Sometimes your pet ideas turn out to be awful.
Creating is hard. But your memory will try and trick you into believing it should be easy.
Remember, Mark, the first course you created. Looking back now, I wonder “how did I ever create something that perfect first try?”. But when I dive beneath the surface memories I know that I was frustrated during its creation. And totally uncertain whether people would find it valuable.
All of that is why you need to be patient. To sit with all the current imperfections as though they’re old friends.
When you manage this you’ll be in good company. As Rilke said:
“All progress must come from deep within and cannot be forced or accelerated. Everything must be carried to term before it is born. […] These things cannot be measured by time, a year has no meaning, and ten years are nothing.
It is a lesson I learn every day amid hardships I am thankful for: patience is all!”