SpiralTruth

This has been waiting in my queue for a while. It’s a wonderful TED talk from Elizabeth Gilbert on dealing with the elusive nature of creativity – the moments of genius and the grasping at straws that inevitably precedes and follows those moments of brilliance.

What is it specifically about creative ventures that seems to make us really nervous about each others’ mental health in a way that other careers… don’t do?

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been haunted by the dark side of creativity. So often, it seems, the best poetry comes from staring into an abyss that can consume you. Stare long enough, and you’ll find something novel, something to bring back – but if you stare too long… well, that’s what most of my heroes did.

I guess that’s fine if you like the drama. But I kind of like the idea of growing old. Not because I’m looking forward to the grey hair and talking constantly about various ailments with my friends, but because I’ve still got several decades worth of stuff to do and I always like to finish what I’ve started.

Nevertheless, whenever the planets align and I create something that seems really inspired, I always wonder if it will be the last or the best I’ll ever do. Is this the furthest I’ll go? Am I asking too much of myself and the world? Gilbert sums up the fears that follow feelings of inspiration beautifully:

It’s exceedingly likely that my greatest success is behind me… That’s the kind of thought that could lead a person to start drinking gin at nine o’clock in the morning.

She proceeds to propose some solutions that involve looking at art and the creative process in a way that we are not accustomed to anymore, but in a way that used to come quite naturally. Why not, she argues, see yourself, the artist, as a simple craftsman who loves what he does and simply makes sure to show up for work every day and “genius” as a completely separate entity? “Genius” is the jerk who, for whatever reason, decides not to come into work that day or month or year or… lifetime. It means you can’t take as much credit for the masterpieces, but it also means that you don’t take as much blame for the duds. My ego rails against this way of thinking, wanting to take all the credit for anything good that comes out of the struggle, but at the same time, a part of me finds the idea intoxicatingly calming. Because, eventually, even all my surviving heroes will lose that fire of creativity, and if they’re really good, they’ll find a creative way to deal with it…