to the artists who stopped making art

creative rut


Disease

Ever since I was a little kid I’ve been a maker, a creator.

I made anything and everything all day long. It brought me so much joy. I loved especially making things for people I loved.

At some point in my life a disease got into my head that hurt my ability to do this. Some people call this disease “perfectionism”, “worthlessness”, or “high standards”. Any time I’d start a project, I wanted it to be worth it, to mean something.

Childhood innocence was replaced with cynicism. A free spirit was replaced with calculated standards. I had been rejected too many times. I couldn’t miss any more shots. I needed to be great.

I had no room in my head to just do things for fun. Just to be silly. No, I must make a difference.

I was lost, without meaning.

It was some deep fear I had that drove me to kill project after project, even some before they started. I lost some of my creativity. I almost never made anything.

Every time I reached out to start an idea, or tried to convince myself to do something, I felt my hand jerked back and a voice in my head that would tell me, “don’t start that. it won’t go anywhere. come up with a better idea. what’s the point in it anyways. you don’t have time. it’s not worth it. you have other things to do. not right now…”

This voice has haunted me for a very long time. I haven’t gotten rid of it, because to a degree it helps me.

As with a considerable amount of fears, this one was not created just to destroy me. I started these tendencies out of self protection, with motivation from personal experiences.

As with many fears as well, despite being a protection method, this one also brought harm to my life in its imperfection (it’s weird to measure fears by effectiveness and perfection, but sometimes it helps!).

wakawakawakawkaawa

now after poetically describing my dilemma, here’s all the ways i’ve figured out how to help it in emoji bullet list form

Trees

This morning I was looking outside while in the car. I saw many a tree while I passed. They were beautiful.

I’m not sure if there were hundreds, or thousands, or millions.

I thought to myself, “each of these trees is so pretty, and yet some of them may never be seen, or touched, or cared about by any human. maybe even any other creature”

“but still they grow, and they grow to be beautiful to some place in the world, whether or not someone sees them or cares. they are beautiful, and i know each one is important”

maybe we could learn from the trees

happy september :D


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