Creative failure abounds – and yet we persist
I used to write with so much more confidence than I do now. Well crafted posts – exploration of thoughts and experiences, wrapped in a literary style that I seem to have lost somewhere along the way.
Perhaps it's time to reclaim some of it. It must remain in the depths of my head somewhere – no doubt cloaked by the baggage of writing software, doing chores, looking after the children, being a husband, and generally doing what everybody else expects of me all the time.
It would appear “life” (or at least “my life”) is the enemy of creativity. I am reminded of Bjorn Ulvaeus commenting about touring with ABBA – that it killed creativity in a way he didn't like.
Perhaps it's connected to input; I've been mindful in recent weeks that the books I bought towards the end of my secondment to London (when I commuted for several hours each day) are still sitting on the shelf, unread. Without adequate inspiration or reference, it's no surprise that the words leaving my fingers are so turgid, mechanical and at times forced.
The most obvious killer of creativity is also the “elephant in the room” – my work. While the rest of my family run here, there and everywhere on weekends, I am usually found either picking away at some damn fool project (read: “WeTheUsers” in recent times), working overtime, or reluctantly dragging along behind.
It seems there are so many things I won't write about any more either. I've done a fair amount of damage in the past when sharing things that should never have been shared while angry. At times it made me question continuing (those who have read in the past will remember the various ruminations) – but here I am, still writing, still navel gazing, still reporting the minutiae.
I need to remember the good things that sharing so much with the internet has brought me – many, many friends spread all over the world – all of which I think the world of. Religious people often use the word “blessed” to describe their emotional state. Given my absolute lack of any such faith or belief system, I would rather describe the network of those who know me, and who few in the “real world” know about, as “precious”.
The amazing friendships I have forged, spread throughout the world have not happened through any kind of fate or divine intervention; they happened because we reached out, opened ours lives, and connected. In a world where so many are closing doors and building fences, it feels almost rebellious to be out here on the fringe.
Here's to our amazing community filled with open books, free thinkers, sharers, and communicators. We all rock.