What would you tell your younger self about the creative journey?

Taking stock of the creative journey so far with the passing of another birthday.

When I was a teenager, I wrote a letter to my future self. In it, I expressed a variety of hopes and wishes, and things that I wanted to remind myself to take action on. When I re-read the letter years later, I was surprised by the things that still felt vitally important, and the things that had fallen away to time. I felt at the moment of reading that I had done something important by taking the time to pin point what I wanted and where I hoped to end up. Despite forgetting what I’d exactly written, the intentions were set.

This week, I celebrate a birthday. As you get older, birthdays do seem to lose their shine - not because of the ageing; I was never a comfortable young person, so for me, ageing out of my teens and twenties has been welcome. But lately, I have been struggling to imagine my future. A birthday inevitably prompts reflection, and I’ve found myself measuring up against the past recently and feeling as though I’ve fallen short - like I should have or could have done more in the time that I had. My younger, more hopeful self had a lot of ideas and dreams. Have I been good to that younger self? And what am I measuring this against, exactly?

I think it’s to do with my expectations of my creative process. Of what it should or could be. Of where it is meant to go from here. There is something about a birthday that feels a lot like writing another one of those letters. It’s a moment to take stock of where you are, certainly, but also to recognise where you wish to go next.

So now that I’m a few years into the process of living a creative practice, I wanted to take stock and figure out what I’ve learned so far and what I (and many of my creative friends) would tell that younger, hopeful self. I want to remind myself (and you) just how far you’ve come. Though we can never go back there, we can speak good things into the future. Because a creative process is not linear, I have no doubt I will need these words again. And again. So, with that in mind…

To my younger self:

1. Following the joy in your process is serious work.

You are a very serious young person, eager to get out and get somewhere else quickly. I know you want to be good at writing, but you also want other people to think you’re good enough. I know you want people to know it isn’t a phase, because that is an accusation often levelled against you - that you’ll get over it, grow up, get a real job. As a young woman, this has often meant over-correcting: you act more seriously in order to be taken more seriously. Your great fear is someone coming along and dismissing you as a silly little girl, whose commitment to the craft is not sincere. From where I am standing now, I can recognise many problems with this way of thinking.

But here’s the big thing I’d want you to know: without joy in the process, without embracing silliness and fun, the process shuts down before it really gets a chance to thrive. Following the joy isn’t frivolous - it’s a seriously important part of the process. It’s the necessary fuel required to keep going and keep showing up. Especially when things aren’t working out. And there will be lots of those times ahead.

I wish you knew that while it’s good to be disciplined and commit to your craft, this won’t sustain you when you don’t see results. You have to keep enjoying the work in and of itself, because you will make things that nobody else cares for. And that’s okay. In fact, as long as you find joy in it, you’re probably still on the right track. So take note of the joy as much as whatever you’ve achieved lately, whether you’ve published something or displayed something or ticked some other check box. That’s all noise. The joy might get quiet; but you must listen more closely. Remember that this is also meant to be fun.

2. Surrounding yourself with the right people matters just as much as doing your best work.

I know you think that everything has to come from you alone. And while writing definitely does emphasise this more than some other art forms, I’ve got a spoiler for you: it’s still an art form that requires other people. Criticism, editing, publishing - these require a team. The process itself can be lonely, so having peers is essential. Everyone working a normal job has work colleagues they depend on for insights, commiseration, information, etc. Your creative peers are your work colleagues.

Everyone you choose to share your work with, with whom you go on this journey, must be carefully selected. Surrounding yourself with people who believe in you, what you’re doing, and who “get it” at least to some extent, will combat the isolating feeling of doing the work itself. But it also doesn’t have to be that deep, really. The point is: Don’t make it all about you. Nobody does anything entirely alone.

Picking the kind of people who will respect your process, try to understand your ideas and fascinations, who will ask good questions and be considerate in the way they respond - these are the people you are looking for. It may take a while to find them. Keep looking. And remember: you don’t owe anyone your ideas. Your work is yours. Whether or not anyone else will like it is not for you to say and not in your control (and in many ways, slightly besides the point). Do yourself a favour and give your work only to those who respect you/it. You don’t need to share with everyone who seems willing or interested. You’ll learn this the hard way, but that’s okay. The right people will become clear to you quickly. They will help you in your efforts to make your best work.

3. Nobody will value your time and energy as much as you will.

I’m not here trying to subvert what I’ve just said, but it’s worth noting that there is always a balance to be struck in a creative journey. While not everything has to come from you, it’s important to know what sits at the other side of the seesaw: you are the one who will value your time and energy the most. That’s just how it goes.

This doesn’t have to be a negative, so I hope you don’t take it that way. All I mean to say is that you are the one who will protect your time the best. Only you can decide what is worth spending that time and energy on, and what isn’t. You will need rest. You will need boundaries. And while you want to be helpful and open and commune with others, sometimes you forget that your time and energy is a precious resource - it’s not infinite. You cannot do everything all of the time.

So, be ready to make choices. Try to put your needs somewhere near the top of the list. Your capacity for sacrifices will help you to do this work, and maintain good relationships. But try not to sacrifice too much. Don’t expect others to recognise when this line is being crossed - it’s not their responsibility to manage your boundaries. Only you can say yes, or no. Protect your space and time as sacred, because it is.

What other creative folks would tell their younger selves…

I put out a call online asking for others to comment on what they’d tell their younger selves about the creative process. Here are a few of the answers I received, which I really enjoyed, grouped under some key takeaways I thought were great:

You’re going to be bad at it. That’s okay.

“For the first several years, your artistry is gonna be kinda shitty; that’s okay and supposed to happen!”

“Sucking at first is natural and only with consistency can you overcome it. But don’t share too early!”

Back yourself anyway.

“Create and put things out there - don’t wait until you think it’s good enough or worth it. Just do it.”

"You are never going to feel like you know what you’re doing.”

“Put work out there, even if unfinished or tacky, even if it humiliates and embarrasses you to do so. Refinement is crucial, revision is crucial, but they’re worthless if done on a project that effectively remains invisible to all eyes save your own. Don’t spend years of your life contemplating the colour palette for an invisible portrait.”

“You have to love it. As long as you love it, someday it will make sense to someone else.”

Remember that nurturing yourself is part of the practice.

“You’re allowed to make mistakes. Try not to be too hard on yourself about it.”

“Tenacity will take you a long way, but don’t forget to keep nurturing your creative core.”

Thank you to everyone who replied and gave me permission to share their insights here!

Some final thoughts…

“I know that I didn’t come here to stay. I didn’t come to this Earth to stay any more than I came to London to stay. I’m in process, so I do the best I can all the time… I may weep and gnash my teeth and wring my hands. But I’m gone.” - Maya Angelou

I turn to the inimitable Maya Angelou for the kind of wisdom that feels timeless and present. As she alludes to, the great joy of a creative practice is that it keeps on moving, with your life. I am grateful not to stay in one place with it, and try to practice taking perspective - namely, zooming out of it, myself, and trying to see the bigger picture. Mine is just one little life of so many, and while time is a finite resource, what you get from engaging actively in the process or practice is a wonderful accumulation of knowledge, understanding and empathy. These qualities are not always clear things that you can point to, they are not formed with a hard edge, to be named “success” or “progress”. But they do add up, and soon enough, you have something you can think of as yours. It’s your practice, it’s your creativity, and you will look back on this moment and see something different, know more, and go on from there. Ultimately, we can only know things when we’re ready to know them.

So, to my younger self: I’m glad you kept going. It did get a lot better, and a lot more fun. I hope future me will say the same.

What would you tell your younger self about the creative process?

Until next time,

Be well.

CCx

Living the Questions is for writers and creatives in the long middle - not beginners, not masters, but somewhere in between. Each Saturday, I share a question I’m facing in the unpredictable creative journey. If you’re drawn to slow thinking, honest reflection, and a quieter kind of creative life, come and live the questions with me.

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