Monday, 25 April 2016
How to get out of a creative rut
Don't sweat. Your art matters, and yet it doesn't. Crashing waves will still spit at the shore, and the colossal sun will still rise, and bewitching stars will tease the night. The world isn't waiting for your word. Know that. You are less prone to insanity than you think.
Put your pen down. Fill your hands with a good book. Arouse your own curiosity through the curious thoughts of others. Read, read, read. Move. Shake. Sweat. Life looks better through the lens of endorphins. Ask somebody a question you've never asked them. Find out who they are: their sense of purpose, the rowdy reflections that stir them at 4am. Watch how their face lights up as they talk about that one thing they love. Wide eyes and boundless enthusiasm. The passion of others often holds a gleaming mirror to your own.
Get out: of your front door, of your hometown, of the country, if you can. Escape the four walls that haunt you. Rummage through a flea market: stories, stories, stories, just sat there, waiting to be retold. Switch off. Look up at beautiful skies: wispy clouds, a raging sunset, the mad scattering of stars and darkness. Surrender to it: the perpetual beauty of the fucking extraordinary earth around you: sedated and spectacular all at once. Nothing rejuvenates quite like it. Set your alarm for sunrise and enjoy the soothing stillness of the world. Rest. Breathe. Be. Just be.
Do something that weaves knots of giddy apprehension into your stomach. Make space. Let go of somebody who demands more when you give your best. Let go. Of toxicity. Of your need for grand, external validation. Of that niggling doubt that's nestled its way into the good of your heart to whisper, menacingly, that your good is not good enough. It is. You are.
Change your bedsheets: fresh sheets, fresh perspective. Surround yourself with vibrant, beautiful smelling flowers and people who make laughter explode from the pit of your stomach. Cook a meal from scratch: the art of making something else breeds desire to make more. To make the thing that brings you home to yourself. Listen to your favourite song: the one that stirs your soul or tickles the hairs on the back of your neck.
Pick the pen up. Scribble. Write through it. Write about it. Scrawl a hundred words you don't give a shit about, if that's what it takes to make the ink flow. Trust in your subconsciousness, in yourself. Every idea you ever needed is in there somewhere. Trust in it, whatever your it may be. It's yours, always.