How I thought I wasn’t creative
I was a visual art major in high school, yet now, I know little about art and sculpture. If you ask me to draw something now, I’d tell you that I’d rather shove a hole through a window pane with my head.
Since then, I just dismissed myself as someone who just ‘wasn’t born’ with a creative mind and a raw talent. And in extension, I just never thought of myself as someone who’d create things.
Apparently, I’m just one of many people who went to art school just to get out loathing the very idea of creating art. How did I know this wasn’t just an artist’s block? Because I was never an artist in the first place. I majored in visual arts because my sister was in the same program and I didn’t really care not to—it was more by default. Making art has always felt like something I needed to be good at (school politics mixed with art for a pubescent girl was too demoralizing), as opposed to something my heart screamed to do. It took me a while to come to terms with the fact that I spent 3 years being a visual arts major just to sit pathetically in front of a canvas with no other reason than this false sense of duty to create something that looks good.
It was horrendous, but I’ve grieved about it already.
A couple of years later, COVID happened. One thing led to another, and I was questioning school, its purpose, my purpose in it, and subsequently, everything I believed about myself and the default world I’m living in. I had a gap year, and then Tiktok convinced me to start reading books. All of which at this time were all fiction (contemporary and fantasy), and from these books, I’d cling to the worlds between these pages for dear life. I’d rather live there than in real life, you see. So I read and read. Like an addict. Of course, this wasn’t sustainable. It pissed me off every time to come back to my own world and it made me more depressed, yes, but also angrier at the world. Why can’t these kinds of people, in this world, with this environment exist? (I was becoming cynical). If there are writers who can fathom this kind of environment with these people, then surely it exists in real life. (But also philosophical).
As I clung to fiction, I was also inevitably sucked into the world of non-fiction. (There was a time, during the early stages of my book-reading life, when I swore I could never endure through reading non-fiction, but here we were). These books, too, introduced me to new, better worlds—new mindsets and systems, cultures and ways of living. Alas, I’ve discovered a web of possibilities. There’s hope. Perhaps I’m not so trapped in my world, after all.
So I clung to knowledge. And promptly became the most neurotic person I’ve ever met (perhaps I just haven’t met enough people but who knows).
The more I knew, the more maddened at the world I became. “Do people realize that the world they’re born in doesn’t have to be the world they have to live in for the rest of their lives?” I thought a lot.
I was just sick of my environment, really. And for someone who knows there’s a world out there where people are doing crazy, risky things while living a life not evolved around perfecting a resumé exists, every living day being faced with my reality, my world, was just endlessly maddening. The world I wanted just feels impossible. But I know, intellectually, that it’s very probable because it exists right now, somewhere out there.
So perhaps the meaning of my godsdamned life is being a part of that world.
A few months later: perhaps being the person whose decisions will lead to that life, that world, is the meaning of my life. Or perhaps I should make it myself.
Then the tricky, depressing part comes: but how?
The answer: create things.
What I thought creativity was and what it actually is
Creativity? Ah, yes. You mean that artist who stays up all night, painting just because she can’t seem to stop? Or that writer who’s been hunched over her proverbial typewriter, and finished a whole book after locking herself up in a room for a week straight? But I’m neither of those and I’m not interested in music enough to do other than listen to it, either.
I tried sitting in front of a canvas and sketchpad too. My heart wasn’t singing a song only I could hear. No, it was bored to tears and sort of wallowing in self-loathing.
I gave up: “I just wasn’t born an artist, you know? I just don’t have it in me.”
Fast forward to my bookworm self, at this time I just kept consuming books—fiction. Stories with flawed characters and impossible odds. Then I’d have anticipations about the stories, expectations that may or may not have been met; imaginary banters/interactions between me (or my alter ego, really) and a character I find intriguing at that time.
The more I consumed stories, the higher my “standards” became. In other words, the more I read stories, the more I cultivated my (very) personal taste in stories. Then, I’d realize that I have a glaring fondness when it comes to particularly flawed characters. Anti-heroes, villains, maddened characters—they intrigue me. Sometimes I wish I had this person as my best friend, sometimes I wish I was them, and sometimes it’s both. Characters intrigue me and over time, I notice how my most favored characters have influenced me. I interact with them more than the people around me, after all.
‘You are, in fact, a mashup of what you choose to let into your life. You are the sum of your influences. The German writer Goethe said, “We are shaped and fashioned by what we love.”’ –Austin Kleon, Steal Like an Artist
Sometimes I’d emulate them. Other times, I’d summon them to take over in a situation in my life that I knew they’d deal with better than I. Subconsciously, or not, I do these. I’d get inside their heads, and at best, they’d teach me something new and better about the world I’m living in. At worst, I’d lost a little of myself. But over the years, I’ve improved at using only the qualities that benefitted me.
Reading the book Steal Like an Artist, I realized this was creativity.
I stole the characteristics I wanted to have from these characters to strengthen, cultivate, and better myself.
It was slightly morbid and pretentious until I read this quote:
‘So: Copy your heroes. Examine where you fall short. What’s in there that makes you different? That’s what you should amplify and transform into your own work.’ –Austin Kleon, Steal Like an Artist
“It is our failure to become our perceived ideal that ultimately defines us and makes us unique.” –Conan O’Brien (requote from Steal Like an Artist)
And that’s what I did.
While I stole my favorite characters’ quirks and mannerisms and habits from fiction, I also stole mindsets and systems from non-fiction. Some stuck, some didn’t; and I always ask why—why did I fall short?
So this has become my personal development modus operandi. It wasn’t about me aspiring to be peaceful and content, it was about the satisfaction of my emotional and mental journey. Stealing minds, trying them for myself, and seeing if it’ll stick.
Sometimes I cross the line of not listening to myself enough, following my own advice and just stopping looking for what else could be lacking, and at these times, I remind myself that what I lack is my strength—the one who knows what and what not to choose. The one who holds the cards.
I can be whatever I want to be, as long I know I truly want it.
So what was stopping me?
Ambition has a debt, and I am impoverished. I want too much, too soon. When I stopped going to school against my biological family’s wishes and overcame the judgement and disappointment, I was emboldened. I never thought I could ever transcend the shackles of my family’s expectations and yet here I was. I was invigorated—what else can I do? What else was possible? Visually anything.
Anything was possible and I was losing my mind. Perhaps I can study linguistics and be a polyglot, or philosophy, or both. While also studying business and finance so I wouldn’t be an overeducated slave to capitalism. If anything is possible, then I have so much to do.
A few months later, I still question what to do. Or what do I really want. And of course, I clung to knowledge again. I read self-help books and finance books and even tried studying philosophy. ‘This was why I couldn’t achieve something tangible,’ I thought. ‘because I don’t know enough. I’m not educated enough. I don’t know a discipline in-depth enough. I know too little of everything.’ I needed limitations–not more studying, more theories–to make something.
“Nothing is more paralyzing than the idea of limitless possibilities. The idea that you can do anything is absolutely terrifying.” –Austin Kleon, Steal Like an Artist
School didn’t teach me to fail. Which is a shame because failure is the best learning tool, I learned during my gap year. School punished me for mistakes, so I did too. School insisted that I must know everything before doing something, so I will avoid failure. (Yes, yes. School is to blame, but I’m still responsible.)
School tried teaching me the impossible—perfection—no wonder I always felt hopelessly inadequate there.
It took me a while to really come to terms with the fact that if I want to be a creator, failure is a must. Because creators try a hundred different things, fail; do all kinds of stuff, fail; experiment a lot, fail a lot. Creators do more, fail more–fail better.
‘Don’t wait until you know who you are to get started.’ –Austin Kleon
School didn’t teach me to play and to experiment. It told me what to think, not how to think.
But good news for me, I don’t have to—in fact, I shouldn’t—wait before I figure myself out to make something.
So here I am, writing a blog about my chaotic yet uneventful life. Writing this, it doesn’t feel sufficient. I have to remind myself several times that I won’t be great at this, not the first few times (putting limits to de-paralyze myself). But I’ll write and I’ll do, because that’s what creators do, and I don’t want to let my fear of failure stop me from learning because I want to grow and I suppose that means letting life be, letting go of my attachment to the outcome, and just being vulnerable as I grow my tolerance for failure.
Also, I try not to hoard my ideas and gatekeep them because I think they’re half-assed and someone could steal them away before I could do anything worthy of them…
“Don’t worry about people stealing your ideas. If your ideas are any good, you’ll have to ram them down people’s throats.”—Howard Aiken (a requote from Steal Like an Artist)
‘Share your dots, but don’t connect them.’ –Austin Kleon
Prospects in my life where I get creative even when I’m not an ‘artist’
- I have a penchant for passionate, maddened anti-heroes who speak their minds, and thought it would be amusing to meet someone like that in real life. Because of this, I don’t deduce myself into a composed, dispassionate, and reserved being. (‘Deduced’ because I realize I’m just not better off unexpressive.)
- The default life, consisting of a degree and a decent-paying job with savings for retirement and preparation for marriage and children didn’t seem sufficient for me. I wanted more and searched for more, then I discovered the world of lifestyle design where it’s normal for people to be all over the world, seeing the places they want, doing the hobbies they want, whenever they want. This was one hell of a discovery for me because this was an idea at the back of my mind that I didn’t dare acknowledge. So I steal the methods of people with an unconventional lifestyle that resonate with me.
- Having a fixed and rigid system when learning a language is automatically the worst system. So I experiment; I watch cartoons, listen to songs, read lyrics, talk to myself and check for mistakes then translate that, write even when half of the words are in English, et cetera. As long as I’m consistent, and am having fun, my new language cognitive functions always connect at the end
- I have a fascination for words and sometimes, when I read and encounter a well-written phrase, I wonder how can’t I just write like this and feel uncreative—then remember that I can just steal those phrases (or quote them) and that this is how a diction is made, not from scratch.
(there are more where these came from)
Some actions I take
- I keep a swipe file (a place where I put pieces of art, fashion style, or quotes or whatever so I can open it when I need some inspiration)
- I write myself a list of limitations when I’m itching to make something but can’t
- When I discover someone (usually a self-improvement author) with a system of living I want, I steal it and try it for myself
- I’m starting a blog
- I keep a log book and write the above-mundane things that happened in a day because Austin Kleon said, “The small details will help you remember the big details.” And I want to remember as much as I can
- I write on paper (analog), not a laptop or phone (digital) when I feel uninspired to write
- I have a calendar on my wall that I draw Xs on if I complete my (only) mission-critical task of the day. This is to remind me of my priority if I feel like I have to do everything all at once (among other things) because as a rule, I keep my priority singular.
So…?
Creativity and stealing stuff (reference from Steal Like an Artist), I believe, aren’t only for people who want to create something tangible like a painting, music, sculpture, novel, or even a business. I use it for my personality building, nurturing my own fashion style, personal and mental development, lifestyle design, improvement of interpersonal relationships, and more.
I think creativity is looking at your life and finding it in yourself to realize something you want out of it. I think it’s for those who are at least a little mad at the world and want to have something real of their own.
I think creativity is for people who want different from what they already have.
the boring stuff 