Creativity Is Not What You Think It Is

Often times in my life I have found people staring, gobsmacked, at a simple idea I have come up with and begun executing in my spare time. This is not because my idea was groundbreaking, nor because my execution of it was beyond the limits of mere creative mortals, but rather it is usually because they saw me doing the exact same thing with a wildly different idea last week. The fact that I finished that one and am now onto the next is for some odd reason, a foreign concept to them. This slack jawed observation is usually followed by a question that is rather curiously formed as a statement, because they assume they already know the answer. Of course as is true in most of life; they don't. The statement invariably goes something like this:

"Wow, you must have been born with that creativity huh."

I never respond exactly the same way. No my response is measured by the length and the awe of the wow, and then checked against it's counter point: the huh. The wow when long and breathy indicates genuine inspiration and often secret desire to have been born the same way, the huh tagged on at the end however is used to shrug off the matter all together in much the same way I would look at superman and say,

"Oh you must be so proud of how strong you are huh."

Because he shouldn't be proud of his strength it was given to him like a young millionaire was given a billion dollar trust fund which they then promptly squandered. Both of these statements are wrong however, not because of the wow, nor the huh, but because of the bit in the middle.

You must have been born with it.

No. I was born the same way you were; screaming and crying with nothing on my mind but milk and excrement, often at the same time. To be frank I was a mess. But I don't hold it against myself because you were too. No, my creativity did not come bounding from my infant mind like a gazelle in a trampoline park. At the tender age of 2 I was not reciting the Iliad alongside my own observations to spice up the dry bits. I was crying, and learning to walk, and more realistically, learning to fall without any grace whatsoever. The point here being that the only thing I was born with was a penchant for ill timed projectile vomit, not creative genius.

But here I am today, with creativity as a daily part of my life, and my filled journals overflowing a heavy duty tub in my parents basement storage. If I wasn't born with it, how did this happen? At what cross roads did I shake hands and walk away with a mind, pregnant with worlds to breath life into. What special lamp did I rub only to spend all three wishes on a triple portion of the same request, since I clearly didn't ask for wealth. Down what aisle did I find the self help book that made it all possible with five easy payments? Who gave me this creativity? The answer is, of course, no one. Because creativity is not a puckish fairy waiting to bop you on the head with a brilliant idea as you consider the plight of the masses. Creativity is a choice. Not a maiden to be won, nor a muse in the forest, ever illusive. It is a choice, then it is a practice, and finally it is a habit.

Hold in your mind for a moment, the image of an architect. His golden haired lover lives lonely, far across a treacherous river. He longs to be with her as a flower does the sun filled day. So, ever so dutifully, he waits. He waits for the perfect bridge to build itself that he might cross the river and be reunited with his ever faithful darling. Soon enough some time passes and surprisingly, no such bridge appears. However, downstream a carpenter, who has also heard of the beautiful maiden waiting just beyond the torrential rapids, begin to build a raft. Days go by and the architect is left watching as the carpenter fords the channel on his third attempt. Upon reaching the other side he proposes to the elated girl and the architect is left permanently alone. To console himself the architect remarks into the breeze drifting by, which coincidentally wouldn't listen to him even if it had ears:

"Oh well, he must have been born with the ability to make things float."

The architect is clearly a fool, and yet so often we do the very same thing with our creativity. Waiting diligently for the illustrious idea fairy to come and strike us on the head. And we will keep waiting until we are left with yellowed teeth, a barren scalp, and an empty journal. Instead we must treat creativity as a choice. A decision is made to create, in the same way one thinks, that just maybe they would like to eat something today, but only those who get up and start cooking will fend off starvation. So too we must begin creating, regardless of whether or not an idea has struck us righteously upside the head. The ideas come with practice, and they come quicker and quicker still with diligence. Creativity is not a dark art only to be whispered of when the mood is right and the moon is full. It is plain and simple and a muscle which withers away without consistent exercise. Do not wait to be reborn with better creative genes in the next life. Rather, put on your colloquial thinking cap and get to it regardless of the jeans you wear. Because if all architects acted as so-called "creatives" do; we would get everywhere by boat.