creativity takes practice

discipline comes first, the magic comes next

Creativity can be many things. And there are many ways it can find us.

It’s much easier to surrender to the idea that creativity is this fleeting thing that appears to only “the worthy”, like some divine spirit visiting those who have been chosen for the grand expressive act. It allows us to skate by without ever having to take accountability for the reasons our innate curiosity has dried up. Combine that with the narrative modern society loves to hand us— creativity is frivolous, unintelligent, for the poor starving artist or for the children— and you’ve got an entire generation of gifts lost to the uninspired.

But creativity is not reserved for the select few, and though it often feels like this ephemeral thing that comes and goes, I know better than to cling to that theory. I’ve lost many years of my life to the wrong creative theories. I wonder how much artwork has never been created due to the competitiveness of our own egos. I know now there is only one way to be in-tandem with my flow.

Inspiration only finds me working. There is no other way.

My grandfather was a professional fly fisherman. All throughout my life, each time I would visit or drive by the house, he was standing out in the yard, casting and throwing. He would do this for hours a day. Sometimes if I was curious enough, he’d even let me cast. He'd show me the proper way to throw the line without getting it tangled, my little limbs finding more steadiness each round. Family members and friends would joke about how insane it looked for him to be standing in the middle of the grass, fishing. For everyone to stare at.

I remember once asking him as a child, “Grandpa why are you trying to fish in the grass? Don’t you need to go into the water for that?”

“Ohh, It’s not always about the fish honey!” He replied, just barely glancing away from his practice to wink at me.

I understand him so much more now. The devotion to his craft, and more importantly, the practice of that craft, is what kept his creative nature flowing. Even as he just passed away last year, my memory will always envision him fly fishing out in the grass— quiet, calm, and so simple. What an honor it must be to be remembered for your devotion to something you loved so much.

The practice of choosing creativity, over and over and over, must exist above all things to continue making any kind of art: poetry, writing, painting, music, even fly fishing. In our outcome-based culture, discipline to the creative entity of play and flow will forever be side-eyed. Isn’t there something more productive or outcome based you should be doing? As an adult, I often think about how my family joked around my “crazy” fly-fishing grandfather and his quirky personality and grass fishing practices. Sometimes, to choose the thing we love over and over again- over the rest— it’s difficult for others to relate to that choice. That’s okay. We keep practicing. We stand out in the grass, unbothered by what anyone else thinks of us, because we are honing in on the flow that lights us up. We are better for it. We make better work because of it.

Sometimes our conditioning allows us to believe that doing the thing we love most, like a creative act, will always feel warm, buzzy and inspiring. But within the structure of creativity and critical thinking, comfort is rarely the baseline. The tension of letting go of who you think you have to be and who you are within that process will humble you. It checks you. It will change you and force you to face the most painful parts of yourself. It generates that change and change can be painful. But it can also feel really, really damn good.

On the days when it does not feel really good, we begin to make excuses for our creativity. We say things like “I’m not in a good enough mood to paint today” or “I’ll start again next week when I’m in a better headspace”. We stop getting out on the lawn to practice for the sake of practicing. We expect all of our trials and errors to be created by some mystical feeling of joy, brilliance and freedom. Our ego doesn’t like the idea that creativity is only found through consistent practice. It wants to believe that if we are truly a brilliant artist, it will come naturally without any struggle, tension or rehearsal. The ego prevents so many of us from going back to the work.

Curiosity is the best suitor for this kind of resistance. In yoga, we often get curious by saying “isn’t that interesting?” when a restraint, sensation or block comes up during the practice or meditation. There is no good or bad organization of thought, only interest in the why. If we can remain curious during our most resistant creative blocks, we know our practice will see it through. We begin to peel back the layers, bit by bit.

When I show up to the studio each day, 80% of those days, I’m not sure I want to paint. I don’t know what to paint, I don’t know how to problem solve the concepts I have in my head, I’m against deadlines and against the Imposter Syndrome that’s brewed in my head overnight. Everything is always lingering, even if it’s gotten quieter the longer I practice. Once I force myself to pick up a brush or pastel or pencil, I engage in that practice. I know better than to attach myself to the notion that creative acts will always feel drug-high levels of bliss. I’ve stopped forcing my art to always be this place of dopamine. It’s unfair pressure that isn’t based in reality. It keeps our dopamine addicted brains searching elsewhere, and abandoning ship. We need to learn to stay with it just a bit longer.

If I only went to the studio when I felt like it, I would rarely be in the studio. If I only painted when I felt inspired to paint, more than half of my life’s work would not exist. Neither would the millions of incredible moments I found in flow where I was able to meet the truthiest version of myself, time and time again.

Practice keeps us tethered to what we love, and more importantly, the uncovering of that truest form of self. Without inquiry paired with that practice of discipline, creativity does not exist. Resistance would win each time.

When the work isn’t there yet, we continue showing up. For more revealing, more synchronicity, more bravery, more play, more experimentation, more understanding. We cast out on the lawn even when there aren’t any fish. We don’t worry what others have to say about. We don’t even worry what our own minds have to say about it.

We cast and we cast and we cast and we cast— knowing that somewhere along the way, we will be back out in the water again, where the outcome and ability of catching fish will be back at the forefront. Until then, we remain humbly out on the lawn each day—proud and eager for all of the time we spent honoring the build up to that flow. Because catching those fish is about so much more than the perfect cast, or the line we tie, or having the perfect rod.

It’s a combination of all of those techniques, understandings, and surrender to a process much bigger than us— fly fishing is an art.

And in becoming an artist, we honor the sometimes unglamorous practice of spending 80% of our time in the dried-up grass…. knowing our magnificent, rushing and awe-inspiring river will be next up, just around the bend.

Dedicated to my gramps and the soul of fly fishing x