I don’t have a creative bone in my body!

I have no doubt I am not the only person to have uttered the phrase,

I don’t have a creative bone in my body – I can barely draw a stick figure!

At some point along the way, we make choices about what we are and what we are not and build an identity, piece by piece, around those beliefs. I think it starts early. I think some of it is inherent and much of it is learned (and taught). It’s often based on what you are ‘good at’. If you are good at maths in primary school or you can draw well or you can sing, these things are validated and you build them into your person. Or if you try something and you get laughed at or told, “don’t give up your day job” then it’s less and less likely you will continue to pursue that thing – even if it’s something that makes you really happy! By the time you are properly into adulthood, the identify you’ve created for yourself feels like solid, set cement. Even chipping away at the edges is tough, let alone taking a jackhammer to the whole slab and ripping it up. You might briefly ponder how some grass would look or maybe some flowers over in the corner of that concrete space, but the cement is just way too hard to remove, pretty much inevitable.

My identity was, and still is to a large extent, centered around practicality. I am logical, considered, even-tempered, certain, competent. I don’t like looking stupid. I don’t like being wrong. I don’t enjoy vulnerability. I was raised on a farm and that comes with a level of common sense and pragmatism. You are doing hands on, practical jobs from a young age. I know without a shadow of a doubt those skills and that way of being in the world is a big part of why I was successful in the corporate world. Practical thought patterns, teamed with the way of thinking a law degree provides and a solid work ethic are a powerful combination – especially when they are combined with empathy and the ability to engage authentically with people. This is borne out by a study done by Sydney University about the statistically significant representation of CEOs who were raised in rural environments. The article here quotes Patrick Houlihan, the CEO of Dulux Australia, who grew up in my part of the world and is the big brother of one of my high school and university mates, John.

But, if like me, you are toying with the ‘what else is out there’ question, all that pragmatism can really get in the way. Because you get bogged down in all the practical stuff like money and mortgages and expectation and fear of failure and it all just seems too hard. And for those of you with partners and families, there is a whole other level of consideration about the time and space you have for yourself within those relationships to even start to think about ‘what else’. All those things are understandable and some of them necessary considerations, but ultimately capable of keeping you locked in that cement forever if you don’t at least start chipping.

I’ve written previously about the course I was fortunate enough to attend with Adecco last year. My coach, René, one of the best humans I’ve ever been fortunate enough to meet, recommended a book to me called, The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. It say a LOT about this man that I actually bought it and read it! What possible relevance could that have to me? I am not, nor do I have any desire to be, an artist! But because I trust René implicitly, I put my doubts to one side and dove in. I had to suspend my cynical voice, because there was a bit of God talk and a ‘if you build it they will come’ vibe. But it was challenging also. It called out the cynicism and named it fear. Which of course gets right under the skin of someone who would rather poke fun than try something new and look like an idiot. It called that out too. Carrie Battan wrote a piece about in The New Yorker that does a good job of explaining this.

One of the exercises in the book has you commit to writing ‘morning pages’, 3 pages of longhand writing every day. Even if you fill them up with “I hate writing these pages”, you must write. Whilst I probably averaged 3-4 times a week, I did commit to that process for about three months. And the clarity came. It was via those writings that I eventually was able to silence the negative, unhelpful self-talk and then use the practical side of me to make a plan based on my new understanding of what action I needed to take. I had taken a sledge-hammer (still slow, not a jack-hammer) to the idea that I did not have a creative bone in my body. And once you start banging away at that set in concrete view of yourself, it’s pretty amazing how the possibility of a new identity presents itself. I like to write. I like to take photos. I used to act in plays. I love cooking. I might not ever be brilliant at any of these things, but I enjoy them! They are all expressions of and require creativity. It’s just not true to say, “I don’t have a creative bone in my body”.

The world loves to categorise. It’s so much simpler to be able to put labels on people and in many ways, it’s easier to live like that too. To just sink into your safe box, your primary role. I am a practical person. I am a mother. I am a single person. I am a care-giver. I am an artist. I am a giver. I am a husband. I am the bread winner. I am stupid. I am a words person. I am a numbers person. I am indispensable to my workplace, family, community in my current form and so can’t chip away at that. But, when you think about the people nearest and dearest to you, or yourself, surely there is much, much more than just that primary role? Why do we default to people, including ourselves, being just  one thing?

I met a lovely group of women from Colorado recently on a wine tour. We went our separate ways after the tour, but they saw me out the front of a restaurant a little while later. I ended up having a lovely lunch with them all. They told me they were driving past, looking for somewhere to eat lunch and stopped on the basis that “We knew you were someone who had their sh*t together, so we thought we would just follow you!”. It’s funny how your primary identity can be so ingrained that it’s even apparent to total strangers! And I don’t want to lose that part of me, it’s not about replacing it entirely, but I do want to keep chipping away at the edges. Maybe just make enough room for a little garden in the middle of all that concrete. Somewhere I can grow some new things. Trial and error is important in a garden, I know not everything I plant will flourish. But there is something to be said for creating some space to see what might take root.

Is there something you want to make room for?