Finding Space to Grow What Matters

Sometimes the hardest part isn’t coming up with ideas. It’s giving them a place to grow.

This is the blankest slate I’ve had in front of me in a long time.

That might be a good thing. It’s also kind of terrifying. And if you’re a creative in any capacity, I suspect you’ve probably sat there in the same moment, looking at yourself and wondering… does the world really need me out here trying to add to the noise?

When all of that falls away (when it’s just you looking at yourself in the mirror) you’re forced to confront your creative self without any external identities to lean on. No characters. No titles. No guarantees.

It’s not a place I’m particularly comfortable sitting in. But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe there’s something to learn here, something I would have missed if I kept moving from one thing to the next.

Right now, it’s just my ideas. My thoughts.

The possibility of creativity itself.

And whether anything comes of it is entirely up to me.

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There’s something inherently communal about creativity, especially film and theatre. It’s exceedingly rare that anyone would ever be able to pull off all of the aspects that encompass bringing a creative project to life. And I think a lot of creators and artists tie their sense of worth to the projects, jobs, and roles they’re attached to.

It’s such a common thing to answer the age-old party question of “how are you” with a “good, and here’s what I’m working on.” And then begin to describe how good you are by way of how busy you are.

This is a toxic cycle I’ve internalized over the years. Busyness as a substitute for purpose.

Being busy isn’t bad. At least I hope not, because I tend to often be in a perpetual state of making myself busier than I can manage. But it’s often much easier to say yes to something as a means of not dealing with the looming internal question of… but what do I want to be doing with my life?

Truth be told, I don’t know how much space we ever give ourselves in the modern era to contemplate this question.

I am fully aware that the ability to contemplate the question itself comes from a unique place of privilege.

For most of the existence of being a human, survival was the driving force of every decision you made. Get meat. Don’t get eaten by a lion. Find shelter. Maybe make a cave painting if you’re feeling extra energetic after cooking a boar over the fire.

But now most of our biggest problems (relatively speaking) are solved.

Most of us have access to some kind of water and sustenance on a regular basis.

Most of us have some kind of structure for shelter.

Most of us have a magical rectangle in our pocket that allows us instantaneous connection to everything and everyone at all times. That, relatively speaking, solves like 95% of our primal, essential problems.

That last 5%, though, that is the space we now occupy.

And I sometimes wonder if the leftover 5% we have allotted for contemplation of purpose, meaning, expression, etc. has now had to take up a much larger space in our brain than it was ever programmed to.

That burning question of purpose and intent (and the lack of clarity on the subject) is the very reason we often commit to things, just so we no longer have to deal with the uncertainty of that void.

At least… I know I do.

It’s so much easier to say yes to someone than it is to spend the time with myself to contemplate and evaluate how I’m actually spending my time.

I recently did a pretty comprehensive overview of how I spend every hour of my week. All 168 of them.

The goal was to evaluate where I’m allocating my time and see where I’m wasting it, where I’m overcommitting, and where I can make space for the stuff I claim to care about. Creating, writing, developing.

I was shocked to see how much of the week I had committed to busyness, and how little time I had allocated towards contemplation, evaluation, and reflection.

I often made the mistake of thinking that the initial spark of a creative idea is the X factor in making something.

I now think differently.

It’s the space to cultivate that idea.

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One can pick up a packet of seeds that have all the potential in the world to grow into something new, but unless you actually spend time in the garden — preparing the soil, watering, feeding, and nourishing the seeds — they will simply be seeds in your pocket.

A representation of potential, but ultimately nothing more than an idea in your mind.

Preparing the garden to grow something is just as important as planting the seeds themselves.

Of course, there’s the elephant in the room.

I often love saying yes to new things.

I love joining projects and leaping into communal creativity.

That’s the whole reason I do what I do.

But when I’m being honest with myself, I have come to realize how I often use the ease of a yes to kick the can down the road of spending the hard, uncomfortable, difficult time of getting out into the garden and figuring out exactly what the heck I even want to grow.

I want to shift my mindset.

I want to embrace fully the privileges of being alive at this time in the history of humanity, where it is more possible than ever to create and bring the ideas to life that you want to make.

It’s not easy.

But it is possible.

And I want to honor that possibility by making space, tilling the ground, preparing the dirt, and figuring out what I even want to grow.

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I also recorded a brief video reflection that expands on some of the ideas shared here.

This space is where I reflect on creativity, storytelling, and what it really takes to build something that matters.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear where you’re at right now creatively.

More soon.

—Curt