Develop a bias
for action

Imagine a house. Nestled into a mountain, high above the cloud line. From where you’re standing there’s no way for you to see it. You can only imagine it. But the vision fascinates you. Everything you’ve ever wanted is in that house. You feel it’s where you belong.

Before you lies a myriad pathways. Some lead up, some lead down. Some have signs, some are unmarked. There is no way for you to know which one leads directly to the house. So you wait. You wait for others to show you the way. You wait for clear weather. You pack and repack and repack your bag, hoping you’ll have everything you might need along the way.

But still you wait.

As the days, weeks and months roll by, the image of the house starts to fade. You don’t feel as strongly about making the journey anymore. There are other things that demand your attention, boxes to tick, errands to run, inboxes to empty. You’re just so busy now, and besides, it was just a silly dream.

One day, you forget about the house altogether. All the feelings that came with it are no longer with you.

That is, until you unexpectedly meet someone who has just returned from the mountain. Someone who tells you about their house. Someone who looks different, sounds different, feels different.

Something deep in you stirs. A resonant vibration that is as disorienting as it is delicious. The vision comes back. You’ve been given another chance. Will you take it?

You want to heed the call but there’s so many unanswered questions. What if you choose the wrong path, take the wrong turn, get lost along the way? What if you end up further away from where you were originally planning to go? What if you never make it or never make it back?

You turn to the stranger, grab them by the arm and say, ‘You gotta tell me which path should I take?’ They smile, put their hand on your shoulder and whisper, ‘My friend, I can’t help you with that. All I can tell you is to just start walking …’

‘… the way will reveal the way.’

I’m sure you have dreams of your own metaphorical house. Audacious aspirations of a faraway destination. A bold creative project, a daring career move. A deep impulse to make something that asks you to trade the safety of what you know for the danger of what you don’t.

But so often you get stopped before you even get started. Overwhelmed by the options. Paralysed by the possibilities. Instead of getting stuck into the difficult work ahead, you settle for what’s convenient, grow attached to what’s comfortable, accept that what you have is good enough for now.

What we misunderstand most about making is that the map we think we need is only ever revealed by making it. The clarity we seek never arrives; it is created. And that the only way to know if a hunch is worth taking, or a dream is worth making, is to make it.

What it means to make

In the context of an Everyday Creative, ‘making’ is not limited to physical objects or artefacts. Not restricted to performances or commercial projects. You can make a moment. Make a relationship. Make a career. But to do so requires a shift in your being.

A maker has a bias for action. An addiction to participation. An obsession with the process of creation.

Their vision for a particular outcome might propel them to pick up their tools. But it’s their love of playing and rearranging, mixing and switching, combining and realigning raw materials that keeps them going.

Making, by its very nature, is about movement. It’s dynamic and responsive, flexible and adaptive, fluid and open to change. To make is to be resourceful and regenerative. To use whatever is available to you to build something new. In essence, it’s the natural expression of our unique human potential and breathes new energy into our work and life.

So why do we find it so bloody hard?

F.E.A.R.

Yes, fear. Did you really think we’d get through an entire book on creativity without talking about fear?

Neuroscientists call it the amygdala, Seth Godin calls it The Lizard Brain, Steven Pressfield calls it The Resistance. You might simply call it writer’s block. Whatever you call it personally, its effects are the same.

It stops us.

From taking the first step, from putting pen to paper, from making the call or booking the venue. Though its intent is noble (to keep us safe), ironically, fear has blood on its hands. Killing our dreams, suffocating our desires, murdering the promise of our muse.

So much has already been written about fear. Susan Jeffers ordered us to ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’. Suzy Kassem reminded us that ‘doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will’, and Franklin D. Roosevelt told us ‘the only thing to fear is fear itself’.

Until we develop neurological implants to numb its effects, fear is just a part of being human. A biological response to any real or perceived threats. And nothing is more threatening than making. Why?

Ideas are powerful. They have the potential to change minds, topple governments, disrupt entire industries. But an idea is still just an idea. Without action, nothing happens.

But when we make, we are changing the nature of reality. Making the abstract concrete. Confining all potentialities to a one-way street. The process of making is to hold infinity in one hand and specificity in the other. Of course this feels unsettling.

As the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard wrote in 1844, ‘the inevitable result of passing over from a state of possibility into one of actuality is a sense of anxiety’. In this intermediate state, fear is both natural and necessary. But for reasons that go well beyond a generic platitude on an Instagram meme.

When we make, we’re signing our name to something tangible that can be weighed and measured. We’re not just declaring an intent; we’re delivering an outcome. We’re creating something real that leaves us open to the judgement of others.

And that’s terrifying.

What if what we make turns out to be not so great? What if what we do closes more doors than it opens? What if we get stuck with something we don’t want or the world doesn’t like? What will they say about us?

Beyond our fear of judgement, of being deemed unworthy or unlovable, what we really fear is being responsible. Accountable to what we’ve made and what our making will make of us.

Take procreation. The idea of having kids is one thing. The reality is another thing entirely. When that sperm hits that egg it sets off a chain of events that you cannot anticipate. And once that baby’s born there’s no going back, no undo button, no control-alt-delete.¹

You’re accountable for your actions and responsible for the outcomes that are a result of them.

Think about it like this. Before you make anything, your mind is weighing up this equation:

• If I choose to make this idea, I will almost certainly change the reality I currently exist in.
• I can’t predict the precise outcome of my creative process but the odds are it won’t be anything like I had originally intended.
• And no matter happens, I am responsible for whatever I bring into this world. I must sign my name on the bottom of the page and own the effects and impact of what I made.

Heavy. It makes sense that we’d hesitate, research, analyse and procrastinate. It’s perfectly normal to think that the best course of action would be to make a plan of action before we take any action.

If we’re going to play with that scenario, we need a guarantee. Especially when the stakes are high or when money is tight (i.e. pretty much every day in the office). If we have to own the outcome we’ve got to give ourselves the best shot at success by mitigating as much of the risk as possible.

Or do we …

The risks of mitigating risk

A pre-determined plan, a considered approach, a thoroughly researched strategy ... Surely they’re all assets when it comes to taking calculated risks? Any rational, reasonable person can see that it’s foolish to move forward on any project without a clear idea of where you’re going!

Maybe. But it can also be a danger when we try too hard to make it safe to make.

Miss the moment

Life moves fast. Business moves even faster. There are windows of opportunity. Seasons of suitability. Fleeting moments when the conditions for an idea are ‘just right’. If you don’t act the chances are the market will move. The budget gets cut. A colleague takes leave. With every change in circumstances the original possibility becomes harder until it’s nearly impossible to make.

Cast your mind back to a time when you were part of a great team or had a brilliant boss, or could see an exciting opportunity before anyone else. Did you throw yourself into the moment? Did you get started before you knew how to finish? Did you jump in the deep end without knowing the depth?

Or did you hesitate, choosing to gather more information? To wait for buy-in, or approval, or for the conditions to be a little more favourable?

What happened when you dived in? What happened when you didn’t?

Dilute the dream

Another risk of mitigating risk is that you end up diluting the dream. You rework the numbers. Rehash the desired outcome. Reposition the anticipated results until you end up with something far more reasonable and far more achievable. By lowering the bar, you tell yourself there’s a higher probability of success.

The problem is, your bold, beautiful vision starts to look awfully like what you’ve already got. With all the slashing and rehashing your idea starts to feel painfully familiar.

Over time it gets harder to stay inspired by its potential. You become less motivated to see it through, and ultimately underwhelmed by the final result. You end up with a project so tame and so lame that even if it is delivered as it was designed (and it never is), it doesn’t make any significant difference. You end up with work you’re neither proud of nor inspired by.

Just another day at the office.

Embody the enemy

But the real threat of trying to smooth out all the bumps, prepare for every pitfall and alleviate all the risk is that you wind up embracing the things you used to resist. You get comfortable being comfortable. You settle for the safety of the status quo.

Pretty soon, you’re the one asking to see the ROI. You’re the one who ‘just isn’t sure if it’s a good time right now’. You’re the one who suggests to the team, ‘we should probably test that idea first. In a smaller market. With no real budget or support.’²

Consider this. No one was born boring. No one had dreams of being a buzz-kill. It happens slowly, subtly and insidiously. Little compromises, tiny retreats, seemingly innocuous excuses. If you don’t find the courage to make, chances are you’ll wake up one day behind enemy lines. Dressed just like your adversary and sounding exactly the same as the detractors you used to rally against.

The antidote

Here’s the reality. You will not know if your ideas are any good until you bring them to life. You will never know what you’re truly capable of until you jump in the ring. You will not enjoy the life and career you desire and deserve until you make it.

I’m going to give you a collection of ways to start, continue and finish what you want to make. But all of them are underpinned by one core idea: action. Finding the courage to make is about developing a bias for action.

You have to get in the habit of raising your hand before you have a question. You’ve got to sign your name at the bottom of an empty page, and then fill it, with reckless, relentless abandon. You might feel like an imposter, unqualified or unprepared, but that’s exactly as you should feel.

In the words of the great David Bowie,

If you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you’re capable ... [when] your feet aren’t quite touching the bottom you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.

Fill the space, fast!

The simplest strategy to start making is … wait for it …

To make something. (#facepalm)

Seriously. Just do something.³ Anything. A splash of paint on the canvas. A single word on the page. Move one solitary chair onto the stage. But do it quickly. It’s vital to make the length of time between when you get an idea and when you feel compelled to make as short as possible.

Why?

• Fear loves time. The more it has, the better it gets at refining its message.
• Blank space is debilitating. When starting, too much possibility can be lethal.

In 2006, Barry Schwartz published a book called The Paradox of Choice. He built his ideas on surprising research that emerged in 2000, and brought concept of analysis paralysis into the mainstream.

When you have all these choices, you have an enormous problem gathering all the information to decide which is the right one. You start looking over your shoulder, thinking that if you’d made a different choice, you’d have done better. So there’s regret, which makes you less satisfied with what you have chosen, whether or not there’s good reason to have regrets. It’s easy to imagine there was a better option, even if there wasn’t really, because you can’t possibly examine all of them.

The paradox of choice lurks behind every blank page. And every extra minute spent reflecting on possibilities weakens your impulse to make. So just start. By doing anything, fast.

Book a gig. Pay in full.

Building on this idea, another effective way to start making is to engineer a scenario that you can’t back out of. If you want to host an event, pick a date, book a venue and pay the invoice in full. You want to leverage a potential loss in cash or reputation by putting skin in the game.

When I think back on all the bands I’ve been in, the ones that started because of a gig (that is, I’d already booked a show before I had organised a band) were way more successful than those that started with a vague idea or starry-eyed intention.

Knowing I had very little time to find musicians, rehearse a few songs and perform on a specific date was a powerful motivator. Again, cash, reputation and pride were on the line.

The bands that started as an idea rarely got off the ground. We’d spend months in rehearsals, writing and rewriting songs, getting hung up on band names or bios. Without the urgency of a gig or the thrill of a live performance, we’d inevitably lose interest. All that potential, all that work, wasted.

This is another way of saying, deadlines are lifelines.

Don’t be afraid to overcommit, to agree to something that makes no sense, to architect a set of circumstances that force you to show up whether you’re ready or not. Because at the very least, you will have started.

Keep it close

Once you’re up and running, the battle is far from over. Maintaining your momentum is essential if you’re going to keep yourself making.

James Clear, author of the international bestseller Atomic Habits, writes, ‘motivation is overrated; environment matters more’. What he means is, when we’re trying to build a new habit (like becoming a maker), we need to redesign our environment to trigger our desired behaviour. We need to make it easy.

For example, if you want to exercise more, putting your gym clothes next to the bed at night is a good idea. Sleeping in your running shoes is even better. If you want to keep making, you need to keep it close. Visible and within arm’s reach as much as possible.

I’m a piano player by trade, but I’ve always had a desire to play classical guitar. In the past, I’d wait for times when no-one was at home to practise. I’d pull my acoustic out of its case and get an hour or so to myself to work on my technique.

Because those moments were so few and far between, I’d spend the first half an hour frustrated, trying to regain where I left off a week, month or year ago. It wasn’t until I decided to keep it out of its case that I started making progress.

Leaving my guitar in the living room, lying on the couch, always within eyesight and arm’s reach meant that my goal of developing my guitar skills was always present. I found myself playing every day. I picked it up when I walked past, when I sat down, when I was waiting for the kettle to boil. As a result, I improved my technical ability, increased my enjoyment of playing and even boosted my personal pride by knowing I was working toward my goal.

Whatever project you’re working on (even if that project is you and your own creative recovery), keep it close. Keep it out of its case and always somewhere within reach. You want to see it, feel it and touch it every single day.

There are no wrong notes

There aren’t a whole lot of straight lines on the path to everyday creativity. Inevitably, as you start to make you’ll encounter an endless array of mishaps. Even the best of us can be derailed by a mix-up or a mistake. So what should you do when you find yourself face to face with a failure or a full-tilt f@#k up?

Herbie Hancock is one of the greatest musicians of all time. He’s spent the better part of 60 years mastering and innovating music. He tells a story about playing with the great Miles Davis that I try to work into every keynote I deliver. I think it’s one of the greatest approaches to creativity and life I’ve ever heard. It captures the essence of jazz and offers a powerful mindset to embrace when in the madness of making. As Herbie said,

… we were playing ‘So what’ … and I played the wrong chord. It sounded like a big mistake … Miles paused for a second then played some notes that made my chord right … Since he didn’t hear it as a mistake, he felt it was his responsibility to find something that fit.

To not hear, see or feel mistakes as mistakes takes profound discipline. Not the discipline we naturally think of when we hear that word. It’s not ruling with an iron fist, it requires no furrowed brow. It’s the discipline to accept what is. To soften, open and embrace. Whatever emerges isn’t just okay. It’s exactly what was supposed to be.

Where Miles really shows us the value and power of making is when he ‘felt it was his responsibility to find something that fit’. He didn’t get mad at Herbie.

He didn’t write a passive aggressive email, bitch about him later that night to his wife and avoid him for three weeks. He took responsibility for it. He paused, shifted his approach and made Herbie’s chord sound right. He turned a mistake into a melody. Be like Miles, and infuse any faults or failures into the final product.

Done is better than perfect

The only thing more important than starting and continuing is finishing. Without finishing there’s a high probability you’ll get stuck in the mud of your making. Relentlessly revising your work until it’s unrecognisable from the original. Second-guessing your choices and justifying another delayed deadline. This is precisely where the peril of perfectionism rears its ironically ugly head.

An Everyday Creative knows that it’s vital to commit to the close. To find the courage to put down the tools, call last drinks and hit send.

The author Anne Lamott said it well in her book on writing, Bird by Bird,

Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.

Man, I love that. Especially the part about people who appear to care less about what they’re creating (compared to us) yet they seem to have 20 times more fun. Their indifference to ‘getting it right’ liberates them from the clutches of perfection and enables them to just get on with it. To make something else. To be reckless and relentless with their work.

While reflecting on how I get to done and researching how others get to done, I came across a blog post appropriately titled ‘The Cult of Done Manifesto’.

It was written back in 2009 by two authors (Bre Pettis and Kio Stark) who had recently started dating. They were lying in bed one morning, talking about the negative effects of perfectionism and sharing strategies they both used to overcome it, when they decided to put their thoughts to paper. To write and share a manifesto that anyone could use to help get their work done.

The best part: they gave themselves just 20 minutes to write it before they posted it online.⁵

What I love most about their manifesto is that it’s not perfect. Some of the sentences are a little ambiguous. Some don’t quite make sense. But it’s done. They wrote it in 20 minutes, posted it online and here we are talking about it over a decade later.

Enjoy.

Begin again, again

Best-selling novelist and creativity advocate Neil Gaiman says, ‘You have to finish things — that’s what you learn from, you learn by finishing things.’ What he means is, until you stop, get a little distance between you and your work, you’re still in it. You can’t view it objectively. You’re still thinking about how to improve that particular thing as opposed to reflecting on what you can take from that experience and apply to your next project.

The key here is to have another project that demands your attention. You need to have something else that you need to start working on and, until you finish this one, you can’t start that one.

Personally, I like to tell myself my fifth book will be the bestseller. And the only way to get to the fifth, is to write and finish the second, third and fourth. I can’t tell you how many times I applied this mindset to writing the book you’re reading right now. Honestly, the only way I managed to finish this thing was by telling myself that the next one will be better. And the one after that will be better still.

How can you apply this approach to your work?

What is the project you’d love to do later? The big, bold, brilliant one. The one that requires a bunch of skills, talents and experience you don’t quite possess just yet. Skills and experience you’ll probably attain through the project you’re working on right now. Well, hurry up and finish this one, so you can get to the next one. And the one after that, and the one after that!

A final thought

To make is gutsy. You move from the grandstand into the game, from side of stage into the spotlight. From dreaming and scheming to actively re-creating the world around you. Of all the four practices, making is by far the most difficult.

And here’s the brutal, beautiful truth. You were never invited to play. You don’t belong on that stage. And you are nowhere near ready. You never will be. No-one is. The magic of making is reserved for those who are brave enough to say yes, to take the mic and start to sing.

Everyday Creatives don’t often seek permission and rarely wait for approval. They don’t have precise plans, nor do they execute them perfectly. Their only focus is on playing the first note. And the note after that. For them the process is the outcome, the joy is in the journey.

You will never know if your ideas are any good until you bring them to life. You will never know what you’re truly capable of until you put some skin in the game. You will never enjoy the career and life you desire and deserve until you start making it.