Modeling Creativity—Part 2
Why adults quit
“Modeling Creativity” was written by John Vogel in conjunction with ParentSounds. We recommend reading it as one whole piece but have broken it into five parts due to length. Here are the other parts: Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5.
I’ve spent most of my adult life playing live music in underground and club settings and seen many friends quit playing music when their band didn’t make it big. I was also in one of them.
When I discuss with friends their feelings about not playing music, there’s a broad range of categories, and I’ll describe three different classifications in that spectrum to illustrate examples. I also discussed this with author Brad Schreiber during our TW interview.
1—Totally fine with it
For some people, the emotional ups and downs of pursuing their art can be too much to take. I’ve seen this mainly when people pushed extremely hard to make a career out of their art and/or have their personal value tied to their art’s perceived worth. Making art can be full of emotional fluctuations depending on how things are going, and if you don’t put some psychological distance between those variations and your own emotions, it can be too much.
As Chris Powell said in my cross-genre project Weird Music, “You just get used to the ups and downs of it; you get used to the really low lows that come along with the really high highs of touring.” I’ve had experiences of playing large shows and tours with appreciative audiences that were followed by dismal shows and tours with dismissive onlookers. If one ties their worth completely to the acceptance of their art, then those ups and downs can have an extremely negative impact on that person’s entire mental health. In these cases, I think that it can actually be helpful to stop playing music, and the cases in which I’ve seen this work best have been when those people pursued something related to art without necessarily creating it.
I’ve been pretty good about separating the acceptance and popularity of my work from my personal worth and emotional state—if I didn’t, I surely would have quit long ago. But I also totally struggle with this—and did as recently as yesterday, when I got into a funk about my generally low numbers and generated income.
2—Miss it
Often as time passes and one’s number of responsibilities increases, art just kinda falls by the wayside. Sometimes it’s something that person enjoyed while growing up but stopped when they reached or graduated college. Or maybe they were in a band that played for a while and then just couldn’t keep it going. I find that musical partnerships are related directly to the members’ personal relationships. Sometimes there’s a group that writes their strongest music when all the members are fighting, but more often, personal discord morphs into a band breakup.
When the external structure of where one used to make art is taken away (such as lessons, a large ensemble, a band, a writer’s workshop, a book group, or an art collective), it can be difficult to figure out how to maintain art on one’s own. Also, it’s common that as one ages, the number of their responsibilities rises (as mentioned above), and carving out the time becomes more difficult. Instagram or the television represent much more attractive distractions than writing or playing music when one is super stressed out from their daily tasks. These elements can contribute to feeling like there’s not enough time to do what’s needed to advance one’s art.
In my TW podcast with Amy Belfi, she talks about her own experience with giving up piano when confronted with the choice between a degree in performance and a degree in the sciences.
Regarding the people who belong to this group, I’ve never gotten the feeling that missing their art is affecting them on a deep, worrisome level. And I still see hope that they’ll be able to get back into it, at least recreationally, and find that joy again. A couple of major factors for me overcoming this obstacle have included trying to figure out how to create by myself and finding short periods of time to sit down to it.
3—Acute psychological distress
Brené Brown says in The Gifts of Imperfection, “Unused creativity doesn’t just disappear. It lives within us until it’s expressed, neglected to death, or suffocated by resentment and fear.”
When I talk with people in this category, the main thing that sticks out immediately is the number of complaints and excuses I hear. One major blockage is that there’s too much competition, and therefore, “How am I gonna get heard?” Another is that it takes too much work to get good. Or, “I just need to find someone to play with.”
Sometimes I’ve seen people make something after being in this state, become immediately discouraged again when that creation doesn’t get the reaction they’d hoped, and then quit. There’s a sense of hopelessness and anger in this state of mind that I’ve seen lead to addiction and self-destructiveness. Sometimes it can be straight up dangerous. I can’t say if there is always an underlying psychological condition contributing, if it’s the direct cause of stifling the creative urge, or if it’s an interconnected chicken-or-the-egg scenario.
Since it’s usually people close to me who approach me with these issues, I feel the need to be helpful and try to offer solutions. To be perfectly honest, I often don’t know what to say when in these situations. Part of me is just thinking in the background, “You’re never going to do it.” And another part of me wants to try to do what I can to address their blockages and usher them past it. I’ve seen people slowly come out of this and get back to making art, I’ve seen people simply move on with their daily lives, and I’ve seen folks enter a downward spiral.
The only points I can address in this situation are as follows: One should try to cultivate the ability to work on art without relying on other people, seek community where they believe their aesthetic is accepted without qualification and foster that connection, and let go of the idea of creating for the hope of popularity.
There’s a certain amount of delusion involved in this last piece because I don’t think anyone can ever fully let go of the desire for large-scale acceptance and renumeration. But if that’s a driving force, you’re never going to get there. If you listen to all episodes of the Open Mike Eagle podcast Secret Skin, a common thread throughout his interviews is gauging each artist’s satisfaction is about their own success metrics. No matter what level the artists are at, almost all of them wish their numbers were higher.
In Will Smith’s autobiography, he discusses an exchange he had with his business partner, James Lassiter, when the opening weekend statistics for I Am Legend came out. After declaring a record-breaking $77 million, the largest ever opening weekend gross, Will asked, “Why do you think we missed 80?”
I was trying to fill an internal emotional hole with external, material achievements. Ultimately, this kind of obsession is insatiable. The more you get, the more you want, all the time never quite scratching the itch. You end up with a mind consumed by what it doesn’t have and what it didn’t get, and in a spiraling inability to enjoy what it has.
I would suggest focusing on every single positive response you get. Cherish every single person who rocks with you and thank them for it. Show your appreciation. I’m reminded of the text on the spine of my VHS copy of Meeting People Is Easy:
Rejections are part of everyday life. Don’t let them bother you. Keep reaching out to others. When you begin to receive positive responses, then you are on the right track. It’s all a matter of numbers. Count the positive responses and forget about the rejections.
Go to Part 3.
And don’t forget to check out our Parenting Roundtable with , , and .
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