Creative lessons I learned at 27

Reflecting on a year of growth over confetti cake and freshly blown-out candles.

I love birthdays. I’ll be upfront about the fact that a lot of that has to do with Milk Bar confetti cake and getting to be a little bossy about everything my pals and I do for a day, but beyond that, I love the milestones birthdays offer and the opportunities for reflection they provide. While I know a lot of people spend their birthdays ruminating on the less-than-savory moments from the past year (or from throughout their lives), I’m fortunate to default to the opposite approach. What incredible things have I experienced over the past year? What am I excited to experience or accomplish within the next?

If you’re reading this the same day it’s published, I’m currently in Joshua Tree, California enjoying a few days of reading, writing, hot tub soaking, and (of course) birthday cake eating under the Mojave Desert sun. It’s the third birthday weekend in a row I’ve been lucky to celebrate in Joshua Tree, and the second I’ve used at least partially as a creative retreat. I’m undoubtedly journaling about the desert wildlife I just spotted or working on my novella, which is set in the very desert I’m in.

But I’ve prepared this issue of Creativity Under Capitalism in advance, because I thought it’d be fun to share a few creative lessons I’ve learned over the past year. It can be extremely rewarding to ponder how much we’ve grown over a given period of time, and at age 27, I think I learned a lot more about creativity and about myself as a creative than I’ve learned over most other years. I hope some of what I’ve gleaned will resonate with you, or at least inspire you to appreciate how much you’ve grown since your last birthday!

Maintaining a creative habit really does make creating easier.

Ugh. No one wants to believe this, including me. But ever since I committed to writing with a group of [absolutely lovely] other writers every Monday evening, writing has become so much easier to just sit down and do. I suspect this is because my memory—both in regards to my works-in-progress and my own muscle memory—does a lot of the heavy lifting, allowing me to jump into a project without really having to grease the wheels first. As a result, sitting down to write is a lot easier, and creative ideas come to me more frequently now than they did before.

Discipline matters more than finding the right vibe.

I used to be incapable of writing in my own home. I just couldn’t find my imagination there, and as a result, I went to coffee shops every time I wanted to work on a creative project. While COVID-19 forced me to shift my priorities and find a way to be creatively productive at my own desk, I’ve historically insisted on a change in atmosphere to set the mood.

But what about those moments at the airport, when an idea strikes but a baby is screaming and an employee is begging some guy to board his Southwest flight before the door closes? Or the time we do pay $8 for a latte at a favorite cafe, only for a group of college boys to play an unthinkably loud game of chess just a couple tables away? (Don’t ask me how chess can be loud; the youth have found a way.) We can do everything in our power to set the right vibe, only for the powers that be to throw a curveball our way. In those cases, only discipline can save us.

What’s obvious to you might not yet be obvious to other people.

Though applicable to any realm of life, I’ve noticed this most often in the creative world. Having already experienced things like rejection, self-sabotage, and tough-to-swallow feedback, I sometimes catch myself being impatient with those who are experiencing those things (and learning how to respond to them) for the first time. But everyone is on their own journey of discovery, as this very post proves, and we owe it to ourselves and to one another to maintain a nonjudgmental, good faith outlook toward that discovery whenever possible. Inevitably, we’ll find the roles reversed, and we’ll hope someone more experienced than ourselves will be there to hold our hands through confusing or challenging times.

You can make art about the same topic or theme as many times as you want.

In the past, I’ve been intimidated by the thought of tackling themes that mean a lot to me through my writing. I’ve worried that I won’t do that theme justice, effectively wasting my one (1) opportunity to “use” that theme. I’m not sure where I got the idea that themes and topics are disposable, but thankfully, they’re not. They contain multitudes, and that makes them endlessly reusable. I will probably write a zillion works about my difficult relationship with my dad, and I will probably continue to set every fictional work I ever create in the desert. Those works will still contain their own nuances that make their flavors different and interesting.

The world can make art about the same topic or theme as many times as its creatives want.

Like many people, my heart sinks when I find out that a published book sounds a lot like my work-in-progress, or that someone else’s newsletter touches on similar themes to my own. There’s a sense of, What more could I add to the conversation? and Well, I guess the market is saturated. But even given the same exact characters, setting, and plot points, two people cannot write the same story; their own values and experiences get in the way. Our unique perspectives make our creations unique, and as a result, we will always have more to add to the conversation than what currently exists. We owe it to that conversation—and to ourselves—to finish our creations anyway.

What’s been inspiring me lately:

✰ This sweet, nameless man on Instagram who shares what he’s grateful for every single day. I love that he expands my awareness of the little things we often take for granted, like garbage cans, ceiling fans, and window screens.

✰ The Mojave Desert Land Trust, a nonprofit organization in southern California aimed at preserving desert ecosystems. Following the desert tortoise’s shift to “endangered” status last month, the MDLT is taking a leading role in conserving the reptile’s habitat while educating Mojave desert visitors about safe tourist practices. This isn’t an ad or anything—the Mojave is just my favorite desert next to the Sonoran, so the MDLT’s work means a lot to me, and I’m always inspired by those who choose to act instead of submitting to despair.

✰ The concept of one’s “window of tolerance,” which I first learned from my therapist. I’ve been training myself to think about my window of tolerance whenever I find myself irritable or underwhelmed; usually there’s something keeping my window a little too small, or I discover I have the opportunity to better fill my window. It’s a nice way to check up on my emotional needs.