If you’re like me, when you read or see or hear a work of heartbreaking mastery, you feel suddenly driven to create something awesome.
I don’t know where the sensation resides, but it’s a physical force within. When I was seventeen, it manifested itself in a sudden urge to play my guitar. I had to do it. Now!
But sometimes that drive is ruined as the demand to create something important, meaningful, lasting, and stunning takes over.
The editor in your head is unsatisfiable. “How does this compare to Macbeth or Mozart’s Symphony #40?” it asks in that irritating way that tells you what the answer is.
If the standard is perfection or nothing, then you have an easy choice in front of you. You can save yourself a lot of heartache and just go fire up your Netflix queue.
Because the moment you demand your creation be a masterpiece is the moment you prevent it from becoming one.
You can’t decide to be a genius any more than you can decided to pick yourself up off the floor by pulling on your hair.
The brain doesn’t invent a masterpiece, then create it.
The brain invents it by creating it.