The Seven Stages of a Creative Life
When you look back on your life until now and how creative it’s been, what do you notice?
I’ve been reflecting on that question lately, spurred by a landmark birthday and by reading the autobiography of co-founder and longtime drummer for the rock band Chicago, Danny Seraphine.
I’ve read scores of biographies and autobiographies of rock bands and rock stars over the past five years as research for my novels, and the same questions keep popping into my mind:
Why do so many people seem to lose their creativity in childhood and then reclaim it later in life—as I have done?
Why do rock stars (and other artists) follow a very different path? Why don’t they experience that same loss?
I would have answered these questions very differently 25 years ago, when I was a cocky graduate student taking courses in creativity and human development. Citing one reference after another, I would have spouted a thesis with a laughable and annoying facade of self-confidence and had no real clue what I was talking about. (Ah, the hubris and beauty of youth.)
Now, after a few more decades of observing, struggling in a profession, and grappling to live a more creative life, I feel able to offer the following reflective observations from my own experience and from my copious reading about rock stars, with no great degree of certainty and an eager openness to hear other points of view.
I suspect many of us are keen to understand this thing called creativity and how to live a more creative life, especially in the face of all these existential threats that call into question our purpose and meaning as individuals and as a species, and which appear to be challenging us to generate better understandings and approaches to things we’ve always taken for granted. Maybe instead of building a better mousetrap, it’s about conserving and reimagining what we already have.
So, herewith is a speedy tour through my proposed stages of a creative life. They’re informed a wee bit by research, but not much. They’re also presented as an orderly progression when in reality they’re messy and chaotic, with frequent regressing and doubling back, jumping ahead for some people (like rock stars), and, for many of us, cycling through multiple times as we try on different creative pursuits and personas.
Thoughts, reactions, counter-offers, better theories, and respectful heckling are all welcome. Here we go.
Stage 1 – The uninhibited creator
It usually takes a while after kids arrive on this planet to “get” the memo from the powers-that-be about all the creativity stuff:
“Listen, kid, you don’t know how to sing, dance, draw, paint, tell stories, whatever. Stick with walking and talking and tying your shoelaces until we teach you the right way to do this stuff. Otherwise, you’re going to be embarrassed or ashamed, and maybe even worse.”
Kids don’t “get” it because they’re too busy bopping along, learning stuff and being in the moment and testing the boundaries of this fascinating new world. Since they don’t know the hidden rules, they feel perfectly comfortable belting out their favorite song off-key at the top of their lungs, dancing like a fool in front of a room full of grown-ups, coloring outside the lines and getting paint everywhere in pursuit of their artistic vision, and making up stories to entertain themselves and get out of trouble. They have no qualms about “exhibition” of their creative outputs by themselves or others: of course their painting should go on the fridge, the wall, or in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
The funny thing is, maybe there should be kids’ paintings in all the major galleries of the world, because experts have rated the drawings of five-year-olds as being on a par with adult artists in terms of expression and other aesthetic dimensions. Kids are what we could call proper artists. Then they go to school and, sadly, for most, their ability to create in this way goes slip slidin’ away. (See stage 2.)
I myself managed to dwell in this all-too-short stage until age six. Below is the cover of a story I wrote in first grade, which my teacher called “one of the very best stories I ever read” and copied for the rest of the class. (That’s a rocket ship circling the earth with a continent that looks suspiciously like a gun.) It would be four decades before I attempted writing a creative piece like this again.
Stage 2 – Slip slidin’ away
Well, it seems Paul Simon and Pink Floyd hit it on the nose. You go to school and find your creative joy and prowess “slip slidin’ away” as you slowly but surely become “another brick in the wall.” Everyone does their best to “socialize” you so you can learn how to do things the way they should be done—in your particular country, place, and family. So many rules and facts to learn, so little time. The penalties for breaking the rules are made clear too, from a mild rebuke all the way to the other end of the spectrum, psychic, social, or physical death. The nursery rhymes, fairy tales, and kids’ TV programming leave you in no doubt, if what your parents, teachers, and other authority figures say doesn’t stick. The messages about what happens when you don’t comply are everywhere, and boy are they ridiculously dark and over-the-top.
Is it any wonder that most of us internalize how to be a “good boy or girl” and conform to expectations? In terms of those expert ratings cited in Stage 1 above, kids typically lose their ability to express themselves and generate aesthetic drawings by middle childhood, ages 8 to 11. Instead, they take the safe route of “re-creating” what they see or what others have done, the so-called “literal stage.” No one can accuse you of sticking out or doing something wrong if you do your best to mimic the traditional approach and produce the approved form and style of output. Indeed, your teachers grade you according to how well you stay “within the lines” and your parents reinforce the teachers’ assessments with praise or criticism of your “performance.” Yes, you are now a performing monkey. You have learned to go along to get along.
But, hold on, we have to talk about the kids who never manage to fit in, unable or unwilling to meet expectations—the kids who are “slow” or “deficient” in some way, the kids who rebel against authority, and the kids who keep doing their own thing no matter the reward or punishment. The interesting thing about rock stars is how many of them had so-called learning challenges and were labelled as trouble-makers in school, and how many of them said they were sure they’d be dead or in jail if they hadn’t found music. Just think of the loss to all of us—all that amazing music—if they hadn’t done so. I would argue that these rock stars were actually blessed, because they got to skip some stages and become a professional creator relatively early in life. Essentially, they got to be lifelong creators.
It’s also worth mentioning that many artists emerge from families in which someone (parent, relative, family friend) has provided powerful role modelling, mentoring, encouragement, and even financial support for becoming an artist. They grew up in an environment that gave them permission (tacit or explicit) to take this path in life—unlike the message in the broader culture.
As for myself, despite my teacher’s reaction to my “Willie goes around the would” story, my parents made it clear early on that they expected me to “do well in school” and go to college. Any less than a top grade was met with “You can do better,” repeated in the parent comment area on my report cards. I don’t recall any support to keep writing. (But don’t cry for me, my friend. Things change.)
For Pink Floyd’s no-punches-spared view of this stage, check out this video.
Stage 3 – Chasing the little “c”
If people aren’t able to withstand becoming just another brick in the wall, as I wasn’t, what do they do to keep their creative self alive? My hypothesis, based on looking back on my own life and the lives of many friends, family members, and colleagues, is that we get our creative kicks wherever we can get them without upsetting the social apple cart or jeopardizing our lifestyles. We learn to become creative in small, everyday ways—or what some creativity gurus have called “little c.”
This appears to take a myriad number of forms. I remember slaving over work memos and reports to imbue them with a certain savoir fair, becoming known as “the writer” and being given all of the big writing assignments. Others I’ve known have become masters at baking fancy cakes or cooking master chef-style meals for their families, sewing quilts for display at local shows, joining the church choir or community chorus, putting together a band that plays for fun, learning improv or stand-up comedy and doing gigs upstairs in the local pub, and similar avenues for staying in touch with their creative self.
I wager that this stage is where most of us spend the majority of our lives, doing what we can to bring an artistic touch and sensibility to our everyday tasks and infusing the mundane with something “more.” Maybe we want life to be a bit more beautiful, or a bit more interesting, or a bit more honest and true. In our own focused, everyday efforts, we find a way to do that. It seems a sane and honorable way to live a creative life when one lacks the ambition and/or means to pursue more.
In this stage also reside, I believe, those who make an art of the way they live their life. As the brilliant Peggy Lee sings below, if that’s all there is, then perhaps the sanest response is to just drink and dance and not worry about it all and live in the moment. (Because, as you’ll see, stage 7 is all about surrender anyway.)
Stage 4 - Pursuing the big “C”
In chasing the little “c” in everyday life, some people realize that they want or need more. They don’t want to “do” creativity; they want to “be” it. They want the creative impulse to be a major part of the way they live their life, not a small piece constrained to specific times and places.
This is the search-and-explore stage, when people are trying to figure out why life is not satisfying to them and searching for alternative options. They may decide to study creativity at graduate school, as I did, thinking that understanding creative people and the creative process will slam open the creative door. It does not, and is merely a distraction from the real work of being creative. Some will take courses like Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, grappling with figuring out what internal and external factors are standing in the way of their creativity. This can help, as it did for me, in throwing off the emotional shackles holding one back and giving one’s self permission to be creative. (If that piques your interest,
is doing an Artist’s Way book study.)
Sooner or later, however, in order to truly progress, someone in this stage must move past thinking about creativity and actually do it. For most, this involves learning how to do the creative pursuit that interests them through training or independent learning, finding passionate others (a community of enthusiasm and practice), and—finally—allowing themselves to engage in the actual doing of it. This stage can go on for years and years as they learn to get in touch with their creative self, stifle the critical voices telling them they’re not allowed, search for one or more artistic practices that light the fire within, and immerse themselves in learning and practicing how to do the chosen form.
Some may do what I did, which is muck about in this stage for a long time, trying on one pursuit after another and traveling quite a ways down the road of mastery with each one before deciding that “hey, this isn’t it.” I started with improv comedy, moved on to film-making and screenwriting, and finally found my home with fiction writing. It took flirting with various disciplines to find “the One,” the artistic practice to which I am willing to commit. Because, of course, Creativity is a demanding partner. Not a day goes by that I’m not attracted and repelled—truly obsessed—with it in one way or another.
Stage 5 – The pit of despair
Learning a new skill takes time and effort, and every creative pursuit I’ve experienced has required the mastery of a panoply of skills. For example, in writing fiction I’ve studied genre, theme, structure, plotting, voice, character, and dialogue, not to mention learning a variety of touted approaches for writing the next great American novel or churning out bestsellers. Understanding what you’re meant to do is only 10% of the battle, however; the other 90% (or more) is applying it and practicing it, and practicing it, and practicing it…for the rest of your life.
I don’t buy the “some people are born with natural talent” argument. If you study the greats in any field, they are obsessives about practicing and continuing to learn, and never feel that they have arrived at mastery of their craft. There is always something more to learn and someone else to learn from. What struck me about rock musicians is how eager they are to play with other musicians and learn new ways of playing from them, even when they already have a long successful career behind them (as Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones does when he plays with Chuck Berry in the short clip below —thanks to
for including it in his latest post).Likewise, the authors and screenwriters I admire are obsessed with craft and seek out the company of others to keep learning.
But…along with the excitement of learning something new comes the inevitable pit of despair as you become overwhelmed with just how much you have to learn. When you look “up” at the masters in your field, they appear to be standing at the top of a steep and daunting mountain that seems impossible to scale. Considering the distance you’ll have to cover and the equipment and effort necessary to cover it, you find yourself tempted to give up and open a bottle of ice cold brew. (Well, at least I am.) Is it really worth all the bother, you ask yourself? Is there a good movie on Netflix?
This is a stage when many give up and decide not to put in the so-theorized ten thousand hours of practice required to master their craft. I did that with improv, film-making, and screenwriting, none of them compelling enough to convince me to scale that mountain. But there is something about writing fiction that has kept me on the upward path for years, eager to keep learning and practicing and living this particular kind of creative life.
If only crawling out of the pit of despair meant being back on the upward path and set for the rest of your life. Beware, artistic one, because another mammoth obstacle is about to hit you upside the head.
Stage 6 – Imposter syndrome
Alas, you’re slogging along, breathing the fresh air and enjoying the view as you scale the mountain, when all of a sudden the Devil alights on your shoulder and tries to trick you away from the path yet again. (Perhaps he looks like an ordinary, perfectly reasonable, and jovial guy, like the devil below created on Deep Dream Generator.)
His voice is impossible to ignore as he uses the perfect tone and words to reach and persuade you:
“It’s not very good, is it? In fact, what you’re doing is total crap”
“Give up now before you become a laughingstock”
“You’re an imposter, a fake, a pretender, and everyone knows it”
“Why are you wasting people’s time and money?”
“You’re a deluded wannabe/dilettante/amateur”
“You’re a joke”
“Give up! Give up! Give up!”
I’ve interviewed many people in organizations and found that imposter syndrome is surprisingly common and goes all the way to the top. You are not alone. That grotesque and wily creature perches on everyone’s shoulder. He’s just the voice of all those bitter and unhappy and insecure people who gave you negative messages as a kid, and all those people in society who just have to rain on everyone else’s parade.
The question is, do you love the process of being creative? If you do, there’s a surprisingly easy fix for imposter syndrome. Listen to the Devil’s voice, even write down what he says, then thank him for caring enough about you to warn you, and tell him you’ll take it into consideration. Then continue on with your work. That’s all he really wanted anyway, to be heard.
Stage 7 – Reclaiming the creative self through surrender
If you’re one of those rock stars or other artists who found your passion early, I’m guessing you took a shortcut and arrived here in record time. (No pun intended.) The rest of us have had to claw our way through the jungle and up the mountain. Now we’re here, standing at the summit, marveling at the panorama and congratulating ourselves on making it here. We think we have reached our destination, the pinnacle of creative aspiration, and we could not be more wrong.
It is now that we have to do the most challenging and yet most exhilarating thing of all—jump off that mountain that we’ve just scaled—and trust that we can fly.
It’s the damndest thing, but being creative is about fearlessly letting go and allowing your unconscious/God/the universe/higher power take control. You hear it in many artists’ interviews—that it’s a mysterious process, that they don’t know where things come from, that “it” has come through them and used them as a receiver or a channel or a conduit, that they have been taken over by a force that feels bigger and wiser and greater than themselves.
As
argues in his book Music to Raise the Dead, it’s about mystery, majesty, and magic—the work as a pathway to transcendence, often revealed in the form of visions and dreams. It’s about saying “yes, and” (a great improv term and exercise) to ideas and inspirations as they come to us, because they will move on to more receptive quarters if we ignore them, as Elizabeth Gilbert argues in Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. At the very least, as Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi found, highly creative people are aficionados of what he termed the flow state: being “in the zone” and fully immersed in the creative experience.When you reach this stage, you have come full circle, back to the you at the beginning of your life, the creature who let go and trusted that you/people/the universe are enough and that what comes through you has some greater meaning and purpose, if not to enrich or enlighten, then at least to make someone laugh and feel better. Best of all, the burden of everything being about you and your performance and your pathetic ego disappears when you’re in that holy zone.
Ultimately, the greatest thing about the creative life is engaging in the process and allowing the real you, before all that socialization crap, to come out and play. There’s no question, when you do surrender fully to it, it does feel like jumping off a mountain and discovering that you can fly. I still have to deal with the Devil on my shoulder on a regular basis, and I’m still sidetracked from sharing my work by an overly active and perfectionistic ego, but I’ve personally known no better high than getting into the creative zone.
So listen to this remarkably inspiring performance by Aerosmith—playing with a full orchestra conducted by Michael Kamen—and dream on, kid. That’s all the universe really wants. For you to wholeheartedly engage with it through your humanly flawed and yet uniquely creative self.
And here are some frivolous but fun questions for discussion:
Do rock stars have all the fun, or is it just great PR?
Why does Keith Richards seem timeless?
Is creativity over-rated and we need more plumbers, accountants, and dentists?
Do you have imposter syndrome? Does your Devil have a name? What’s his best line?
Is Peggy Lee right— that’s all there is—or can you find nirvana on the artists’s way? Explain in 500 words or less.