Lielā burvība. Drosme dzīvot radoši

Мы должны отважиться на восторг, – писал он. – Мы должны набраться упрямства, чтобы быть счастливыми в беспощадном горниле мира сего

Please understand that the only reason I can speak so authoritatively about fear is that I know it so intimately. I know every inch of fear, from head to toe. I’ve been a frightened person my entire life. I was born terrified. I’m not exaggerating; you can ask anyone in my family, and they’ll confirm that, yes, I was an exceptionally freaked-out child. My earliest memories are of fear, as are pretty much all the memories that come after my earliest memories.

I live in a most remarkable world, thick with mysteries. It all called to mind the British physicist Sir Arthur Eddington’s memorable explanation of how the universe works: “Something unknown is doing we don’t know what.”
But the best part is: I don’t need to know what.

All of which is to say: You do not need a permission slip from the principal’s office to live a creative life.
Or if you do worry that you need a permission slip—THERE, I just gave it to you.

It comes from a place of Hey, why not?
Because it’s all just temporary.

you will never be able to create anything interesting out of your life if you don’t believe that you’re entitled to at least try. Creative entitlement doesn’t mean behaving like a princess, or acting as though the world owes you anything whatsoever. No, creative entitlement simply means believing that you are allowed to be here, and that—merely by being here—you are allowed to have a voice and a vision of your own.

Defending yourself as a creative person begins by defining yourself. It begins when you declare your intent. Stand up tall and say it aloud, whatever it is:
I’m a writer.
I’m a singer.
I’m an actor.
I’m a gardener.
I’m a dancer.
I’m an inventor.
I’m a photographer.
I’m a chef.
I’m a designer.
I am this, and I am that, and I am also this other thing, too!
I don’t yet know exactly what I am, but I’m curious enough to go find out!

Your art not only doesn’t have to be original, in other words; it also doesn’t have to be important.

It’s a simple and generous rule of life that whatever you practice, you will improve at. For instance: If I had spent my twenties playing basketball every single day, or making pastry dough every single day, or studying auto mechanics every single day, I’d probably be pretty good at foul shots and croissants and transmissions by now.

The most important benefit of my years of disciplined, solitary work was that I began to recognize the emotional patterns of creativity—or, rather, I began to recognize my patterns. I could see that there were psychological cycles to my own creative process, and that those cycles were always pretty much the same.