In the content world, quantity seems to be everything. For musicians, hustle gurus tell us that we should be writing at least a song a day if we care about our music career. For journalists, Ryan Holiday has an entire book (“Trust Me I’m Lying”, it’s good!) about how bloggers won’t be able to eat if they aren’t pushing out ten pieces a day. It’s something we all feel and dread, but we’re told by both the algorithm and the content politicians who “mentor” us that practice will make perfect. Being forced to churn out creative goop to feed the masses will make us better musicians, filmmakers, and writers. Do you buy that?
Music is about storytelling, as is most art. We often focus on how to tell a story, but were we ever taught how to acquire new ones? Some of us are good at turning our experiences into rich, interesting content for others to enjoy, but often that comes at a cost. Impostor syndrome kicks in when an artist feels like they’re unable to re-create their magnum opus. For others, writer’s block plagues the mind and leaves the author opening and closing the refrigerator door of ideas, satisfied by nothing and hoping something delicious appears. Creatives can tell you a story, and perhaps they can tell you two, but what happens when they run out?
For short-form content like a daily beat or morning blog post, it’s very easy to make a block in the schedule and just do something. This is good for a while and it not only makes us stronger creatives in whatever field we are in, but it also teaches us discipline. After 10 or 20 pieces, however, we feel drained. We shoot darts in so many directions that now we’ve come to a halt. Instead of writing something new during our two-hour time block, we tinker. We redesign our website or manage our BeatStars profile. We go through the analytics to see what kind of content is performing best. We take a break because we need one.
This is a common burnout but it doesn’t have to become a pattern. Instead try mandating doing nothing, rather than keeping busy. Embrace stillness. Stillness of the mind, in the form of a vacation from the thing that we love to do, is a healthy practice. It’s understood in the creative world that distance (often in the form of friction) generates the best ideas. That’s why a lot of us have our best ideas in the shower when we’re completely unable to act on anything that we’re thinking. We chant our ideas over and over in our head, praying we don’t forget them because distance has done us a favor. Distance is refreshing.
When we’re away from our desk, when we’re away from the repetition, the slog, the grind, we can experience new things. We can learn new stories. Then we can tell them.
I make a daily habit out of producing music. My one trick is I treat my writing the same way I treat going to the gym. I have rest days, and when I’m injured, rest weeks. When I’m working on a new project I spend a month going hard, dedicating five days a week to writing about one singular topic. I’ll write songs in various keys, try out new genres, and emote with all my favorite chord progressions, but I always keep the central idea consistent. I push myself to stretch that idea 20 ways and then I stop. I take everything that I’ve written and I archive it. Next, I give myself a two-week break and during that time I review my work, but I make it a point to not add, subtract, or edit, and I certainly don’t write anymore.
Instead, I consume other media. I consume media from my favorite artists. I read books, I engage in online communities, and I have fun with my girlfriend. I hang out with my band members and I live. Often I feel. I feel new things, old things, or feelings I never thought would come back. Then, when my review period is complete, I highlight the work I’m the proudest of and ship it out to where it needs to go. It is time for something new.
It can feel weird designating days or weeks to not do your favorite thing. It can make you feel like you’re wasting time, or like you’re losing out on a lot of great ideas or money. It was especially frustrating for me when I spent so much time building the daily habit just to intentionally break it for a few weeks to “unnecessarily rest” when I felt like I could’ve kept going a little longer.
And yet, the energy I felt when I came back to my office brought confidence back to my fingertips. I was focused, my direction was clear, and most importantly I had grown.
Distance gave me back my voice before the call-for-more could take it away. I had new stories I was ready to tell.
You’re reading one of them.