Edition #2: the secret to a successful creative life

It's been difficult to know where to go with this first.

I'm mindful that what follows will set the tone for the future of this series. If you're dipping in for the first time, it might make or break whether you choose to subscribe, or add this to the long list of things on the internet you completely ignore. On a personal level, reaction to this — the first proper edition — will either boost or knock my confidence about whether it was a good idea or not.

No pressure then.

In last week's introduction, I mentioned that there were a couple of clippings that had genuinely changed my perspective on life. So let's not mess around: here's one of them.

I don't know Brian Wecht. I don't know who he is or what he does. I have no idea if he's a snowboarder, particle physicist or nurse. Having finally deleted Twitter — sorry, X — off my phone a couple of months ago, I'm not going to check.

His medical qualifications aside, these 17 words have had a profound impact on how I've approached my life and career ever since. It's a flippant and contradictory remark, and yet... there's something in it.

I don't imagine Brian expected his tweet was to be critically analysed like a GCSE English assignment years later. But here we are.

I have no real interest in debating what makes a life or career successful. My definition of that will vary to yours, and I'm long past the exhausting rat race of comparison.

But the notion of a creative life is intriguing. To me, it's suggestive of making, exploring, building, furthering. I take a fairly humanist view that this is what life's all about; creating gives life meaning, it adds value to the world. On a personal level, it makes you interesting.

And I absolutely believe that to be creative — to put your head above the parapet and do something beyond what's already there — you have to care. After all, in almost all cases it's simply easier to just not create and instead consume the creations of others. Creating is hard, it's subjective, it's often thankless, and it's always easy to judge. Gotta 'ave yer critics. To go the effort anyway means, to some extent at least, you must care.

The same is broadly true in a workplace context. The scope of your creativity here might be a little more bounded, and involve a lot more PowerPoint, but similar principles apply: you can walk the path that others define, or you can stick your neck out and create your own energy, ideas and solutions.

You can spot a mile off which side of the line others fall on. It's pretty easy to identify those who care deeply about what they do: more often than not, they're passionate, infectious and interesting. To be able to care deeply about your work is an enormous privilege, and one we should all aspire to where we're lucky enough to be in a position to do so.

But here's the bad news: caring deeply is not enough. It's not a silver bullet to doing well or being happy. In fact, it's often harder to do your job when you care deeply about it, because the stakes are higher — it matters to you. You care what people think of what you create. You want to them to like it, agree with it, use it or support it. You want it to be the best it can be.

In a large organisation, that tends to mean caring about doing things the 'right' way. Navigating the views and opinions of others to reach a consensus. Getting the right approvals. Worrying about not stepping on toes. Inviting feedback. Making changes. Starting again.

All of which is ostensibly good. But gradually the noise builds, and the hurdles compound. You're tied in knots will well-meaning feedback. Any hope of momentum is dashed by the weeks-long cycle of governance committees. And there's always someone who relishes in gleefully surfacing problem after problem.

It's no use caring deeply about something if it causes you to get so mired in the details of making it perfect, or hung up about what other people might think, that it never actually sees the light of day.

I've had my fair share of this, particularly in the early part of my career. This was my chance to prove myself, to show everyone that I could own something and make it perfect — because that's how you get recognised. So I cared deeply, and was hyper-sensitive to the input and feedback of others.

But it was all too easy to be patronised or railroaded. And before I knew it, that thing I cared deeply about wasn't of 'strategic importance' any more. It was taking too long to deliver. It wasn't delivering enough value.

And I realised that you don't get recognised by delivering something perfect. You get recognised for actually delivering something.

So how do you combine caring deeply about your work while actually getting stuff done? You need to simultaneously not give a fuck.

We all know people who just DGAF. They can seem to do very well — assertive, great at delivery, no nonsense. But they're a nightmare, they do terrible work and they cause havoc because they don't care deeply about what they do. Don't be these people.

Not giving a fuck in this context is not about doing sloppy work, or going behind anyone's back, or wilfully ignoring guardrails.

It's about being smart with what you let get in your way.

I've had the idea for something resembling this newsletter for the past year or so. And for almost all of that time, I didn't do anything. What's the point? It's cringe. It was simply easier to take comfort in catastrophising and not do anything. And I've had to remind myself: so what? Why not? I wasn't being smart about the things I was letting stop me, and that was getting in the way of creating something.

There is of course a fine balance to be struck here.

You still need to care deeply about what you do — the impact it'll have, the value it'll bring, the way you work with others to deliver it. You still have to be open to the views and perspectives of others.

But after a certain point, you've just got to draw the line and do stuff. It'll never be perfect. You won't make everyone happy. This won't be the only thing you do. So save the energy worrying about it, deliver it, and care deeply about the next thing instead.