Shut down the voice telling you not to create or dream

A script for 6 common Qs that shut down hopes and dreams; repeat aloud while in the shower, gardening or mowing your law this summer

Fishers of dreams. Art by J.E. Serait

It’s summer. You have a chance to slow down a bit. And when you’re sitting by the pool, are on a hike, or in a place of rest, your mind turns to the deeper things.

The dream you caught but haven’t reeled in yet. Creative ideas that slowly surface like bubbles from the deep.

Ideas for life-giving trips or hobbies or opportunities shake loose and come to mind now that your mind isn’t so focused on the busy day-to-day.

And just as you start to imagine pursuing the dream or venturing toward a long-imagined goal, you pop those bubbles as soon as they surface. You cut the line so the big catch can swim away.

You’re conflicted but relieved.

Do you ever experience this? (Or is it just me).

How silly of me to think I would try my hand or heart at {name your thing}, you say to yourself, quietly.

There is a voice that tells us we’re fools to try. It’s so tempting to turtle in the midst of the creative or ideation process and listen to it. Questions emerge—quickly—that threaten to disqualify or sabotage creative ideas.

Shut down the voice telling you not to create or dream in 6 easy steps

This post is for anyone who wants to attempt something new but is encountered with a feeling of self doubt, timidity, loathing, criticism or uncertainty.

Read the script aloud to yourself if and whenever the diminishing voice starts to shut you down.

Ahem:

1. Who do you think you are?

Nobody, actually. That, ultimately is the thrill! Unlike Pinocchio, I have not been touched by the Blue Fairy’s wand, and so am not a certified {fill in the blank: writer, business guru, filmmaker, theologian, millionaire, TikTok influencer, choreographer, etc}.

However, I am a living, breathing soul. And, I’m a sinner saved by grace. So, my failings and shortcomings, however obvious or remarkable, are perpetually put under erasure by a gracious God. This unmerited favour, as a result, empowers me to do cool things, even hard things, and also frees me up to serve God and others without fear every day.

At times, this gives me a certain boldness to venture out, try new things {reference one of your own past efforts, however small or big}, take risks and get excited and passionate. It also pushes me out of my comfort zone to share the results. And, also, to not take myself so seriously.

Surfacing. Art by J.E. Serait.

2. Shouldn’t you take yourself more seriously?

Yes! And, well, no {read #3 below out loud next}. Cultivating and stewarding a life is a serious enterprise {see the Parable of the Ten Talents}.

Annie Dillard famously writes that:

There is always an enormous temptation in all of life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for itsy-bitsy years on end. It is so self-conscious, so apparently moral, simply to step aside from the gaps where the creeks and winds pour down, saying, I never merited this grace, quite rightly, and then to sulk along the rest of your days on the edge of rage. I won’t have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright. We are making hay when we should be making whoopee; we are raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain, or Lazarus.¹

I take the above quote to mean that we often don’t take life, and our ability to make an impact, seriously enough.

3. Shouldn’t you take yourself less seriously?

Yes! And, I guess, no {re-read #2 above as needed}.

As a creative person and dreamer, it’s easy to get absorbed in my own world, stuck in my own head, fixated on an idea that becomes so important and consuming that I untether from the rest of reality. This is both a key part of the creative process, required for output. It’s also a wormhole that, if I don’t leave, could transport me into a world where I take myself too seriously.

To state it in something other than the language of science fiction I will defer to G.K. Chesterton’s advice to have the right view of myself, which I repeat right now for the world to hear:

How much larger your life would be if your self could become smaller in it; if you could really look at other men with common curiosity and pleasure; if you could see them walking as they are in their sunny selfishness and their virile indifference! You would begin to be interested in them, because they were not interested in you. You would break out of this tiny and tawdry theatre in which your own little plot is always being played, and you would find yourself under a freer sky, in a street full of splendid strangers.²

By taking everyone else un/seriously, my goal is to take myself more un/seriously.

4. Oh, so you’re saying you’re a 10-Talent individual? Isn’t that a bit much?

Well, the jury’s out there. While I wasn’t necessarily commenting on my own personal giftedness by referencing the famous passage of scripture (so famous even Wikipedia has a page about it), it is worth noting that if, like me, you were born in Canada, have access to electricity, healthcare, education, opportunity, clean water, make more than $2.15 a day, and, if the society where you live protects your rights to worship, protest, vote, speak, love, etc., then you belong to a segment of people in the world who have been entrusted with much.

As a result, much is expected or required of me to ensure this incomplete list of privileges or “talents” are not buried, wasted or despised, but are instead leveraged and multiplied for the benefit of others.

If you mean anything else by talent, for instance, a particular skill set, then I consider myself a triple threat: I write decent sentences, can make a delicious omelette and trill like a bird when I whistle. {Modify the list to fit your life; list more than three things if desired}.

5. Do you think any of your efforts will even make a difference?

This question cuts right to the heart of it all, so I thank you for levelling it at me so directly. I ask this myself. A lot.

Said differently, I think the question you’re really getting at is: Does any of it matter? {Here you can fill in the blank with your efforts to address poverty, injustice, despair, discrimination, etc. or the time you spend to develop your craft, talent, hobby, interest, etc.}.

While there are a few philosophical places the question can take us, upon reflection, I would say:

A) Yes, it does matter. All of it. This is more of an existential response. Because what I do with my time matters. My life is my time and so spending that resource well is significant. If, in the final estimate, time spent is wasteful, self-focused or indulgent and does not move my creative mind or others forward in truth, joy, hope, meaning, purpose or justice (to name a few ideals), then that shortcoming is worth reflection upon and adjustment.

B) It doesn’t matter. In the sense that certain outputs (what I produce with my time, whether a widget, a body of work in a particular field of thought or practice, a service) are meant as gifts to the self, in order to develop the self in some way. In this sense, what is done is not what is important so much that something is done with my time and my ability.

Reel and unreal dreams. Art by J.E. Serait.

Notes on how to use the above script

• Read it silently or out loud; the more awkward or silly you feel at the thought of doing so, the louder it should be read.

• Note: can be adapted as new, recurring questions arise.

• For immediate use, especially as doubts or negative self talk emerge.

• Share with friends and family who encounter self-doubt, loathing, insecurity around creativity and dreaming.

Post-script

I’d love to hear what questions you encounter as you sit down (or stand up) to create. Drop me a note in the comments!

1. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (1974).  Perennial Classics: New York, 1998, p. 274-76.

2. Orthodoxy (1908).  Colorado Springs: WaterBrook Press, 2001, p. 20.