The Practice: Shipping Creative Work

Writers write. Runners run. Establish your identity by doing your work.

The only choice we have is to begin. And the only place to begin is where we are. Simply begin. But begin.

The magic of the creative process is that there is no magic. Start where you are. Don't stop.

It’s insulting to call a professional talented. She’s skilled, first and foremost. Many people have talent, but only a few care enough to show up fully, to earn their skill. Skill is rarer than talent. Skill is earned. Skill is available to anyone who cares enough.

As Susan Kare, designer of the original Mac interface, said, “You can’t really decide to paint a masterpiece. You just have to think hard, work hard, and try to make a painting that you care about. Then, if you’re lucky, your work will find an audience for whom it’s meaningful.

Your work is too important to be left to how you feel today.

Before you are a “bestselling author,” you’re an author, and authors write. Before you are an “acclaimed entrepreneur,” you’re simply someone who is building something.

The same is true for learning. True learning (as opposed to education) is a voluntary experience that requires tension and discomfort (the persistent feeling of incompetence as we get better at a skill).

You are not your work. Your work is a series of choices made with generous intent to cause something to happen. We can always learn to make better choices.

There’s a practice available to each of us—the practice of embracing the process of creation in service of better. The practice is not the means to the output, the practice is the output,

Shipping, because it doesn’t count if you don’t share it. Creative, because you’re not a cog in the system. You’re a creator, a problem solver, a generous leader who is making things better by producing a new way forward. Work, because it’s not a hobby. You might not get paid for it, not today, but you approach it as a professional. The muse is not the point, excuses are avoided, and the work is why you are here.

If you want to change your story, change your actions first. When we choose to act a certain way, our mind can’t help but rework our narrative to make those actions become coherent. We become what we do.

Art is the generous act of making things better by doing something that might not work.

You can’t really decide to paint a masterpiece. You just have to think hard, work hard, and try to make a painting that you care about. Then, if you’re lucky, your work will find an audience for whom it’s meaningful.

We hesitate to make a promise like “the show will be on at 11:30,” because we’re not sure we can meet the deadline and make it happen in a way that allows us to control the outcome.

We’re not born to be selfish. And the economics of living in community make it clear that short-term hustle rarely benefits anyone. But when you’re flailing and looking for something (anything) to stand on, there’s pressure to choose the selfish path. To a drowning man, everyone else is a stepping-stone to safety.

repeat itself; it can’t. But the creative journey still follows a pattern. It’s a practice of growth and connection, of service and daring. It’s also a practice of selflessness and ego in an endless dance.

Yes, you’re an imposter. But you’re an imposter acting in service of generosity, seeking to make things better. When we embrace imposter syndrome instead of working to make it disappear, we choose the productive way forward. The imposter is proof that we’re innovating, leading, and creating.

To Be of Service Isn’t that what we’re here to do? To do work we’re proud of. To put ourselves on the hook. To find the contribution we’re capable of. The only way to be on this journey is to begin. But there isn’t a guarantee. In fact, most of what we seek to do will not work. But our intent—the intent of being of service, of making things better, of building something that matters—is an essential part of the pattern. Because most of us, most of the time, act without intent.

The Bhagavad-Gita says, “It is better to follow your own path, however imperfectly, than to follow someone else’s perfectly.

Years ago, I produced a record for a very skilled duo. They were incredibly hardworking and committed to their art. In order to survive, they performed three hundred days a year, and they lived in a van, driving each day to a new town, playing at a local coffeehouse, sleeping in the van, then repeating it all the next day. In most towns, there are a few places like this—if you’ve issued a few CDs and are willing to work for cheap, you can get booked without too much trouble. These cafés are not good clients. Easy in, easy out, next! What I helped these musicians understand is that going from town to town and working with easy gigs was wasting their effort and hiding their art. What they needed to do was stay in one town, earn fans, play again, earn fans, move to a better venue, and do it again. And again. Working their way up by claiming what they’d earned: fans.

Practicing how to throw. Getting good at throwing. If you get good enough at throwing, the catching takes care of itself.

This desire for external approval and authority directly undermines your ability to trust yourself, because you’ve handed this trust over to an institution instead. Now, more and more of us are seeing that it’s a fraud. The institutions have no magical powers, as they’re regularly proved wrong in their ability to select, to mold, and to amplify human beings who care enough to make change happen.

the proven truth about creativity: it’s the result of desire—the desire to find a new truth, solve an old problem, or serve someone else.

Ultimately, the goal is to become the best in the world at being you. To bring useful idiosyncrasy to the people you seek to change, and to earn a reputation for what you do and how you do it. The peculiar version of you, your assertions, your art.

We talk about ego like it’s a bad thing. Egomania is a bad thing. It’s the narcissism that comes from only seeing yourself, from believing that you are immortal, invulnerable, and deserving of all good things that come your way. Or the feeling that all the art is for you and for you alone. But ego? Ego is required for us to find the guts to make an assertion.

A lifetime of brainwashing has taught us that work is about measurable results, that failure is fatal, and that we should be sure that the recipe is proven before we begin. And so we bury our dreams.

The practice of choosing creativity persists. It’s a commitment to a process, not simply the next outcome on the list.