The loyal ally you've been trying to silence

…

---

Dear friend,

You've been watching from the sidelines for ages now. Enjoying others’ work. Admiring their boldness. Wishing you could share your own ideas and make an impact too.

But you're scared. Scared of fucking it up, of getting laughed at, of being too vulnerable, of wasting your time. So you’re not doing what you really—really—want to do. You’re putting off those projects that are calling to you, waiting for a “better time” when you'll be more prepared, less scared.

This creates bad knock-on consequences. You end up working on shadow projects and doing shadow jobs, always feeling like you're never really exploring your full potential or living the life you want.

Every time people ask what you do (I hate that question but everyone asks it), you want to say you write or you play in a band or you coach or you build businesses, but you can't. And every time that happens, you feel those creeping sensations of restlessness and regret.

You worry that as you get older, that dissatisfaction will turn into full-blown bitterness towards yourself and others. Will I become a resentful old man or woman? Will young people really listen to me when they can see I’m not walking the walk? I mean, kids aren’t stupid!

But the thing is, artists, writers, makers, doers—they’re all humans with exactly the same fears as you. They're just choosing to ship their work in spite of them.

Lewis Capaldi is a great example. A musician who sings before thousands of doting fans, he regularly stops to apologise for his nerves. Elton John apparently rang him up to say “Stop apologising! You’re amazing!” Yet Capaldi’s hands visibly shake on stage. His voice cracks with anxiety. And yet he keeps showing up, keeps performing, keeps creating—his doubt fully intact.

Any practitioner committed to their craft is guaranteed to be full of self-doubt. The reason is simple: doubt stems from being deeply engaged with your work to the point where you see the gap between where you are and where you want to get to. You understand the challenges of your craft so much that you can't help but be preoccupied with what you're doing wrong and how you need to get better.

Doubt is therefore not a blockage, but a blessing. The most creative folk are the most doubtful about their work, because it’s that doubt that keeps them oriented and gives them momentum. And authenticity and novelty and rawness and relatability and so much else!

Not long ago, a tutor from my first art college got in touch to give me what he thought was well-meaning advice. He told me he didn't think I was an artist at heart, that it was clear to him that whatever artists had, I didn't have it, and I should consider another path.

If I'd taken his words as truth, I would never have gone on to have 20 international exhibitions or present my sculpture to the Queen of Norway. Was it scary meeting the queen? Fuck yes! Was I full of doubt? Of course! But was my work any weaker for it? And did she think any less of me? Definitely not.

Your fears from the sidelines aren't reasons to avoid getting in the game—they're the very reasons you should. By being afriad and doubting yourself, you're already channelling the essential qualities of what it takes to make work you’re proud of.

Doubt will never leave you if you're serious about your craft. And that's a good thing. It’s a sign of seriousness. It's the voice that pushes you to refine, to rethink, to reimagine. It's the force that precludes complacency and inspires improvement. Doubt is your loyal ally.

Anybody who encounters you and your self-doubt will see only that you care deeply about your work. So stop waiting to feel ready. Stop waiting for the doubt to disappear. It won't—not if you're doing work that matters to you.

“The greater the artist, the greater the doubt. Perfect confidence is granted to the less talented as a consolation prize.” – Robert Hughes

⬥

---

---

Previous post