Celebrating passion, limiting obsession

Building two things at once might be just what you need. (Image by analogicus)

I still remember something my friend Weston shared over a meal years ago.

I had asked Weston, a gifted musician and the singer/songwriter behind Ayo River, how he avoided getting creatively frustrated. His songs always seemed to flow from a deep place within him, free of self-consciousness and artifice. Prolific and generous with his work, he made it look easy. How did he do it?

Weston told me that he was able to keep his music from becoming a source of stress and pressure because he had another outlet: fiction and essay writing. When the singer/songwriter thing grew overwhelming, he could focus on prose, and vice versa.

Instead of having his entire identity wrapped up in one creative outlet, Weston was free to play in multiple spaces and let go of the notion of proving himself in any one. This allowed him to find creative satisfaction and excel as a result.

When passion gives way to obsession, our enthusiasm for creative work can curdle into anxiety. Instead of focusing on creating for the joy of it, we’re trying to outdo our previous self or compete with others. We might repeatedly check our stats — Instagram likes, website visits, downloads, plays on Spotify, sales numbers — even though the information has ceased to mean anything useful. Even if we are producing, it never feels like enough. We’re afraid of losing our good ideas or our window of opportunity. We’re afraid of losing, period.

When I put all my eggs in one basket as a musician, I felt this way. I didn’t allow myself to have any hobbies because I believed my free time should be spent practicing music. I read books about music and sought out musician friends. If I traveled, it was to a music conference. All my spare cash went into music equipment and materials.

Not surprisingly, I was miserable; as a musician, I was more or less paralyzed. When I had the opportunity to perform, I would tend toward self-sabotage, expecting myself to practice day and night to get ready. Naturally, I burned out fast and ended up with only a mediocre level of preparedness as a result.

I’d like to say that I eventually backed off and was able to reach new heights musically. But no — I believe that I am still recovering from the intensity of those days. I’ve written only a handful of songs in the past decade.

However, even though I’m not posting major achievements on the music front, I do feel that I’m a lot more successful than I was in my twenties — and I’m much, much happier. I try to have enough going on that I’m not fretting or obsessing over any one thing. My identity is not limited to one mode of expression, and my self-worth does not depend on success in one area. I have hobbies and friends and a career and a life.

I’m still susceptible to stat-checking in various contexts, but I know that doing so beyond a quick once-a-day routine is a warning sign. So I find something to do. If I’m refreshing the page that shows our summer camp enrollment, willing the next sale to come in, I shift to writing. If the writing grows stale, it’s time to go for a walk and call a friend. I can make music, work on business development, read, knit, or simply stare off into space. In warmer weather, I can play tennis. When any of these things become burdensome because I care too much and can’t seem to channel that caring into anything useful, I can pivot.

One might think that, with all of these different project and activities, it would be difficult to make a dent in any one of them. However, these days I am able to go deeper into a challenge than I used to. Without the terrible voice inside my head chanting, “You have to be good at this you have to be good at this you have to be good at this,” I can actually be good at whatever it is. Ironically, without so much riding on the outcome, the outcome is much better.

If you are struggling with an undertaking in which your level of attention is becoming unhealthy, I wonder what would happen if you put your attention into something else that you could come to love. Whenever your confidence falters in one area, you can shift to the other. Eventually, you may find the outcome to be merely incidental to the experience of doing each activity. Like Weston, you can enjoy each pursuit on its own terms without the fear that you’re not measuring up. That is more valuable than all the “likes” in the world.