Unlocking Creative Flow: How I (Finally!) Learned to Stop Overthinking

The Great Creative Block of 2024 (And Beyond?)

Okay, so, I wouldn’t call myself a professional artist or anything close. But I do love to create things. I dabble in painting, write (obviously!), and even try my hand at coding little games sometimes. The problem is, for the past year, maybe even longer, I’ve been stuck in a creative rut. A serious one. Like, staring-at-a-blank-canvas-for-hours-and-feeling-completely-defeated kind of rut. It’s not fun. At all. You know that feeling when you *want* to do something, you *know* you’re capable, but your brain just throws up a wall of “nah, not good enough”? Yeah, that’s been my constant companion. I’d start projects with such enthusiasm, picturing the end result, and then, bam! Self-doubt would kick in. Was it good enough? Original enough? What if people hated it? It’s a vicious cycle, really. It leads to procrastination, then more self-doubt because you’re not actually *doing* anything, and the whole thing just spirals downwards. Seriously, creative blocks are the worst!

My Embarrassing Art Class Debacle

Funny thing is, I used to be so carefree about making things. I remember this one art class I took in college – Intro to Sculpture. I had this grand vision of creating a life-sized dragon out of recycled materials. Ambitious, right? I spent weeks collecting junk – cardboard boxes, plastic bottles, wire hangers… the whole nine yards. I even stayed up late gluing things together, fuelled by copious amounts of coffee and sheer determination. The final result? Well… it looked less like a majestic dragon and more like a pile of brightly colored trash vaguely shaped like a lizard. It was awful. Hilariously awful. But here’s the thing: I wasn’t embarrassed. I laughed. Everyone else laughed. And I learned a ton about what *doesn’t* work when building a dragon sculpture. Now, I’d probably be mortified if I had to present something similar. What changed? The pressure, probably. The self-imposed expectation to be *good* instead of just enjoying the process.

The “Just Start” Paradox

Everyone tells you to “just start.” Just write. Just paint. Just *do*. Easier said than done, right? Especially when that inner critic is screaming in your ear. I tried everything. Brainstorming sessions (ended in more self-doubt). Setting ridiculously small goals (felt pointless). Even trying to “trick” myself into creating by doing things I didn’t really want to do, hoping it would spark something. Ugh, what a mess! I even downloaded one of those habit-tracking apps, hoping it would force me to be consistent. Nope. Failed miserably. Who even knows what’s next? The problem, I think, is that “just start” feels so… vague. It’s like telling someone to “just be happy.” Okay, great, but *how*? What are the actual, concrete steps? That’s what I was missing.

Finding My (Imperfect) Flow State

So, what finally worked? Honestly, it was a combination of things, and it wasn’t some overnight miracle. First, I had to lower my expectations. Way, way down. Like, to the point where I was actively trying to create something *bad*. Seriously. My goal became to make the worst painting possible. The most cliché story ever written. The most uninspired code imaginable. The funny thing is, when you take the pressure off, you actually start to relax. And when you relax, ideas start to flow. I started playing around with colours without worrying about the end result. I wrote terrible dialogue just to get words on the page. I coded ridiculous little games that no one would ever play. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, something shifted. I started to actually enjoy the process again. I wasn’t aiming for perfection. I was just… playing.

The Key? Embracing the Mess

I’m not saying I’m completely cured of my creative block. I still have days where I struggle. Days where the blank page stares back at me like a judgmental ghost. But I have tools now. I know how to trick my brain into letting go. I know that it’s okay to make mistakes. In fact, mistakes are essential. They’re how we learn. They’re what make our creations unique. Was I the only one confused by this? This whole journey has taught me that creative flow isn’t about some magical state of inspiration that descends upon you like a gift from the muses. It’s about creating the conditions that allow you to experiment, to play, and to embrace the mess. It’s about giving yourself permission to be bad, to be silly, to be completely and utterly yourself. And honestly? That’s the most liberating feeling in the world. If you’re as curious as I was, you might want to dig into the whole concept of “flow state” – there are some fascinating books and articles on the topic.