people can’t believe I was ever like this. Yet it was in this fiery crucible of suffering that I eventually came to understand our deepest reasons for creating and, further, why our creativity must be given voice. If I hadn’t gone through this degree of pain, feeling as if my very validity as a human being was on endless trial, I wouldn’t have gone the distance it took to uncover the lessons you hold in your hands today. Necessity is the mother of invention, and I needed to escape my personal hell. The mother of invention gifted me generously, ultimately leading me to transform the prison of my fear into the freedom of love. Yes, it was arduous work (and still is sometimes). Reasonably so: it is the Great Work that we all undertake to encounter our true selves.
Knowing what I know now fires me up with enthusiasm to share this truth: there is a brighter way. What you seek, you will find. I want to impart this to all who approach me about their creative issues and anxieties: there are answers to your suffering and your longing. The Bright Way is one of those answers.
My fellow creative seekers reach out to me in many ways: anonymously online, privately via email, safely within my teaching groups and online conferences, through chance encounters in cafés. They believe they struggle alone. Not so: their hidden desires mirror one another’s with striking faithfulness. I’m honored to be privy to their secret hopes and fears. They yearn to find more meaning in what they do and who they are. These seekers long to be part of a bigger picture, to feel they have something valuable to offer. To experience more joy. To live in flow and connection. To believe there is time and space for any of these things.
Urgency marks their voices. These are not mere wants. They are true needs.
Since these are such powerful needs, why do we hesitate to share our struggles? Tragically, we often blame ourselves for having these needs. We feel ashamed that our deepest desires have become mysteries to us. We mourn the fading of our once-bright dreams. We feel trapped, like passive watchers of our own lives. Perhaps these feelings have been haunting you, too? If so, take heart: you’re not alone, and even more important, it doesn’t have to be this way.
Like billowing clouds, like the incessant gurgle of the brook, the longing of the spirit can never be stilled.
— ST. HILDEGARD OF BINGEN, twelfth-century mystic, musician, and healer
I salute all brave seekers. I salute you. Giving voice to your frustration can be painful and scary. Yet it’s a crucial first step toward fulfilling yourself creatively. Taking a stand for your desires (even if only in private) automatically directs you toward change, as my harp student Edela explains so well: “Just listening to music isn’t enough for me. It is as senseless as trying to be nourished by a beautiful photograph of food rather than having food before me.” You’ll meet Edela again soon.
The popular professor tortured by Impostor Syndrome so extreme that he literally pulls his hair out; the pianist who has played for twenty years, though no one, not even her parents, has heard her because of her performance anxiety; the writer who has lost faith that creativity even matters in this crazy world; the successful businessperson who is terrified he will look foolish by indulging his longing to improvise; the dedicated amateur artist who suspects she doesn’t really “have it” and never will; the jaded professional artist who is loath to admit he has tired of his craft; the busy mother who fears she has traded her creativity for child-rearing. Despite how different these people are, their core story is the same: they feel a wrenching disconnection from what they rightly believe are their true selves.
I remember these feelings myself. Simply recalling those grim days activates the horrible pull of that void. The words of Wendolyn Bird, founder of an outdoor preschool, storyteller, and harpist, echo exactly where I once was: “I’ve stopped performing due to anxiety. I won’t play in front of people, even though I actually love to do so. I feel sad, frustrated, angry, and alone for not being able to just play freely and when I wish to. It stops my practice and/or alters it so that I never learn anything or advance to the point of being able to play even with friends.”
Although the stories I’ve shared so far focus mainly on performance anxiety, the lessons this plight has taught me hold true for all creative endeavors. Performance anxiety is an extreme manifestation of the fears we all hold inside us when it comes to engaging and sharing our creativity. As such, it’s a powerful lens through which to examine what it takes to reclaim your creativity for life.
It’s hard to believe just how common the suffering caused by disconnection from our creativity is. But I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Repeatedly, and over many years. I thought my problems were unique until I started teaching music and collaborating full-time with other creative people from around the world. I worked with everyone from beginners to seasoned pros of all ages and backgrounds, and clouds of anxiety, burnout, frustration, and grief haunted us all. People three decades older than I became as vulnerable as little children, crying as they finally exposed their lost hopes and dreams in the privacy of my studio.
The stakes felt hair-raisingly high. The deepest questions of what makes life worth living were being presented to me. Simply living and growing older didn’t answer those questions. As a child, in awe of the adults surrounding me, I always assumed that somehow we’d all just figure things out over time. Now I know how many of those adults must have really felt — and many still feel — inside.
It was a lot to take in and hold. What could I do about it? Even though it was a relief not to be alone in my own struggle with performance anxiety, watching others suffer through it was torture. As the teacher, I felt duty bound to dredge up some sort of solution. But what? For a long time, I was barely one step ahead on the outside and often felt a league behind on the inside.
This struggle isn’t just about you and me. It’s about all of us. Even those who appear to live creative and successful lives on the outside often feel like frauds on the inside. This sense of disconnection casts a dreadful spell over our world. The consequences? Increased anxiety, depression, frustration, lack of motivation, loneliness, creeping hopelessness about our capabilities and even our futures as work options shrivel and mortality rates rise. This malaise infects our spirits, our families, our communities. The pain is real.
Astonishingly, given the scope of this scourge, an antidote does exist. It has for a long time, and it is hidden in plain sight. It is an approach, a way of life, that is simple and can be applied to every creative activity you engage in. It is a path that returns you to your true self, resurrecting your innate joy, honing your complementary powers of skill and intuition, and giving you the courage to reclaim your purpose, your creativity, and your destiny.
Whether you believe that life has inherent meaning or that the whole of existence is a preposterous accident, this way still holds true. From the spiritual teachings of Plato, Buddha, Jesus, and St. Catherine of Siena to diverse world belief systems, all the way to the nihilism of Nietzsche, the existentialism of Camus, and the “unselfing” of Irish philosopher Iris Murdoch, the conclusion has been the same: the meaning of life is to connect with life.
And what is one of the surest and most beautiful ways to connect with life? In a word, it is to engage your creativity.
The meaning of life is to connect with life.
I’m willing to make this claim because I’ve experienced it time and time again. And this is why I developed the Five Step Bright Way System: to give you (and myself!) a way to reignite and follow through on your magnificent creativity, starting today.
I have many favorite stories of the rewards gained from living this philosophy, so let me highlight just a few: the photographer rejecting plans to attend law school and transforming a jaded perspective of their work as being “just a cash register” into an unprecedented devotion to cultivating artistic community.
