Nobody comes up with brilliant ideas. Not Einstein. Not your oh-so-smart brother-in-law. Not those really funny people who always have a lightning-fast quip for everything.
Brilliant ideas come to you.
You know that “voila” moment? That’s French for “Hey, look at what I just found.”
D I S C O V E R Y. That’s how the creative process works. You look for it by looking around. You do not look for it by trying to find it.
The more you try, the farther you are. The less you try, the closer. No, that doesn’t make sense. Yes, that’s why it works. Because if it made sense, it would be math or science or directions to the women’s room. But it wouldn’t be creative.
Creativity is not about inventing. Invention is about hard work and putting your nose to the grindstone and making more widgets today than you did yesterday and deliberately trying to figure something out that has a logical solution.
Discovery, on the other hand, is about playing around with a random listing of pretty much anything and stumbling upon a connection that, had you thought about it, simply would not have made sense.
Radio waves and cooking. Antibiotics and bread mold. Three breasts on one woman. (Thanks, Picasso.)
But you have a deadline. You have objectives. You have a problem to solve. How are you supposed to do that without working?
It happens every day. And it starts with permission. Or to be more precise, “giving yourself” permission. Say it. “I give myself permission to make absolutely no sense for the next fifteen minutes in an experiment to see what I find in the process.”
Permission first. Then trust.
Trusting the process. That’s it. Permission and trust. That’s all. That’s all there is to it. Okay, that’s not all. There’s one more very essential thing.
Courage.
It takes an enormous amount of courage to be creative. Because being creative is different, and the world has a way of making people feel really bad when they don’t do things like everybody else.
Act differently. Dress differently. Look differently. And you’re in for some big time pressure to act like everyone else, dress like everyone else, look like everyone else. And by default, think like everybody else.
But to be creative, you have to think differently. And the rational, logical, linear half of your brain that is so good at following instruction manuals does not take kindly to allowing the other half of your brain the frivolity of pursuing “z,b,k” in its “a,b,c” world.
And since the logical, left side of your brain also happens to be the side that processes words and language, that little voice you hear in your head can be very parental, very constricting, very persuasive. It’s no accident that not so long ago, scientists used to call it the “dominant hemisphere.”
But you have a completely irrational hemisphere between your ears as well. And even though it doesn’t speak a word of words, it beats that logical side hands down when it comes to stuff like art and feelings and imagination and a whole lot of the things that make life worth living.
And that includes the joy of creativity.







You have two goblets before you. One is of solid gold, wrought in the most exquisite patterns. The other is of crystal-clear glass, thin as a bubble, and as transparent. Pour and drink; and according to your choice of goblet, I shall know whether or not you are a connoisseur of wine. For if you have no feelings about wine one way or the other, you will want the sensation of drinking the stuff out of a vessel that may have cost thousands of pounds; but if you are a member of that vanishing tribe, the amateurs of fine vintages, you will choose the crystal, because everything about it is calculated to reveal rather than to hide the beautiful thing which it was meant to contain.