If. 

Those two simple letters may seem small and innocuous, but they’re secretly fucking up your entire creative universe. If only I had more time. If only my job weren’t so draining. If only someone would give me a chance. If I could just . . . If there were . . . If you . . . If it . . . If . . .

Here’s the problem with if. It means “on the condition or supposition that an action or event will occur.”

If only deals in hypotheticals. If works on an unconscionable contract. If is a malicious negotiator. If is a snake-oil salesman masquerading as the prophet who will make all your problems disappear. If takes control out of your hands and gives it to an indifferent and uncaring universe.

So why do we love that word so much when it’s so full of lies and empty promises? Because it’s the perfect coping mechanism for our fears, insecurities, and inadequacies. Not only is it a way to avoid the assumed failure, discomfort, or challenge of the task in front of us, it’s also a way to pass the blame onto some illusory concept or hypothetical situation instead of taking responsibility ourselves. We love if because making excuses is easier than making progress. We love if because deep down, we’re terrified that if we try our hardest and things don’t work out, it will mean we’re failures. We love if because it insulates us from the perceived pain and embarrassment of making something that sucks. But when it comes to creativity, failure is part of the process. You work and rework and edit and scrap it and start again and repeat until it doesn’t suck anymore.

I know. This probably just sounds like more of the “easier said than done” fake motivation bullshit plastered across the internet. But that’s pretty much life in a nutshell. It’s all easy in theory, but doing the thing is a fucking nightmare from wall to wall.

To be honest, the catalyst for this post was my own realization that I was putting off the things I knew I should be doing and making shitty excuses for why I couldn’t do them. If more people read these blogs, it would be easier to find the motivation to write more. If I didn’t have other work to do, I’d have more time to write. If I can just play a quick nine hours of Call of Duty; I’ll get back to other things. The truth was, I didn’t know what to write or how to write it. And when I actually did sit down to hammer out some words, everything I wrote sounded like preachy fucking drivel when I’d read it back to myself. So I’d close my computer and tell myself something better will come to me if I just take a break. It’s not that I couldn’t do them; it’s that I was afraid to even start.

Now, is there merit in walking away from something you’re working on to let your conscious mind take a breather while your unconscious mind works through the sticky bits that are holding you up? Abso-fucking-lutely. But that’s not the same as kicking the proverbial can down the road and waiting for some creative fairy to come along and fertilize your mind with a brilliant idea. Even if that happened, you’d still need to summon the energy to birth said idea into the world. Sorry to break it to you, sugar buns, but you’re gonna have to do at least some of the work at some point. 

Making something that sucks is better than making nothing at all because you can fix something that sucks. You can’t fix what doesn’t exist. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty fucking done waiting on if.