Five Inspiring Takeaways from “Big Magic” By Elizabeth Gilbert; Part 2
{This is Part 2 in a two part essay on Big Magic. To read part one of this post, click here, then come back to this one!}
3- The important difference between having a genius and being a genius. As Liz explains,
“In ancient Greek, the word for the highest degree of human happiness is eudaimonia, which basically means ‘well-daemoned’—that is, nicely taken care of by some external divine creative spirit guide. (Modern commentators, perhaps uncomfortable with this sense of divine mystery, simply call it ‘flow or ‘being in the zone.’)
But the Greeks and the Romans both believed in the idea of an external daemon of creativity—a sort of house elf, if you will, who lived within the walls of your home and who sometimes aided you in your labors. The Romans had a specific term for that helpful house elf. They called it your genius—your guardian deity, the conduit of your inspiration. Which is to say, the Romans didn’t believe that an exceptionally gifted person was a genius; they believed that an exceptionally gifted person had a genius.”
Liz and I both agree that this distinction, having a little genius helper vs. being a genius yourself, is hugely important to the creative process. In short, having a genius house elf takes the pressure off, which can be crucial. The magnificent thing is that it actually goes both ways in helping the precious human ego. When you fail at something creative, it is not considered entirely your fault—your genius failed to show up and help, and so your ego and reputation are saved. On the other hand, when you do manage to get that divine flow going and create something truly magical, you yourself cannot take all the credit, for surely something so amazing and inspired was only created with the help of your genius, and thus you are kept relatively humbled.
Somewhere around the Renaissance, when logic and reason began to overtake magic and mystery in every realm of thought, the idea of having a genius morphed into the idea of being a genius. Personally, while I love all of the modern amenities we currently enjoy (the computer and the internet whereby you are currently reading this, for instance), I think in this one aspect, this evolution has done a disservice to creators everywhere.
Imagine, if you will, a world in which the pressure is off. Imagine sitting down in front of a blank canvas, a blank page, a blank room, or at the very start of any creative project, and knowing that your only job is to show up, create, and have fun. The end results are not resting entirely on your shoulders. Imagine the actual fun you could have with the weight lifted like that. Imagine how little there is to fear. Doesn’t it sound rather, well, magical?
I happen to think we do put too much pressure on ourselves, particularly when it comes to creativity and inspiration. Too often we try to force it, to fit it into our regimented schedules. And I think that, like with anything we chase after desperately, the best way to find that divine moment of inspiration, is actually to relax about the whole thing and just play. Commit to showing up and doing the work, but allow yourself to creatively play too. Take the weight of the entire outcome off your shoulders. Maybe then inspiration, your genius, the flow, whatever you want to call it, will realize you are just having fun and will show up to help and to play.
4- Believe in the magic. There are a couple of ways in which this book gets just a little mystical. Some people have raised their eyebrows at this part of Liz’s theory on creativity, but I personally find it wonderful and curious. Because, yeah, it’s a little out there, but wouldn’t it be neat if it was true and she was right? And really, who’s to say?
Basically, Liz Gilbert’s theory is that ideas are magic. Not metaphorical magic, but actual magic. As she puts it she has “developed a set of beliefs about how it [creativity] works—and how to work with it—that is entirely and unapologetically based upon magical thinking. And when I refer to magic here, I mean it literally. Like, in the Hogwarts sense. I am referring to the supernatural, the mystical, the inexplicable, the surreal, the divine, the transcendent, the otherworldly. Because the truth is, I believe that creativity is a force of enchantment—not entirely human in origin.”
You really truly should read the book yourself to hear her explain it, but for a quick summary suffice it to say that Liz believes that ideas (all types of ideas) are invisible disembodied life forms whose sole purpose and directive is to find a human to collaborate with and make themselves manifest. This aligns well with Liz’s universalist leanings spiritually, and with my own. I understand it can be a little hard to swallow, but I implore you to read the countless examples of stories Liz provides and then decide how literally you want to take this theory. And, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to add a personal story as evidence to Liz’s case.
The pages devoted to the inexplicable, serendipitous, mostly downright magical but still 100% believable stories in this book give me actual chills as I read. Perhaps that is because, as an artist, entrepreneur and amateur philosopher, I have experienced the spine tingling bizarre sort of arrival of ideas that she is talking about. I have worked with creativity, been hit with a lightning bolt idea out of nowhere, and felt the physical and emotional rush she describes. I have felt that creative magic; been in that flow. And afterwards, looking at whatever it was I created while “in the zone,” I could not for the life of me explain how I did it. People ask me sometimes how I do what I do, and I have honestly always struggled with that question a bit, because I have always felt that somehow it wasn’t entirely me doing anything that is my best work.
Just the other day I was working on a digital montage in Photoshop and got completely lost in the creative flow. Hours later I blinked, resurfaced to reality, and looked at the image with refocused eyes. I noticed something that should have been fixed at the beginning on the basic background layer. So I set about fixing it, and to my alarm discovered that it wasn’t just in the background layer anymore. The thing had evolved and morphed without my really understanding how, despite me being the only one actually doing anything, and try as I might I could not go in and fix the one small thing that should have been an easy fix. Eventually I just resolved to start over completely and cross my fingers that once I fixed the background layer, the creative inspiration (my genius, perhaps) would show up again to get me back to the finished image.
You might find the concept of actual magical ideas difficult to swallow. But I urge you, set that aside long enough to read the book. I think you will come out inspired either way in the end.
5- Trust the trickster and embrace the paradox. The idea of the tortured artist, the starving artist, the depressed or insane artist, the ones who struggle and fight and die in the name of creating art is an old idea that we are all familiar with. But Liz begs the question, does it have to be this way? Do you really have to torment yourself in the name of art? Or torment yourself in order to make art? If you think about it, there are cave paintings in Lascaux dating back to 20,000 years ago. Arguably, for as long as there have been humans, there have been humans making art. Twenty thousand years ago there were absolutely more important things to be done in order to survive, and yet there were still painters, artisans, curious people following hair brained ideas and making things that served no functional purpose. Creativity is arguably what makes us human. So, if it is really such an integral part of our humanity, is creativity really there to just to torture and kill us? Probably not.
Liz argues that somewhere along the way, that lighthearted, trickster approach to creativity was hijacked by the martyrs, who promote only suffering and darkness, and she says it is time to give creativity back to the tricksters. It is time to play with our creativity again, instead of stubbornly suffering in its name. The best argument for a trickster’s approach to, well, all of life, instead of a martyr’s is simply this: trust.
“It may seem counterintuitive to suggest this, because he can seem so slippery and shady, but the trickster is full of trust. He trusts himself, obviously. He trusts his own cunning, his own right to be here, his own ability to land on his feet in any situation...but mostly, the trickster trusts the universe. He trusts in its chaotic, lawless, ever-fascinating ways—and for this reason, he does not suffer from undue anxiety.”
Another way to put it is the simple old adage that a bird never worries if the branch he sits on will break; because he has trust, not in the branch, but in himself and his own ability to fly. Because, as we all know, the thing about life is that the only things that are certain (ever) are death and taxes. Everything else tends to be generally lawless chaos, try as we might to control it. And the trick is not to put your trust in the supposed process of life, which inevitably leads to anxiety because, quite simply, you cannot control anything but yourself. The trick, therefore, is to trust in yourself. When things go wrong, in life, and in love, and in health, and in all the other ways that life can go wrong, the only thing you can trust is yourself. When things go wrong, the martyr says “that’s awful,” and suffers.
But the trickster says “huh. That didn’t work. How interesting. I wonder what I can do to take this experience and come at it a different way, or create something fresh and new.” And he simply, light heartedly, tries something else, again and again until he flourishes. The trickster is curious, and I believe that curiosity, creative curiosity, is what saves lives.
Paradox as it is, the light hearted curiosity is gravely serious, because it is the only way to flourish. It is the only thing that saves us.
The life you are saving is your own, after all, and it is oh so important. So make room for fear, show up and do the work, take the weight of it all off your shoulders, and believe in the magic. Even just as an experiment to see what happens. Most importantly, embrace the trickster mentality and trust in yourself. Follow your curiosity, lightly, and see what sort of big magic shows up. You might just be wonderfully surprised.