Fu%&ed up life advice for the creative soul

But who am I to give advice? I'll give it a go though

I’m going to curse, oh so very slightly in this one, although you know me, I scoop out the salted caramel centres of my cursing with a fine digital razor blade, so that offended ears don’t reach, heaven forbid, for their ‘skip to next show’ button. So Gene, who lives in New Harmony, Utah, and actually wrote me a letter recently to praise my, is it aptitude or policy for piloting around dropping the f, w, and c bombs for no apparent reason? You can rest easy.

Pic: Greg Rakozy

A certain amount of editorial thinking went into my decision to lightly season the piece with appropriate ‘cursy’ moments, for emotional effect, I might add, not shock value.

I feel like I’ve just asked one person’s permission in a ridiculously verbose and roundabout manner to write something that’s under my creative control and accountable to nobody, not even the breeze.

Being a people pleaser is fu%&ing exhausting.

Stop, asking for permission.

I keep a file of ideas for this podcast. Is it a podcast, or is it my first real proper book in the making? Who’d read it anyway? Don’t build your part, lad; books are for other people to write. You know, successful people who have something to say. People with proper ideas, people who’ve achieved in ways you could not possibly imagine, or indeed possibly achieve.

Having an internal nagging doubt as part of my team, is equally fu%&ing exhausting.

Baz Luhrmann wrote that piece of advice: stop asking for permission.

A friend of mine, I think it was Giles, or was it Mali, possibly Natalie, it’s such a Nat thing, recounted that to me and attributed it to Baz. And it seems like such rock-solid life advice. Only when I went to research it, I’m not so sure it was actually from Baz, although it seems like such a Baz thing.

There’s a song from 1999 from the famous film director Baz Luhrmann. It’s called Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen), and it starts with the words, “Ladies and gentlemen of the class of ‘99. Wear sunscreen. If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it.”

Wear sunscreen. It seems such a Baz thing to say, only he didn’t.

The words actually came from a 1997 newspaper column by Mary Schmich, written as an imagined graduation speech. Baz borrowed that piece and set it to music, turning it into a collection of wonderfully personal observations about life. It’s a monologue set to music, and it’s been repeated, repurposed, rewritten many times since.

If you haven’t heard it, which I think is unlikely, look it up somewhere like YouTube, if it’s not been on your audio radar for a while, take this nudge as a reason to grab a coffee, look it up, somewhere like YouTube, and reacquaint yourself with it, whilst probably nodding emphatically to the advice imparted.

“Don’t worry about the future, do one thing every day that scares you, floss, be kind to your knees, dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your own living room. Do not read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.”

All words from Baz’s monologue, with one line that actually haunts me, particularly as when this song was released worldwide, I’d lost my father only two years previous; “Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good.”

Man alive, as they say, never mind graduation or commencement speech, I imagine, slightly pimped for a commercial audience, it could form the most useful five minutes you’d ever wish to spend in one of those corporate motivation event speeches, and before you say, “But you’ve never worn a pin-striped suit in your life Neale, how could you possibly…”

Oh, but I have, albeit for five minutes selling advertising, but more recently as a photographer, photographing suited people falling asleep from the sidelines.

I did start to wonder what life advice one might give or hear for the creative mind or, as I heard it ironically said a long time ago, for the unfavoured few who become creative professionals, said with tongue firmly in cheek, I hope.

The problem with giving advice is that it seems to me you need to assume some sort of lofty guru status, and those whom I’ve aspired to be, follow, or find great inspiration from are a country mile from being gurus. Some are no longer here, some because they could no longer bear to be. They were, and they are humans, famous humans, but ones who wear their mistakes with a great deal of pride and continue to make them. I suppose that makes you more of a work in progress than a creative guru, but I have picked up some knowledge along the way, and some of it I’ve managed to apply to my life.

Much of it is, again, a work in progress, or things I might say to my younger self whilst wondering whether it’s all a tad late for that.

I’m now nudging into a fifth decade of working as a creative. My dalliance with the pin stripe, whilst fun for a short while, ran alongside my more creative leanings. I know what I preferred.

If I could offer you one piece of advice for your creative life, it would be this: keep going.

Not in the heroic sense. Not in the “push through at all costs” way.

Just… keep turning up. Even when the work feels flat. Especially then.

You will doubt yourself.

More than you think you should.

More than other people appear to.

That’s normal. They’re just better at hiding it.

Make things before you feel ready.

You won’t feel ready.

Pay attention to what pulls you.

The small things.

The moments you almost ignore.

That’s usually where your best work is hiding.

You are not behind.

You are not ahead.

You are somewhere in the middle, same as everyone else, working it out as you go.

Don’t compare your beginning to someone else’s middle.

Or their end.

Or the version of their life they choose to show you.

Share your work.

Even when it feels uncomfortable.

Especially then.

Do count the likes,

Don’t count the likes,

Like that you don’t care much for the likes.

Who cares if you lose subscribers,

Just don’t lose your personality.

Be careful who you listen to.

Not all feedback is equal.

Some people will want you to succeed.

Some won’t.

Learn to tell the difference.

Take breaks before you need them.

Burnout is not a badge of honour.

Walk.

Often.

Without a camera sometimes.

You’ll see more.

Look after your body.

Your back.

Your eyes.

Your sleep.

You’ll need all of them longer than you think.

Hold on to the people who understand what you’re trying to do.

Let go of the ones who don’t, gently if you can.

Remember why you started.

Then allow that reason to change.

I often repeat the words of a radio presenter I admire, James O Brien, who says, ‘What’s the point of having a mind, if you can’t change it.’

You will have moments where it all feels pointless.

You will have others where it all makes sense.

Neither will last.

Your path will not be straight.

It will loop, stall, restart.

That’s not failure. That’s the work.

Success will look different depending on the day.

Don’t chase one version of it for too long.

And in the end, your creative life is not a race.

It’s a conversation.

Mostly with yourself.

So keep showing up.

Keep noticing.

Keep making.

Be an empath, as much for yourself as for others.

And trust me on this…

the work matters.

And finally, don’t wait for permission.

No one is coming with a letter to say you’re allowed.