Abandoning what I start

Forcing myself to push through or “leave on a high note” could be counterproductive.

You don’t know which one is going to be good. But when you find one that’s not, you might as well stop eating it.

A few years ago, when I really started stepping up my production as a creator, I built a very nerdy database in Notion to organize my creative works.

The breakthrough was not having to keep ideas and finished pieces in separate places. A given piece can pass through a whole pipeline, from idea to outline, and then on to scripting, shooting, editing, formatting, and finally, publishing.

But I’ve noticed that some pieces just sit there and don’t move to the next stage. They are ideas that never bloom into scripts, scripts that haven’t been completed and shot, or shot footage that languishes on a hard drive, yet to be edited.

When I have a block of time to work, I have a choice: Do I try to move a stalled piece forward, or do I pick something fresh — maybe something that isn’t even on this board at all?

I used to have a bias toward completion. Or at least, an attempt at completion. I felt a responsibility to try to finish what I started, in the spirit of improving follow through and craft. I learned as a songwriter that the hard part was always going past the first verse and chorus, bending stubborn ends around into a full circle.

But now that I’m a few decades into my career (and 49 years into my life as of yesterday), I have realized that the “finish what you start” ethos is no longer serving me.

Often, those stalled pieces are stalled for a reason. Even though I have lovingly curated and organized them, they have actually become my worst options. I’m arguably better off working on a piece that flows easily from conception to publishing, never to stall or be second-guessed.

And I have earned, through my track record, the freedom to ignore or discard the pieces that don’t feel so easy or light. I can abandon what I start. I may go back to them, I may not. The difference between “not yet” and “never” doesn’t really matter.

My best work might still be intense and time consuming, but it doesn’t feel like a grind. I look up and two hours have passed, but it felt like ten minutes.

I suppose that sense of ease is the result of all of the hard work I’ve already put in over the years. And that foundation enough to continue to move me forward. What was that work for, if not to help me trust myself and my process?

It’s only “shiny object syndrome” if I bounce around from thing to thing and never settle down to do the work. I know how to settle down to do the work. I actually need to be more choosy about what I settle down to do instead of embracing diligence and duty by default.

I find that any meaningful work has puzzles aplenty. I might as well pick the puzzles that feel aligned — where the work in solving them is either intrinsically enjoyable, has a sufficient payoff, or both.

That matters for the little decisions, like which video to make today or which essay to write, but also for the bigger ones, like starting a new project, closing a business, or making a career pivot.

What I’ve already been working on or planning on might be the slow lane or even a dead end. Forcing myself to push through or “leave on a high note” could be counterproductive. It would be laboring in the garden of my past.

Instead, I can look at the possibilities and opportunities I’m faced with today and see them as neutral options, like choosing what to wear. That removes the sense of automatic weight and validity from an old piece. What’s more, I am released from my responsibility to it.

Notwithstanding Churchill’s impassioned exhortation to “never give in, never, never, never, never — in nothing, great or small,” I can let myself give in and give up all the time. I’m not fighting a war or facing an existential threat. Most of the time, the stakes are not that high for me. I can play and explore and be nimble. I can finish what I start, or I can finish something else. It’s all the same game.