There is a sequence in Krista Tippet’s expansive interview with Rick Rubin on creativity, (mentioned in my last post) in which they discuss how difficult it can be to assess the quality of your own work, (which I believe is a function of self-doubt) and how challenging that inability can be to the creative process.
Tippet: I hope… to create more space in my life for writing…I’m very drawn and driven to do this, but I’m also pretty tortured when I’m doing it.
An experience I have had again and again that is very unsettling is that—especially in those early stages—I have learned not to trust knowing what is good that I’ve written..
Sometimes I will write something, and I’ve heard other people talk about this thing too and I think, ‘Wow, that was really great. That’s it.’ It’s not. It will be the thing that I will look at (later) and cringe. And then there will be these quiet paragraphs that I don’t consider a great accomplishment that later will be the thing that survives. So there’s an inability to judge—to assess, which is really unnerving.
Rubin: One thing I would suggest, hearing that story….. write as much as you can and don’t look back at it. Just write. And at some point down the road, after you’ve done a lot of writing, then go back and start reading it. Hopefully by (that) time you (will have forgotten) what you’ve written.
And then see what’s good, because you’ll be approaching it more like a reader would…you won’t be the writer anymore. You’ll be the reader. And I think when we’re the writer, it’s much harder to be able to assess it. But in time we can become the reader.”
There is a subtext to what Tippet is saying—a subtext evident in her use of the word “tortuous” (I can’t think of any better word)—that nearly everyone who writes, who has tried to write, or who thinks about writing one day (and there are scads of us on Substack alone) is familiar with. It is this tortured state—the inability to trust your own judgement and the ensuing spiral of self-doubt—that can stop us dead in our tracks—often, before we even begin.
Rubin’s suggestion—that you write and then give your words the time and space to rest—can be game changing, but only if it’s advice you heed—because like doing other things you know will be good for you—like going to the gym and giving up sugar—it can also be near on impossible to do.
Here's how the cycle plays out for me:
Because I’m both a perfectionist and “sequential” (i.e.—you do this, then you move on to that—but only after “this” is perfectly done), my tendency is to write a chapter and beat the hell out of it until it is pleading for its poor little fledgling life. I will spend hours going over it again and again—so often that the words become engrained on the page to such an extent that they begin to form ruts—ruts that, if you keep traversing the same terrain become so deep you need someone to throw you a rope in order to climb out. By the time that happens, an unhealthy attachment to what already exists has formed that doesn’t leave much space for anything else—something even better—to materialize.
Then—as Tippet suggests above—in many cases, when I later revisit what I’ve written (that which I’ve invested so much time and energy to “get right”), I often see that not only is it not good, but I’m mortally embarrassed that I ever was so delusional to think it was. And that’s when self-doubt enters the room. And not minor league self-doubt—as in how could I have ever thought those shoes went with that dress? But major league SELF-DOUBT—the kind that is so big, so villainous, it deserves its own theme song.
The flipside to this—as Tippet also mentions—is that there are times when I’ve scrapped something that I later go back to and see that what was there in the beginning is much better than what I ended up with.
I witnessed this inability to assess your work—the self-sabotaging tendency to not trust yourself and “overwork the dough”—play out perfectly in metaphor form, the other day when I watched a man make several attempts to park his car.
The first time he parked it, it was fine. Could it maybe have been a tad bit closer to the curb? Possibly. I watched as he grabbed his satchel, exited his vehicle, and surveyed his “work.” It was obvious from all that head-scratching he was not impressed. He got back into his car and went through this same process (park, assess, judge-to-be-wanting) again—and again—and again. Until finally, he ended up with a product that wasn’t much different from where he began. (And honestly, it was even a little worse.)
As I’ve been pondering the Rubin-Tippet interview, with its underlying themes of self-doubt (which for me, is likely a driver behind my “addiction” to perfectionism) I’ve lately been drawn to the concept that in Buddhism, self-doubt is seen as a form of laziness.
I find that concept fascinating because if self-doubt is indeed a form of laziness, then isn’t it also true that it is ultimately a self-serving excuse—the permission we give ourselves to give up or not even try?
Additionally, if I accept that self-doubt is a form of laziness, then by extension, isn’t it something I have control over, versus something I am saddled with because of—fill in the blanks—parents who didn’t support you, an abusive ex, a lousy boss?
So here’s what I’m sitting with today:
For me, perfectionism—which can often appear as a sensation in my body—is an indicator that I’m about to spiral into an “episode” of self-doubt. When it starts to show up in my work, that’s when I know it’s time for me to heed Rubin’s advice. To let the work rest—to move on, and to come back to it later when I can see it from a more detached and compassionate point of view.
Seeing self-doubt as a form of laziness, (and therefore an active choice) hasn’t necessarily left me with a full-proof remedy that will make all vestiges of self-doubt and low self-esteem suddenly disappear, but it has reminded me I’m not quite as powerless as I once thought.
Here’s to moving through self-doubt—however, wherever it shows up. And to making that choice to take the first step—to talk to the recruiter, to ask for a raise, to write your first book.
Thanks for reading. xo D
Oh, this! Reading this, I feel the torture. But the notion of writing something, then letting it be and coming back to it has always worked for me. I loved how this is framed - you are the writer when you are in the moment writing, but you come back as a reader. That's exactly what it is. So simple, no? If only writing were so simple. ;)
Self doubt is laziness - now that is a concept I must ponder. I am the opposite of a perfectionist. I am what is known as an activator - I have a plan or idea and I want to run with it and see where it goes. I don't wait until it's perfect. I've had to learn who I can take my half baked idea to and who needs to see it more fleshed out.
The writing I do here I don't rework to death. It comes from a "moment of genius" and I find the more I pick at it the less inclined I am to put it out there.