Creativity Memories

One question I’ve been asked over the past few months is when I got into projects. I pinpoint the college era, because that’s when I really started to have this mindset of making "projects." And that’s essentially true.

But the question has really brought back all these memories. Things from before college. Memories less about "projects," and more just about creativity, how my view of being creative was shaped.

All kinds of things came to mind. I’ve got to write them all down, you know, but I thought right now, I’d share two.

Memory #1:

I am hanging out with one of my best friends in high school. We’re listening to the song Forever Young by Alphaville in his bedroom. We’re on the verge of graduating, and of course, that’s probably the only time in you’re life where the drama is really, truly, melodrama. But we’re listening to this song and taking in the lyrics that we knew so well, and being blown away all over again. Like, the truth is RIGHT THERE, man. Like everything — EVERYTHING — we’re feeling is completely embodied in this song, because it is the most amazing song ever. And no drugs or two liter California Coolers we’re involved whatsoever, mind you.

After the song ended, I asked my friend what he thought the songwriter said after he wrote such incredible words. And my friend, a songwriter himself, yes, even in high school, said:

"He probably said, ‘Do you think it’s any good?’."

I have never forgotten that, and I think about it all the time.

Memory #2:

I had Geometry sophomore year. One of our assignments was to take a single piece of paper and design something three dimensional. The hitch was your piece of paper could never be cut in two. It had to remain one piece of paper. FREAK OUT! I had to get into college, folks. What if I got an F? What if I failed? Would all my extracurricular activities make up for my bad grade in geometry? No, it would not. So what did I do? The same thing as most of the rest of the class. I cheated. I somehow got a hold of an easy way to make a three dimensional telephone — out of a single piece of paper — from someone who had taken the class the year before. In other words, old hat shit.

So on the due date, I walked up to the teacher, Mr. Cohen, with my telephone. He didn’t say a word, just frowned. But he wrote B+ on the bottom of my paper phone. At first, I was like, BINGO! But as I settled back into my seat, I started to feel, well, sick to my stomach. The disinterest, and frankly, the disdain, in Mr. Cohen’s eyes from moments earlier finally registered. And it hit me like a one sentence, "let’s just be friends, nothing more, nothing less" break-up note. All I had done was follow directions. I hadn’t created anything. I took the easy, safe way out. I may have gotten a B+ for the assignment, but I had failed, big time, in something so much more important than a grade in a geometry class.

I think about this one less, and should probably think about it more often.