Don’t tell anyone this, but I used to be a massive nerd. I was the biggest, swottiest nerd you ever did see. I would hide away in my bedroom around exam time and study those books until the words were embossed on the back of my eye lids. And even then, it never felt like enough.
I cross trained in the highest form of energy a body can produce without chemical assistance: perfectionism and panic.
The other side of that was there was always, inevitably, a finish line. The exams had a date and would be over. I would have to stop, even if I didn’t want to.
And at that point, I remember being consumed by a lightness. My body lifted of its studious weights, I floated round, time seemingly swilling out before me like gossamer.
This is the joy of finishing energy. Of things being done. For my high school self, it never felt like I was ready for the end point to arrive. It always seemed like there was one more chapter I needed to read, or a quick thing I needed to check before I knew the answer to that question. But at some point, there was a forced surrender.
At some point, I needed to be done.
I think of this a lot in relationship to our creative work. There is a lot of focus on idea generation, on maintaining inspiration, but little emphasis on tying things up. Most people I work with aren’t short on ideas. But what they are short on is finishing energy. On picking that one thing and seeing it through.
Too many things left unfinished eat us alive. There’s a liberation in ending.
We leave things open and undone as a just in case policy. In case we can make it better. In case we think of a different way to end it.
What can you tie off, finish up?
What can you look and decide, yes, this is done?