Letdowns are an inevitable part of a creative person’s life. You painted the best picture of your life; you sang your dream performance; you starred in the community theater’s play; your YouTube channel is up and running; your book is published … and invariably, that little voice comes up in the back of your mind that says, “So now what?”
I think part of the lost feeling is because you actually have time to stop and think about what you’ve done, but the passion that’s been driving your thinking for months or years is suddenly in the past. Part of it may be anxiety: how is your work being received? Part of it is probably going into an adrenaline slump after running like mad to get this thing done. And part of it is feeling like you need a new passion to latch onto, only you don’t quite know which way to turn.
It’s easy to turn the feeling of letdown into spinning one’s wheels or paralysis, but the fallow periods following a major achievement do have a place and a purpose. If you can keep from being sidetracked into either a hasty search for the next project or a depressed funk, the suddenly empty space is where you can reflect on where you have been and what truly draws you onward. It’s also a good place for discovering the work of others, for reading, for spending time with family and friends and green spaces—renewing your energies and refreshing and refilling the wells from which new ideas can arise. After all, we are not human doings; we are human beings, and it is in our being, not our doing, that God made us to have worth and value. We need the between spaces to come apart from our own busyness, remember who we are, and rest … before we just plain come apart.
I think part of the lost feeling is because you actually have time to stop and think about what you’ve done, but the passion that’s been driving your thinking for months or years is suddenly in the past. Part of it may be anxiety: how is your work being received? Part of it is probably going into an adrenaline slump after running like mad to get this thing done. And part of it is feeling like you need a new passion to latch onto, only you don’t quite know which way to turn.
It’s easy to turn the feeling of letdown into spinning one’s wheels or paralysis, but the fallow periods following a major achievement do have a place and a purpose. If you can keep from being sidetracked into either a hasty search for the next project or a depressed funk, the suddenly empty space is where you can reflect on where you have been and what truly draws you onward. It’s also a good place for discovering the work of others, for reading, for spending time with family and friends and green spaces—renewing your energies and refreshing and refilling the wells from which new ideas can arise. After all, we are not human doings; we are human beings, and it is in our being, not our doing, that God made us to have worth and value. We need the between spaces to come apart from our own busyness, remember who we are, and rest … before we just plain come apart.