Overthinking Kills Creativity

Overthinking Kills Creativity

Overthinking Kills Jazz. In Fact, Overthinking Kills Creativity.

I’ve had many conversations over the years with my good friend, jazz flute player Bob Winette. We talk about music, jazz, gigs, players, creativity, the whole thing.

One thing I’ve said to Bob more than once is this:

When I’m on a gig, or in any playing situation, I’m not thinking about anything.

I’m not worried about what people think of my playing. I’m not concerned about someone’s judgment of my performance. I’m not wondering if I’m impressing anyone. I’m not standing there trying to mentally evaluate every note before I play it.

Man, that would be a complete waste of time.

First of all, I’m of a certain age now. I’ve been playing guitar since I was a kid. I’ve been playing music most of my life. So at some point, it only makes sense to trust that I know something. I’m not a beginner. I’m not trying to prove that I belong there.

I know my instrument. I know the language. I’ve done the work.

And when it’s time to play, the job is not to overthink.

The job is to play.

Learn Your Craft, Then Get Out of the Way

This is something I talk about with my photography students, too.

Overthinking kills creativity.

Whether you’re creating with a guitar, a piano, a camera, a brush, a pen, your voice, or anything else, there comes a point where you have to stop managing every little thing in your mind and let the creative process breathe.

That doesn’t mean practice doesn’t matter.

It means practice matters so much that, eventually, you have to trust it.

You learn your chords, your scales, your arpeggios, your theory. You learn composition, light, timing, color, structure, rhythm, phrasing, tone. You learn the tools of your craft. You put in the hours. You build the foundation.

Then, when it’s time to create, you let all of that become part of you.

You don’t have to drag every piece of knowledge into the front of your mind and inspect it before you make a move.

At some point, the music has to come through your hands.

The photograph has to come through your eye.

The painting has to come through the brush.

The song has to come through your voice.

The art has to move.

The Problem With “What Should I Play?”

I think a lot of young musicians, and young artists in general, get caught up in the question:

“What should I play?”

Or maybe it shows up as:

• “What’s the right thing to play?”
• “Am I impressing the crowd?”
• “Am I playing what people expect?”
• “Does this sound smart enough?”
• “Will another musician think this is hip?”
• “Am I good enough?”

Those questions might feel important in the moment, but they can pull you right out of the music.

They take you out of expression and put you into self-judgment.

And self-judgment is not the same thing as creativity.

There’s a time to study. There’s a time to analyze. There’s a time to listen critically and improve. All of that matters.

But the middle of a solo, a performance, a photo session, a painting, or any creative act is not always the time to hold a committee meeting in your head.

Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind and let the music come out.

Trust the Years You’ve Put In

If you’ve been practicing your craft for years, give yourself some credit.

You know more than you think you know.

Your hands know things. Your ears know things. Your eye knows things. Your heart knows things.

A musician who has practiced for years doesn’t need to consciously think through every note. A photographer who understands light and composition doesn’t need to stop and mentally recite every rule before pressing the shutter. A painter doesn’t need to explain every brushstroke before making it.

The knowledge is already there.

The experience is already there.

The sensitivity is already there.

Now the question becomes: can you trust it?

That’s not always easy. Many artists are their own harshest critics. We second-guess ourselves. We compare ourselves to others. We wonder whether we’re doing it “right.”

But creativity doesn’t always arrive through certainty.

Sometimes it arrives through trust.

Happy Accidents Are Part of the Magic

Here’s another thing: sometimes when you don’t know exactly what you’re doing, something beautiful happens.

You try something unexpected.

You make a mistake, but it leads somewhere better.

You play a phrase you didn’t plan.

You frame a photograph in a way you normally wouldn’t.

You follow an instinct instead of a rule.

And suddenly, there it is.

Something fresh.

Something alive.

Something you never would have found if you were trying too hard to control the outcome.

You’ve got to love happy accidents.

A lot of creativity lives there.

Not in perfection. Not in over-planning. Not in trying to impress everyone.

But in being open enough to let something unexpected happen.

Creativity Needs Room to Breathe

Overthinking tightens things up.

It makes the music stiff.

It makes the photograph predictable.

It makes the writing sound forced.

It makes the performance feel careful instead of alive.

Creativity needs room to breathe. It needs space. It needs a little danger. It needs the willingness to not know exactly what’s going to happen next.

That’s part of what makes art exciting.

When you hear a great jazz musician play, you’re not just hearing information. You’re hearing presence. You’re hearing someone respond in the moment. You’re hearing years of practice, listening, study, mistakes, gigs, influences, and life experience all coming through one spontaneous creative act.

That’s powerful.

And that same idea applies to all art forms.

The best creative moments often happen when the artist is no longer trying to prove anything.

They’re simply present.

They’re listening.

They’re responding.

They’re creating.

Don’t Play What You Think You “Should” Play

One of the most freeing things an artist can do is stop creating from the word “should.”

“I should play something more impressive.”

“I should take photographs like that person.”

“I should sound more modern.”

“I should make something people will approve of.”

“I should do what’s expected.”

Maybe not.

Maybe the better question is:

“What do I actually hear?”

“What do I actually see?”

“What wants to come through me right now?”

“What feels honest?”

As a guitarist, you have to play the music that is inside your heart.

As a photographer, you have to make the photograph that speaks to your eye.

As a painter, writer, singer, or artist of any kind, you have to trust the thing in you that wants to create.

That doesn’t mean every note will be perfect. It doesn’t mean every photograph will be a masterpiece. It doesn’t mean everything you make will be great.

That’s not the point.

The point is to stay connected to the creative flow.

Because that’s where the real stuff happens.

A Few Thoughts for Artists Who Overthink

If you find yourself overthinking your creative work, ask yourself:

• Am I trying to create, or am I trying to impress?
• Am I responding to the moment, or judging it before it has a chance to unfold?
• Am I trusting my experience, or pretending I haven’t learned anything?
• Am I making art from the heart, or from fear?
• Is all this thinking helping the work, or getting in the way?

Those are good questions to sit with.

Not to beat yourself up.

Just to notice.

Because once you notice the overthinking, you can begin to let it go.

The Work Is in You Already

Learn your craft.

Respect the discipline.

Put in the time.

Study the greats.

Practice your scales. Learn your camera. Understand your tools. Develop your technique. Build your foundation.

But when it’s time to create, don’t stand in the doorway blocking the thing you worked so hard to develop.

Let it move.

Let it breathe.

Let it surprise you.

You know your chords, your scales, your arpeggios, your theory.

Now let all that go and play the music.

Not the music you think you should play.

Not the music that might impress someone.

Not the music that comes from fear.

Play the music that is inside your heart.

That’s where the magic is.

And that’s the part no one else can play for you.