The curse of a great idea
Remember the last time you had a good idea, like a really great idea. The stop-dead-in-your-tracks-drop-everything-open-your-phone-make-a-note idea, remember the big smile you wore for the rest of the day after you got it. It felt great didn’t it, all the way till you actually sat down and started to work on it. Then it became an absolute pain in the ass.
Good ideas demand so much. They need careful planning, its as if it everything has to be perfect. All parts of it have to be amazing. A good idea somehow senses it when you don’t bring your a-game to it. And it calls you out on it. It’d rather you make you question yourself, suffer from insecurity than let you get away with less than your best. Unlike the usual shitty ideas that don’t really care, and just want to be removed from your to-do list. A great idea wants to be worked and reworked and reiterated. It makes you go through hell and back because it thinks it’s worth it.
There’s no running away from a great idea either, it haunts your mind, through the everyday tasks it waits, like a stalker, watching observing, criticising you for not getting back to it. Like a jealous pet it stands in a corner and punishes you for wasting your time with strays. It occupies your mind, distracting you from all that is prioritised before it. Like a seductress it keeps flashing away at your thoughts till all you can do is dream of spending time with it. Moulding it and writing it down to perfection. Spending hours agonising over how certain bits refuse to fit together and then hashing them out till they do. At the end of it, once the finishing touches are done and the fortieth rewrite completed, when the last of the finishing touches have been put to the adjectives used, the dialogue sharpened till the words draw blood.
And then it’s gone leaving behind an emptiness that requires utmost distraction. Even in its absence, a great idea leaves behind a trail of pain and longing. Longing because as a creator you live for those moments of inspiration, when something bigger than yourself descends upon your human head and you scramble away at executing it, lest somebody beats you to it. And once it’s done you tremble in the fear that something such as this might not ever strike you again. That having raised the bar so high your next work must be even better.
It’s diabolical how a great idea disrupts us, uproots us from our cyclical planes of existence and catapults us into orbits unknown. I hate great ideas, because I live, doubting if my mortal coil can burn so bright.
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