Frustration is a fundamental step in the creative process.
- Steven Kotler, “The Art of Impossible”
Frustration in one’s personal life, I have discovered, can also be a tremendous impetus for embarking a new creative project.
I’m in the midst of reading a gem of a book that I’m finding to be profoundly useful in helping me transform my daily work performance from fairly productive to astronomically so. The book is called, “The Art of Impossible; A Peak Performance Primer,” by Steven Kotler.
If you’re interested in learning the secrets of peak performers—athletes, artists, scientists, CEO’s, etc—who have changed our definition of possible…and want to apply what you learn in your own life to stretch far beyond your own capabilities, I highly recommend this book.
The subject matter of this blog is of a personal nature: my frustration over a romantic relationship that ended months ago…and I still have no idea why. But the process of trying to figure out why is proving to be extremely useful for my work as a screenwriter. Thank you, sublimation.
If you’re not familiar with the psychological term, “sublimation,” here is cheeky explanation by the author of “The Art of Impossible”:
Freud talked about “sublimation,” a defense mechanism that transforms private, often socially unacceptable frustrations (me, facedown punching the floor), into socially acceptable expressions of creativity (the book you’re now reading). The gestalt psychologist, Kurt Lewin, simplified things further, arguing that frustration is simply an obstruction to a goal that demands an innovative response.
Obviously, that explanation pertains to the experience of getting frustrated during the creative process. My experience, however, is about being frustrated before the creative process…and using that frustration as the catalyst to begin a new creative work (a screenplay).
To illustrate how sublimation worked for me, here is personalized modification of the above passage:
A defense mechanism that transforms private, often socially unacceptable frustrations (me, screaming at the fireplace then checking my phone, again, to see if there’s a text reply from the guy in question, which there isn’t, of course, then vowing to never text him again, which I do, of course, and then the screaming at the fireplace cycle begins again), into socially acceptable expressions of creativity (instead of texting him, again, I head to my laptop and work on a rather clever screenplay, if I do say so myself, about the incredibly frustrating experience).
In other words, I am transforming my frustration and other not-so-fun emotions (confusion, sorrow, anger) into a script that, when produced, may even help other people. At the very least, it will certainly entertain them.
For now, however, the outcome that is of most use to ME is the creative process itself. Writing this screenplay is helping me understand and accept what happened, heal, let go, and learn some valuable lessons that will likely prove useful as I move forward with my love life…and my professional life. Writing this script is proving to be technically challenging and stretching me far beyond my current capabilities.
But back to “The Art of Impossible” and the experience of feeling frustrated with the creative process (which was, after all, the author’s intended take-away), he finished with this advice:
From a practical perspective, this means we have to invert our traditional relationship with frustration. When most people encounter this feeling, they take it as a sign that they’re doing something wrong. But if frustration is a necessary step in the creative process, then we need to stop treating its arrival as a disaster.
Likewise with situations in our personal lives (such as a romance that didn’t fly for no apparent reason): when we can take the frustration we are feeling and create something new and useful for oneself and others, then we are able to see frustration for what it is: an important catalyst.
In other words, although I was disappointed the relationship didn’t work out, I am very thankful I channeled my frustration, hurt, and confusion into the creation of a new screenplay.
In fact, maybe the real reason—the bigger one—for the relationship was to give me the fodder and fuel for a brilliant script? Because let’s face it…if the relationship had worked out, I wouldn’t have been compelled to write the screenplay. Nor would you be reading this blog.
After all, as Kurt Lewin said: “Frustration is simply an obstruction to a goal that demands an innovative response.”
What that innovative response is—and whether it gets rid of the obstruction to the original goal or inspires us to create an entirely new goal—is up to us.
On a final note, frustration isn’t the only emotion that can be a catalyst for creativity. So, too, can grief. Years ago, when I was widowed at the age of thirty-two, I was able to (eventually) transform the myriad of difficult emotions associated with my grief into the creation of a book. If you’re interested in reading about my experience with the writing process, I shared it in an earlier Good Men Project blog entitled, “The Magic of Creativity & the Writing Process.”
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