WARNING: YOU CAN'T UNSEE THIS

At the end of a podcast I was listening to today, the tape runs for a a few minutes after all the participants think that recording has stopped. During this short period, I am listening more intently than I have been over the past hour. A conversation that was accidentally recorded and then accidentally left in the edit was, for the moment, available to the public. It was a sort of voyeurism that gets you both excited (what could they possibly say when they think they're off-record?), and guilty (I know I wasn't meant to hear this and so it feels a little wrong). Nothing remarkable or memorable was spoken in those accidental minutes of podcasting, and the whole ordeal was immediately forgotten.

Two hours later I turned on an audiobook that spoke to this exact combination of feelings (excitement and guilt), and the author compared the emotional cocktail to the fuel that motivates an addict, a gambler, or a peeping tom.  He goes on to posit that this combination of tension and uncertainty is what makes us wish we could un-watch then re-watch our favorite movies for the first time all over again, without the certainty of already knowing what happens at the end. This instantly reminds me of the podcast error I listened to earlier, but then the chapter ends and moves on to a different topic.

The part that I thought was missing is that this uneasy tension is not just for vices and entertainment. It's also a non-negotiable part of producing creative work. Whether the feeling hits you before you even allow yourself to start or as your mouse hovers above the "Publish Now" button, you will at some point say some variation of "this might not work" to yourself. That's the entire point. That's exactly what differentiates regular work from creative work. An accurate spreadsheet will work. It's a faithful representation of the data you have. The presentation you have to give regarding that spreadsheet, though? That's creative work, since it's inseparable from your own voice, the conclusions you'll come to, and the design choices you make. This conclusion I've come to is not new . I've heard dozens of variations of "well, if I feel scared, then I know I'm doing something right!", but each one ultimately comes off as cutesy copium. If you can be comfortable with that impending tension now (not just talk it away with quippy one-liners), it can become something to look forward to— not like a heuristic you keep in your back pocket just for whack-a-mole-ing the lizard brain from time to time, but like watching a great movie for the first time.