Too Many Threads: Learning to Let Go in a World of Infinite Ideas
This morning, as I stepped out for a walk, I felt a weight on my chest — a familiar unease stirred by the fear that I’m becoming someone who starts things but doesn’t finish them. Someone who begins with excitement and passion, only to abandon the idea halfway through. That’s the opposite of who I want to be. This wasn’t a new feeling, but a recurring concern: that I’m not living up to my full potential or creating something substantial or lasting, bogged down by too many obligations, distractions, fears, or procrastination.
In an attempt to disrupt the feeling, I pulled out a notebook from three years ago, hoping to rekindle inspiration and remind myself where I’m trying to go. Instead, I was met with more unfinished threads. More abandoned ideas. More proof, it seemed, that I have a habit of not following through. At first, it confirmed my doubt. All these ideas I’d never developed felt like mirrors reflecting my current fears.
But as I sat with that discomfort a little longer, I began to ask myself: what does it really mean to leave many ideas behind? Does it always signify a lack of commitment? Or could it instead point to exploration, to a kind of seeking, until the right idea comes along? Maybe we’re not meant to follow every single idea. Each concept holds infinite potential, with paths diverging into countless others. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t chase them all.
This dilemma mirrors modern life: so many choices, so many versions of ourselves we could become. And the questions creep in. What if I’d moved to that city? Taken that job? Married that person? Followed that idea instead of this one? These questions don’t really serve us. They create space for indecision, doubt, or worse — regret. So what do we do when they come?
Maybe these sketchbooks, filled with stops and starts, aren’t failures at all. Maybe they’re evidence of something more important: curiosity, courage, and creative evolution. If nothing else, these old notes and half-formed projects are part of the terrain of a creative life. Some might be picked up later. Others may not. But they still hold meaning — even if only to carry us forward to the next thing. They remind us that we were trying. Exploring. Listening. Growing.
If we’re not meant to follow every idea, perhaps we’re also not meant to finish every endeavour we start. I think the more important question is: why do we stop? Is it because something no longer feels right? Or is it fear — fear of failure, of being seen, of getting it wrong — that’s holding us back? If it’s fear, then maybe our job is simply to keep going anyway, to embrace the mess, and see it through, no matter the outcome. Because that’s what creative work really is: not finishing everything to perfection, but learning from every attempt, and taking those learnings forward to make the next thing even better.
Artist Agnes Martin, whose work is revered for its simplicity and introspection, once said, “The ideas come, and I try to get them down.” The value lies in the trying, not in whether the idea was carried all the way to the finish line.
Maintaining a creative practice, especially without a steady stream of external support is a messy, non-linear, unpredictable process. We can’t expect every project to be perfect. And we shouldn’t. Perfection stifles growth. Messiness allows for discovery, experimentation, transformation.
Ira Glass, the creator of This American Life, reminds us: “Nobody tells this to people who are beginners… all of us who do creative work, we get into a zone where we’re not satisfied. The most important thing you can do is do a lot of work.” It’s the doing, the showing up, the trying, the failing, that shapes us. Even the projects we never finish teach us something. The projects we never finish. The stories we never write. The paintings that stay half-done in the back of the studio. All of it is part of the story.
We live in a culture that prizes final products and tangible results. But real creativity lives in the unseen trying, the wondering, the letting go. Every sketch, every half-formed thought, every thread that was left behind. Even if in small ways, it all still matters.
So if you’re like me, and you’ve ever felt the anxiety of not finishing something, I want to remind you (and myself): the work doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be good enough — and out there. Ready for your next attempt. That’s when the unexpected can happen.
My usual action tactic goes something like: decide, think, think, act, think some more. But I’m actively working to change it to: decide, act, think, act, repeat!
So keep making. Keep exploring. Let the chaos teach you. Let it soften you. Let it become part of the story you’re still writing…and if in doubt — decide and act!
Further Reading
If these thoughts resonate with you, here are some books and resources that have supported me along the way:
The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron — On creativity as a spiritual practice
Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert — On permission, curiosity, and creative fear
Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott — On writing, perfectionism, and the beauty of process
Ira Glass, interviews and talks — Especially his advice for creatives in the “gap”
Creativity, Inc. by Ed Catmull — On cultivating creativity inside systems
