To Live a Creative Life

“To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.”

— Joseph Chilton Pearce

It’s a simple, powerful idea, isn’t it? Letting go of the fear of failure might just be the key to unlocking a bit more sanity in our increasingly chaotic lives. But, let's pause for a moment and acknowledge a vital reality: there are people living through unimaginable hardship right now—war zones, displacement, loss, and grief. Their courage and resilience are astonishing. In comparison, the stresses of daily life in safer, more stable environments—work deadlines, a difficult commute, or the struggle to “have it all”—can feel almost embarrassingly small. 

And yet, no matter where we find ourselves on the spectrum of human experience, creativity can play a vital role in survival, healing, and hope. 

Lessons from the Blitz Club—and the Pandemic

The Blitz Club of the late 1970s and early 1980s was born amidst the backdrop of Thatcher-era austerity—a time of economic turbulence and social upheaval in the UK. Much like the literal bombs of the 1940s Blitz, which rained destruction on London's streets, the economic policies of the 1980s delivered a figurative bombing to communities and industries, dismantling traditional livelihoods and leaving deep scars on the social fabric.

Yet, out of the rubble of high unemployment, reduced public services, and widening inequality, the Blitz Club emerged as a beacon of creativity and rebellion. Situated in Covent Garden, the club was a sanctuary for the New Romantics—a movement that embraced flamboyance, individuality, and unbridled self-expression. Here, creativity wasn’t just an escape; it was an act of defiance against the grim realities of the outside world. The decadence of the Blitz Club—its theatrical costumes, avant-garde music, and boundary-pushing performances—stood in stark contrast to the austerity of the era.

In both the 1940s and 1980s, creativity proved to be a lifeline. During the wartime Blitz, people sang songs in bomb shelters and turned to art and literature to make sense of the senseless. Decades later, the Blitz Club channelled a similar energy, albeit in a different form. This time, the enemy wasn’t an external aggressor, but an economic system that seemed indifferent to the suffering of ordinary people. The club’s patrons, many of whom came from working-class backgrounds, responded not with despair but with dazzling displays of artistry and imagination.

The decadence of the Blitz Club can be seen as a parallel to the resilience and ingenuity of those who lived through the original Blitz. Both periods demonstrate the human capacity to find light in the darkness. Just as wartime Londoners rebuilt their city from the ashes, the Blitz Kids built a cultural movement that redefined music, fashion, and art. And just as the wartime Blitz left its scars on the landscape, the economic bombshells of the 1980s reshaped society—though not without sparking a creative explosion that still resonates today.

This dynamic underscores a timeless truth: when times are tough, creativity becomes not just an outlet, but a powerful form of resistance and renewal.

Fast-forward to the 21st century, and the COVID-19 pandemic offered a modern parallel. While the circumstances were vastly different—fewer bombs, more banana bread—the fear, uncertainty, and isolation were just as pervasive. Millions of people turned to creative outlets to stay grounded. Some baked sourdough or learned to paint; others rediscovered old hobbies like knitting, writing, or making music. TikTok dances went viral, Zoom choirs emerged, and colouring books became bestsellers. Creativity wasn’t just a distraction—it was a means of survival, a way to inject joy and purpose into days that could otherwise feel endless and bleak.

Whether in a bunker in 1940 or a living room in 2020, creativity reminded us that even in the face of crisis, we can still create, connect, and express ourselves. It’s a universal human response—an instinct to make meaning and find light in the darkness.

This teaches us an important lesson: if people could find time and strength for creativity during the Blitz or the pandemic, surely, we can too. Creativity doesn’t require perfection or grand gestures—just the willingness to try. Whether it’s a doodle, a poem, or an oddly shaped loaf of bread, it’s the act of creating that helps us process, cope, and even heal.

Bridging the Gap: First World Stress vs. True Suffering

Here in the UK, many of us lament the pressures of modern life—stress at work, endless to-do lists, and the gnawing feeling of “never enough.” But it’s essential to hold this stress in perspective. The daily challenges of those living through conflict, displacement, or chronic oppression are on a completely different scale. That disparity doesn’t diminish our feelings, but it does call us to gratitude—and to action. If those enduring true suffering can find solace in creativity, why shouldn’t we?

Anglia Ruskin University recently studied the profound impact of creative pursuits—anything from painting to knitting—and found that engaging in them significantly improves mental well-being. It’s not about creating masterpieces; it’s about creating space. Space to breathe, to reflect, and to reconnect with what makes us human.

Making Creativity Accessible to All

Yet, many resist creativity. “I’m just not a creative person,” they say, as if it’s a talent you’re either born with or not. Nonsense. Creativity isn’t some exclusive club. It’s in the doodles you make during meetings, the way you rearrange furniture, or the inventive dinner you cobble together from random fridge leftovers. Creativity isn’t about perfection—it’s about participation. And participation is something everyone can do. 

Here’s how the IDEA process can help make creativity a daily practice: 

Inform: Shifting Perspectives 

We need to spread the word that creativity is for everyone. Share stories of how creativity has helped people heal and cope, from war zones to living rooms. Highlight its transformative power, not as a luxury, but as a necessity for mental and emotional health. 

Develop: Building Skills

This is about lowering the barriers to entry. Creativity doesn’t require expensive tools or formal training. Teach someone to knit, paint, write, or play an instrument—anything that gets them started. It’s the doing, not the outcome, that matters. For communities in crisis, arts programs can provide both therapy and connection, helping to rebuild a sense of self in the face of trauma. 

Enable: Embedding Creative Practices 

Creativity needs to become a habit, not an occasional indulgence. This might look like encouraging daily journaling, setting up a community art project, or even providing trauma-informed art therapy in areas of conflict. Small, consistent acts of creation can be transformative.

Animate: Sharing Stories 

Stories inspire action. Share how creativity has helped you, your community, or others in extraordinary circumstances. Celebrate small wins and amplify the voices of those using creativity to survive and thrive, whether they’re crafting in a war zone or finding solace in sketching through their grief. 

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The power of creativity lies in its accessibility—it doesn’t require privilege, only the willingness to try. Whether you’re facing existential threats or navigating the quiet struggles of everyday life, creativity is a tool for resilience. It can help us heal, connect, and rediscover joy, even in the darkest of times.

So, let’s honour the courage of those who create in the face of suffering, and let’s challenge ourselves to create too—not just for ourselves, but as a way of fostering empathy and connection. Whether it’s a scribble, a sonnet, or a scarf, what you create might not change the world. But it might just change your world—or someone else’s—for the better.

Creativity doesn’t just stay in your personal life. Take our Presentation Pulse Check to see how your business’s comms are doing and get actionable insights as you prepare to take on 2025!