When I was 12, I brought 100 comic books with me to summer camp. That's a lot of comic books, an essentially infinite number.
So, if someone wanted to borrow one, I said, "sure."
Within a week, they were all gone. I was comicless for the rest of the summer.
Well, I didn't think it would happen, in fact, I said it would never happen, but now, in April 2018, after so many blog posts, after 18 books, dozens of projects and a bunch of ebooks and videos and podcasts, I'm now completely out of ideas. Big ideas, small ideas, any ideas. All gone. Used up.
I have none left.
I always believed that creativity was generative, that one led to two, that holding back was selfish and foolish. More connection begets more value begets more creation. A virtuous cycle for the ages.
And yet, here I am, sixteen Aprils in a row on this blog so far, and now, finally, zilch. Empty. Nothing even close to a new idea, a generous insight or a whisper of novelty. Nothing to say that might prompt you to do more important work. I don't even know what to make for dinner tonight.
So, be warned.
Apparently, all each of us get is seven or eight thousand ideas. I wish I'd known in advance, perhaps I would have been more circumspect with them. Hoarded them. Watched them more carefully.
There you go. Better be careful not to waste yours.
[PS for those of you not looking at the calendar… happy april]