We are ingrained with the desire to share what we think. One of the first questions we are asked as young children is "do you like it?". From that moment forward, we seek to shape our set of relationships, pursuits, and beliefs to best align with our tastes. In addition to the curation of our internal worlds, our social status has also come to increasingly rely on our projected opinions. While social connections have always been built around shared values, we're now reaching an unprecedented level of interconnectedness and ease of expression.
It's easy to understand the siren call of mass validation, with social media giving everyone a taste of the benefits eschewed from outsized reach. In a world where we filter ideas by agreeableness over veracity, we've quickly blurred the lines between expertise and hubris.
People value what they can't do or don't have. But when everyone has an opinion and is easily able to share it, what then is valuable?
What is valuable is your output. The work you do. The art you create. The projects you build. Output is something people can measure against. Great output, by the nature of the time it requires to create, is scarce. And scarcity will always drive value. It's why we watch sports, buy concert tickets, and read biographies of history's greats.
It will always be quicker to be noticed through your opinions. Why spend a lifetime practicing a craft and honing your skills when you can hit post and reach millions of people instantly?
Opinions require a connection to your identity. Each opinion remains attached to its source, with the weight of its validity determined by the social capital of the person giving it. You trust a friend's restaurant recommendation far more than an anonymous yelp account, though probably less than your favorite food critic. When you attach your identity to an idea, you become cemented to that viewpoint, inviting an inevitable stagnation of your perception. An opinion immediately becomes an echo of a past belief, a static relic of the environment and ideologies it was formed within.
By contrast, as soon as you release your work into the world, it takes on a life of its own. As an active participant in the exchange with others, your output remains evergreen, influencing the discourse and perspective of all who interact with it. In this way, what you create expands far beyond yourself. It stands as a reflection of your curiosity, a living microcosm with an interpretation that evolves alongside your changing audience.
Opinions are sticky, and as they accumulate, they act like plaque through the veins, limiting the range of our exploration and desires. We easily fall into this lull of palatable consistency, watching sequels over originals, listening to less new music (1), and pursuing fewer novel ideas (2). When everything you consume fits within your established worldview, you become fragile to difficulty and the unexpected.
The antidote to this curated filtration is active creation. To create is to grapple with the relationship between challenge and exhilaration. Great art is a daring and risky endeavor, requiring a willingness to actively engage with the unknown. Struggle is inherent to the process. Just as lifting weight breaks down your body to build it back stronger, your lifelong pursuit of the work will forge an internal resiliency and connection otherwise unattainable.
Committing yourself to the time and energy required by your output is the only way to enter the arena and distinguish yourself from the millions watching on the sidelines. Creation is the act of bringing something into the world that did not previously exist. There's nothing more powerful than shaping your reality through your capability and curiosity.
We're constantly wondering about the success and results of those around us. Could I have done that? How hard did it feel? What was that experience like? We search out behind-the-scenes clips and deep interviews into the creator's process, hoping for an insight to spark our own production. But the only path to understanding is through doing. How much more satisfying to stop talking about the work and instead simply engage with it.
By solely pursuing your output, you have the opportunity to learn as both the creator and the recipient. How you respond to your work, and where your mind goes once you are exposed to something new, is an entirely unique response. This emergent behavior is what continues to drive your output forward, iterating in new and previously unknown directions. You quickly outpace the passive observers through the rapid compounding of discovery and completion.
And once you realize your ability to generate substantial output, you are no longer reliant on external currents to keep you aloft. You are now able to create your own reality.
Culture is shaped by those daring enough to engage with the work. Everyone can talk about what they like, while far fewer can create what they want. We need to focus on output over opinion, not to garner more attention, or to chase visions of success, but because our output is the only thing that has a chance to stand the test of time.
Let go of the need to share your opinion, and instead, push forward with the slow accumulation of your output. The world awaits.
1. Some research on changing music consumption with age, although they use decreased listening to "mainstream" music as the qualifier for maturing tastes. While I don't listen to much mainstream music, I'm actively finding a high volume of new music/artists across genres, which wouldn't show in their charts. Still interesting to consider. Music Was Better Back Then.
2. Younger researchers typical pursue newer scientific ideas than older scientists. I'm curious to read more in this area, as I can imagine a ton of additional influencing factors beyond age (the paper mentions a couple). Age and the Trying Out of New Ideas.