Before you lose the urge

Why creative procrastination diminishes you over time

One of the hardest things I am still learning as an adult is how to share without being invited. Perhaps it’s because of my temperament as an introvert or my cultural upbringing that emphasizes the importance of reading the room, aka nunchi. Whatever the reason, I often hesitate to speak at length, wary of taking up needless space.

Repressing the desire to express yourself doesn’t make it disappear, at least not immediately. If speaking doesn’t come naturally, we seek out other forms of connection: writing, drawing, singing, dancing, and all the other ways we creatively express ourselves.

The urge to create arrives as suddenly as the urge to speak. You stumble upon or crystallize something important and feel a desperate need to share and make something of it. The idea doesn’t have to be original—it could be a glowing review of the Sinners soundtrack or your version of a Matisse cutout.

In an ideal world we’d follow the creative urge as soon as it arrives, taking advantage of its momentum. Realistically, most of us have a heaping pile of creative ideas that have been hastily tended to and left ignored. What then, happens to a neglected creative urge?

The Zeigarnik effect gives a good explanation: the phenomenon shows that people are psychologically wired to remember unfinished tasks more than completed ones. Our sprouting ideas stick with us, building up mental clutter that nags us about our unrealized potential.

Credit: Art by Anaïs Pirlot-Mares for Todoist

Beyond the familiar benefits of creative expression, this gives us a more practical reason to follow through before the urge fades. Every unfinished idea creates mental tension, while acting on them releases that pressure, freeing us to make space for new things. Creative procrastination isn't just missed opportunity—it's a form of self-diminishment that compounds over time.

A very long time ago, Grandmother had wanted to tell about all the things they did, but no one had bothered to ask. And now she had lost the urge.

—The Summer Book, Tove Jansson

I contemplated this psychological tension reaching its endpoint while reading The Summer Book, a novel about a grandmother and her six-year-old granddaughter Sophie living on a remote Finnish island.

In one vignette, Sophie begs Grandmother to tell her stories of her past. Grandmother only shares a pithy sentence or two, finding herself tired and without the urge. As she continues to reflect on her lack of energy, she realizes:

“I can’t describe things any more. I can’t find the words, or maybe it’s just that I’m not trying hard enough. It was such a long time ago. No one here was even born. And unless I tell it because I want to, it’s as if it never happened; it gets closed off and then it’s lost.”

This regret is exactly what I imagine happens to our potential future selves who spent years neglecting their creative ideas—robbed of all internal motivation to actualize anything, left only with layers of melancholy.

So say what you want to say. Make the work you dream of. Write and dance and create what your soul desires. Because you’re here now, and you still carry your urge, the very core of what keeps you alive.

✂️ Coming up: If you're ready to turn one of your neglected creative urges into something tangible, I invite you to join Zine Lab, a four week Zoom workshop to plan, create, and print a full zine in a small group setting. We start this Monday, July 21!