Creative Wisdom Series
with my guest Michael Gillette
Welcome to Part 3 of the Wisdom Series!
Today I’m turning things over to someone I’ve known since I was 14!
My friend Michael Gillette and I go way back to 9th grade in Colorado…almost 35 years ago now (gulp!) In addition to marveling at how we got to be the age we are already, we share similar curiosities and fascinations about the many facets of the creative process.
Michael and I have each embarked on various creative endeavors over the past couple of decades. Our musical chapters overlapped for a short time in 2012 when we were both in bands in Denver at the same time, and we had Michael as guest artist on our album- he added beautiful ambient guitar to several of our songs. Since then, he has been a a steadfast encourager of me and my art; and he holds space in an amazing way for all the creative people in his life.
In the spirit of looking back on earlier years, I asked Michael what advice he’d give his younger self as he began working earnestly towards his creative goals as a musician. Here’s what he says:
“Wouldn’t it be great to travel back in time and give our younger selves advice? It sounds like pure sci-fi fantasy, but in some ways, I think we already do. If we really listen, the quiet conversations we carry on with our past selves echo through our days. And if we let them, they guide us forward with the hard-earned wisdom of experience.
I feel it all the time - a kind of creative spirit guide nudging me toward better choices fresh perspective when I need it most. But it’s never a one-sided dialogue. Alongside those wise voices of encouragement lives a chorus of critics, relentless and comparative, eager to measure my creative pursuits against all the wrong things. And the truth is, those voices have reverberated loudest over the years.
Maybe that’s why, if I could sit across from a younger Michael, I’d know exactly what to say. Because most of the battle in a creative life isn’t out there – it’s in here. And while it’s the hardest fight to face, it’s also the one that has the power to teach us the most.
As a young musician and songwriter, everything I created carried the weight of expectation. Frankly, it crushed me. I constantly measured my music by what it might do for me - whether it was perceived success, money, or praise - and I put a mountain of pressure on myself and everything I made. It also created a landscape of self-judgment and endless comparisons, especially when I gauged myself against the musicians who inspired me. It was a straight path to raging self-doubt, and to wondering: Can I even make anything worthwhile?
What I couldn’t see then was the quiet truth at the heart of a creative life: there is a soft, stubborn beauty in simply creating for its own sake - apart from outcomes and measuring sticks. Yet our minds crave straight lines. Do this, get that. Draw from A to B, arrive at the fancy prize. But life - especially a creative life - refuses to be mapped so neatly.
“it’s ok to set goals but hold them lightly…even the most random of detours and dead ends are part of the process and move the work forward in ways I might not see yet.”
The messy drafts, the abandoned ideas, the songs that go nowhere – they were never failures. They were the negative space that gave shape to what eventually shined. They were the experiments, calibrations, and invisible lessons shaping me into the artist I was becoming. For years, I fought the critical voices in my head that called every dead-end day a waste. If I didn’t leave with a finished song or a polished thing, I felt like I had failed or worse, that I was a failure. What I couldn’t see was how much those ‘failures’ were feeding work that would come later…in some cases, decades later! How the songs that went silent, the seeds that never bloomed, were gently composting beneath the surface, making the creative soil richer for whatever came next.
Over time, I’ve realized there’s an art to creating art - a balance of intention and surrender. Of course, finishing something feels good. Too shape it, ship it into the world, and say: Look at this thing I made! But straight lines are not the creative norm. Some ideas evolve over months of devotion. Others serve as sketches, seeds, and experiments that may never bloom. But all of it matters. And while I would gladly pass this lesson on to my younger self, the truth is, I still remind myself all the time that there is a sweet spot. That it’s ok to set goals but hold them lightly. That even the most random of detours and dead ends are part of the process and move the work forward in ways I might not see yet.
In short, it’s hard to bring something new into the world! And forcing it or expecting it to happen on any kind of predetermined timeline rarely serves the art. Instead, it replaces the joy of curiosity and creating with the frustration that something is not going to plan. And when frustration takes joy’s seat, making art stops feeling like a dance and starts feeling like fumbling with a puzzle missing half its pieces. In my case, it opened the door for those critical voices to draw a mess of unfair conclusions not just about the value of my art, but eventually my value of self.
Because the truth is, as artists, we live close to the things we make. Sometimes it feels like creations come through us. But often times, it feels like they come from deep within us. Either way, it’s easy to let our creations define us. I spent my whole life doing it! And the moment we stack external expectations on top of the work, every unnoticed piece feels ten times heavier – like the world’s silence is an indictment that not only does the art doesn’t matter, but somehow, we don’t either.
So, if I could tell my younger self anything, it would be this: you are more than what you create. Yes, you are an artist, but you are also a son, a husband, a brother, a friend, a dad, and a constellation of moments and connections that no list could ever contain. As much as it can feel like our art is everything, our creations are merely part of a much more fascinating picture. And if we can release the need for our art to carry the weight of our entire identity, we free ourselves - and our art - to simply be what it is meant to be: a way to connect, to process the world, to share our perspectives, and to give shape to the infinite beauty that surrounds our existence on this tiny blue dot in space.
So, if you’re listening young Michael, write the messy songs. Chase the ideas that lead nowhere. And loosen your grip on what any of it will do for you or what the world will think. Simply let your art be art, without demanding it carry the weight of your worth. Because that’s where real joy lives – not in the polished endings, but in the wild and unpredictable journey of making of it.”
“Simply let your art be art, without demanding it carry the weight of your worth.”
Michael Gillette is a lifelong creative chasing his latest reinvention as an unconventional filmmaker under the banner of Phosphonaut. His path winds through a decade onstage in the noise and glow of an indie rock band and nearly as long shaping the voice and identity of the world’s largest lifestyle brand in its field. Now, his work inhabits the blur between art and confession, driven by the intention to leave behind both a pulse and a purpose.
His current film project traces the shadows we run from, the big dreams we swear will save us, and the truth waiting on the far side of failure—that the most extraordinary things are hiding in the places we never thought to look.
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xoxo, Jill
Thank you, Jill, for inviting your friend to be a guest here in this space. What a wonderful way of looking at life Michael has! As a musician and art maker, I can so relate. I’ve made a living being a musician and teacher, but when my identity was wrapped up in either role, my creative life suffered.
I think all of us who create need to hear this perspective on a regular basis, to help us consistently unblend from the parts of us that are tempted to assign our self worth based on our creative accomplishments. Thanks for this.