The Courage to Create: Why "I Could Do That" Isn’t Enough

We often look at things other people do, especially in the arts, and say, “Oh, that’s easy”. And when I say "we," I mean people who don’t feel they’re artistic or who are outside creative fields. We watch artists, musicians, painters, or writers and think, I could do that.

The reality? It’s so much harder than any of us realize until we try.

A few years ago, my students and I attended a festival. We watched shows, some amazing, some less so. Afterward, as we always do, we sat down to discuss. One rule we stress at any festival: It doesn’t matter how polished the production is. The writing, the design, the execution, none of that changes the fact that people put themselves out there. And putting yourself out there, in any context, is terrifying. So regardless of the final product, we celebrate the effort.

In that discussion, we talked about how some of the shows were original work. They weren’t great. The writing was uneven. The dialogue was stiff. At times, it was hard to watch, which made it even harder for the performers. As we dissected the shows, one student said, “Well, I could do better than that.”

I looked at her and said, “I invite you to try.” Because to simply say I can do better and then not act on it disrespects the people who did the work, who showed up, vulnerable and exposed, regardless of the outcome.

To my surprise and delight, she did just that. This student roped in her siblings, and they started writing a show. I don’t think they expected it to take two years. At first, they asked, “Can we do this at school?” I told them, “Finish it, and then we’ll talk.”

Two years later, here we are. There are four siblings in the family. Two have graduated and are now in college, yet they all kept working on it. The third, the one who started the project, is about to graduate. And we are producing the show. Their parents are funding it as a summer independent study project. That’s remarkable: taking an idea, putting it on paper, and pushing through the struggle, the revisions, the criticism, the rewrites.

And because writing a play isn’t challenging enough, they made it a musical! Most of the family are musicians; two are studying music in college. They’ve written the music and the lyrics. They’ve rounded up musicians, found conductors, booked recording space, and coordinated everyone, only to realize that’s a bigger challenge than it looks from the outside.

They’ve found designers. They’re assembling their staff. They’ve cast the show and started read-throughs. Now they’re filling out the backstage team. We dive into full production mode on June 1st.

Regardless of how this turns out, these students have done something extraordinary. They had the curiosity to try. The persistence to stick with it. The grit to take feedback, both positive and negative. They’ve put themselves out there with professionals, been shot down, and walked away with lessons instead of tears. They’re moving forward to make this the best it can be.

And they’re doing it with realism. They know they don’t have a Broadway budget. They’re working with whatever’s in the closet, literally our stock inventory. Yet they’re still pushing to make it happen, and to bring their community along for the ride.

When you have students who feel confident enough to try, confident enough to fail, and confident enough to try again, that’s when you’ve won as an educator. That’s when you’ve won as a parent. Because they’re not afraid to put themselves out there. That’s what I see missing in so many younger students: the lack of curiosity, the hesitation to ask, “Can I do this big thing? Can I make this happen?” and then the follow-through to actually do it.

What do we need to show and do with our students on a regular basis to make that curiosity the biggest take away?

So stick around. We’re going to start documenting this challenge and sharing it in the Backstage AIC Facebook Group. It’s going to be a wild, inspiring ride.