(take) risks
or don't, you do you
A few years ago at a friend’s party, a few of us were having a passionate discussion about the instant noodles Maggi, and how everyone likes to have it. One person who loves to cook with precision mentioned how he always turns the gas off precisely 2 minutes after putting the Maggi to boil. Another person swore by adding chilies and how they improved the flavor and yet another one was sure that adding an additional bit of masala is what does the magic. Now it’s no secret that if you’ve grown up as a child in India, you probably know Maggi as a comfort food, so quite obviously everyone has a specific recipe that makes them feel comforted. The more interesting thing was how much resistance everyone had to anyone else’s suggestions. Reactions ranged from disbelief to disappointed head shakes, “Oh! how could one ruin Maggi’s perfection”.
That conversation has stuck in my head as not just a childish expression by people in their 30s of what comfort food means to them, but also as examples of how we get stuck in our comfort zone. Obviously Maggi recipe is low stakes, you could always attempt a recipe today, and if you didn’t like it, have a different one next time. And yet, everyone seemed to feel that it was too high of a risk.
Over the last year or so, I’ve been thinking a lot about creative work, my own artistic practice and how I can possibly get better at it. One of the main things that I keep coming back to again and again is that I need to learn how to take more risks.
It is obviously the most normal thing to want to avoid taking risks. There is this idea of uncertain rewards and how that is the most addictive thing. Is it any surprise that risk which is the opposite of reward evokes a strong visceral repulsion? The more I know what works, the harder it gets to try something that I am unsure about. Afterall, the upside is limited. And when I might go from doing something the way I love, to uncertainty, the downside doesn't seem worth it. What if i try a new medium? What if instead of ink I worked with watercolors? Maybe I am secretly be brilliant at it, and I would have never known. But it is far more likely that I will find myself at the base of a mountain, a beginner, realising how much more I have left to climb to get anywhere reasonable, to get anywhere near “good”.
What is a creative risk in the first place? Usually I have a multi step editing process for most of my articles for substack, but today, I am risking not editing it. All of this is a stream of consciousness, which also means that I am opening up myself to the possibility that I have made some grave errors, forgot a whole idea, that I am meandering.
In design there is this concept of wicked problems. Problems that have no solution because the two design desires are opposing, like if you want to create an experience that is open-ended and you want your player/user to have the ability to exercise agency, but at the same time you want them to have a linear experiences, where they first do x and then y and then z. There is no solving wicked problems. There is only compromise. Like two partners, where one likes to party and one like to stay at home, co-existence means sometimes staying home for the extrovert and sometimes going out for the introvert. No one is necessarily happy, but you hope to find a middle path somehow.
It’s even more challenging when some concepts induce a dip in the short term but accelerate growth in the long term. Like working out at the gym will make your muscles sore, probably for the first few months when you start working out, but eventually you realize that had you not started, your body would be much worse than it is now, despite the occasional soreness.
Creative growth is similar. When you try something new, you stumble and fumble, you don’t know how to do anything, how to hold the brush or the clay. This is when the mind is forming new connections, doing the all important learning. You could quit it, but you won’t get very far in any endeavor like that. So you drag yourself through the beginner stages, and somehow make it to novice, where you have some muscle memory, some understanding. It doesn’t feel as unnatural to draw anymore, and so you start finding your own voice, your own unique way to do things. And maybe you even start loving it. Like you know how to cook your Maggi perfect.
But then you start getting comfortable, and your brain no longer needs to form any new connections. You know “how this works”. And now, there is no more growth. If you hadn’t stuck to this path, you wouldn’t have creative growth, but now if you don’t move on from the path, there will be no growth.
What a wicked problem. You have to know how long to stick with something. How to not give up when things get hard, but actually stop when things start being boring. Of course sometimes challenge and difficulty can make you feel like things are boring, but you have to know when it is not that. Is it even worth it?
Why do all of this at all? I know how I like my Maggi. I know what music I like, what shows I like, what I like to read, what I like to create, and how. So why do I need to attempt to make deliberate changes happen in my life? What is wrong with comfort? What if I don’t care about this growth that everyone keeps waxing poetic about? I like what I like.
There is nothing wrong with it per se, after all you can’t fail at living. But for me, and this is just a personal value thing, I know I change constantly, whether I want to acknowledge it or not. Every piece of work I create, every word I write, it changes something inside me. Just the act of living through my days changes me. I can either be nimble and responsive, constantly exploring what I like now, and what I want to be now, or I can try to force myself to act on a script that I made years ago. It is just a recipe for misery if do the latter.
I evolve, and with that my tastes do too. What I consume and what I create both are deeply affected by my tastes, and I want to make space for all of it. At its core, it is making sure that fear is not hiding underneath the cloak of familiarity or comfort, because I really don’t need to be afraid at all. Afterall even if I don’t like something once, I can always try again.
So next time, when you are making Instant noodles/Maggi, maybe you can try it with a dash of chili, or a little bit of extra sauce you got lying around. Who knows maybe you will find your new fav recipe.
Thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to read this substack. Its been well over 5 months of regular posting now, and it means a lot every time I receive a comment, or a message. If you’ve enjoyed today’s writing, drop in a message with your thoughts, and if you can share this post with one friend of yours, it would really help me reach more people who might like writings around these topics that you and I both love.
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The idea of balancing comfort and growth is so relatable. Taking risks—even small ones—can lead to unexpected creativity. Loved this perspective!