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Keep Going

Austin Kleon

Duration38 min
Key Points8 Key Points
Rating4.6 Rate

What's inside?

Explore ten practical and inspiring strategies to maintain your creativity and passion, even during challenging times.

You'll learn

Learn1. Keeping the creative juices flowing when times are tough
Learn2. Setting up a daily routine that sparks creativity
Learn3. Self-care: A secret ingredient for creativity
Learn4. Beating the creative block blues
Learn5. Finding everyday inspiration for creativity
Learn6. Juggling work and personal life for ongoing creativity

Key points

01Treat Every Day Like Groundhog Day

Waking up to the exact same routine might sound like a nightmare to some, but it holds the secret to endless creative stamina. Life is not a straight line ascending toward a magical finish line; it is a series of repeating loops. Think back to the classic comedy film Groundhog Day, where the main character, played by Bill Murray, wakes up every single morning to find that it is the exact same day. At first, he is terrified and frustrated, trying desperately to escape his circumstances. He tries manipulating people, he tries reckless behavior, and he falls into deep despair. However, eventually, a profound shift occurs within him. He realizes that since he cannot control the overarching circumstances of his life, the only thing he can control is how he chooses to spend the twenty-four hours in front of him. He begins to learn the piano, he reads great literature, he helps his neighbors, and he focuses entirely on the process of becoming a better person step by step. This cinematic metaphor is incredibly powerful for anyone trying to build a sustainable, creative, and meaningful life. We live in a culture that is utterly obsessed with the concept of "making it." We are constantly sold the illusion that success is a destination. We tell ourselves that once we finally publish that book, land that major promotion, sell out our first art gallery show, or reach a certain number of followers online, we will have finally crossed the finish line. We imagine that upon reaching this mythical peak, all our anxieties will vanish, and the work will suddenly become effortless. But anyone who has ever achieved a major milestone will tell you the humbling truth: the very next morning, you still have to wake up, get out of bed, and face the blank page all over again. The finish line is a mirage. The creative life is not a linear journey from obscurity to permanent glory; it is a daily loop. You have to learn to love the loop. To survive and thrive in this repeating daily cycle, you absolutely must establish what the legendary mythologist Joseph Campbell called a "bliss station." A bliss station is a sacred space and a dedicated time where you completely disconnect from the demands of the outside world. It is a sanctuary where you do not know what is happening in the daily news cycle, you do not know who is angry on social media, you do not know who owes you money, and you do not know who you owe money to. It is an environment where you are allowed to simply exist, explore your thoughts, and experience the pure joy of being alive and creative. Building your own bliss station does not necessarily require a sprawling, light-filled studio in the countryside or a massive budget. Your bliss station can be incredibly humble. It might be a small corner of your kitchen table before the rest of your family wakes up. It might be the front seat of your parked car during your lunch break at work. It might be a comfortable chair in your bedroom with the door locked for thirty minutes every evening. The physical location is far less important than the boundaries you draw around it. The most critical element of a bliss station is the strict filtering of outside noise. You must protect this space fiercely. In our hyper-connected modern era, the biggest threat to your bliss station is the glowing rectangular screen in your pocket. We have developed a collective modern disease of reaching for our smartphones the very second our eyes open in the morning. Before we have even taken a deep breath or stretched our limbs, we are flooding our brains with global catastrophes, stressful work emails, and the curated, envy-inducing highlight reels of strangers. This completely hijacks your mind, putting you in a reactive state rather than a proactive, creative one. If you start your day by letting the world shout at you, you will spend the rest of the day simply trying to recover your balance. To combat this, you must embrace "Airplane Mode" not just as a setting on your phone, but as a comprehensive way of life. When you enter your bliss station, your devices must be silenced, hidden, or completely deactivated. You need to give yourself the gift of uninterrupted silence. Consider how liberating it feels when you are actually on an airplane, cruising at thirty thousand feet, completely unreachable by the demands of the world. You can read a book, sketch in a notebook, or simply stare out the window and let your mind wander. You can and should recreate this feeling every single day on solid ground. Establishing this daily routine requires discipline, but it is not the kind of punishing, rigid discipline that makes you miserable. It is a loving discipline. It is the act of gently returning yourself to the work, day after day, regardless of whether you feel inspired or uninspired, successful or unsuccessful. By treating every day like Groundhog Day, you remove the overwhelming pressure of your past failures and your future anxieties. You shrink your focus down to the present moment. All you have to do today is sit in your bliss station, do the work in front of you, and go to sleep. Tomorrow, you will wake up and do it all over again, and that is not a trap—it is the ultimate freedom.

02Forget Titles and Focus on Actions

We live in a culture utterly obsessed with labels, constantly asking us to define who we are rather than what we do. Yet, clinging to a noun can actually paralyze your ability to perform the verb. Think about the most common question you are asked at a dinner party, a networking event, or a family gathering. Almost without fail, the first thing someone will ask you is, "So, what do you do?" We are conditioned from a very young age to answer this question with a definitive noun. We say, "I am a writer," "I am an artist," "I am an entrepreneur," or "I am a musician." While these titles might make casual conversation easier, internally, they carry an incredibly heavy psychological burden. When you adopt a shiny title, you suddenly have an image to uphold. The profound danger of focusing on the noun is that it separates you from the actual work. Getting caught up in being a "Writer" is very different from the physical, often tedious act of writing. Being an "Artist" conjures up romantic images of wearing a beret, attending glamorous gallery openings, and brooding over a cup of espresso. But the act of making art involves mixing messy paints, staring at a canvas in frustration, washing brushes, and making hundreds of terrible mistakes before creating something worthwhile. When you are overly attached to the noun, the messy reality of the verb feels like a failure. You start to constantly evaluate yourself against the idealized version of the title. This obsession with titles is the primary breeding ground for imposter syndrome. Imposter syndrome is that nagging, terrifying voice in the back of your head that whispers, "You are a fraud. You do not belong here. Soon, everyone is going to figure out that you do not know what you are doing." Why does this voice exist? It exists because you are trying to wear a noun that feels too big for you. If you call yourself a "Filmmaker," your brain immediately compares you to Steven Spielberg or Martin Scorsese, and naturally, you feel inadequate. But how do you cure imposter syndrome? You drop the noun and you embrace the verb. You cannot be an imposter if you are simply engaged in an action. You might doubt whether you have the right to call yourself a "Painter," but you cannot doubt the fact that you are currently moving paint across a canvas. The action is undeniable. The verb is real; the noun is just ego. Consider how young children operate when they are deeply engaged in creative play. When a five-year-old is sitting in a sandbox building a massive, sprawling castle out of dirt and water, they are entirely focused on the process. They are patting the sand, digging the moats, and finding the perfect twigs to serve as flags. If you walk up to that child and ask them about their career aspirations, they will not look up and say, "I am an Architectural Sand Engineer." They do not care about the job title. They do not care about how they are perceived by the other children in the playground. They are entirely consumed by the joyous, messy verb of building. As we grow older, society trains this beautiful instinct out of us. We are taught to package ourselves, to polish our resumes, and to worry about our personal brands. The modern internet landscape, with its social media biographies and LinkedIn profiles, has dramatically amplified this pressure to brand ourselves. We are given a tiny box of characters on a screen and told to summarize our entire complex human existence into a few catchy nouns. This leads to a dangerous trap where people spend significantly more time cultivating the appearance of doing the work than actually doing the work. It is remarkably easy to spend hours agonizing over the perfect font for your website, buying the most expensive camera gear, and tweeting about your creative process, all while avoiding the actual difficult work of creating. You are playing the role, wearing the costume, and polishing the noun, but the verb is being completely neglected. Austin Kleon issues a powerful reminder to let go of this exhausting charade. You do not need a title to justify your existence or your hobbies. If you want to write, simply write. Do it quietly, do it consistently, and do not worry about whether you have earned the right to call yourself a writer. If you want to make music, pick up an instrument and make noise. Give yourself the immense permission to be a beginner, to be an amateur, to be someone who just enjoys the activity without needing to turn it into an identity. When you strip away the heavy armor of the noun, you will find a profound sense of lightness and freedom. The expectations vanish. The fear of external judgment shrinks. You return to the fundamental truth that creativity is an action, not a state of being. The world does not need more people who are obsessed with guarding their prestigious titles; the world needs more people who are deeply, passionately, and quietly engaged in doing the work. So, the next time you find yourself paralyzed by doubt, worrying if you are good enough to claim a certain label, take a deep breath and redirect all of that anxious energy into your hands. Forget the noun entirely, sit down at your workbench, and just do the verb.

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03Why You Should Make More Gifts

04Finding Magic in the Ordinary

05Slay Monsters and Embrace Change

06Go Outside and Plant Your Garden

07Conclusion

About Austin Kleon

Austin Kleon is an American author known for his inspirational and creative works. He is best recognized for his unique approach to creativity, often blending art and writing. His notable works include "Steal Like an Artist" and "Show Your Work!" alongside "Keep Going".

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