Idea Graveyard

“The idea graveyard isn’t proof of my failure. It is proof that I am alive and creative.”

Every creative has one. The half finished projects, the abandoned plans, the supplies still in the bin with the tags on. We just don’t talk about it.

In this episode, I’m getting honest about my own graveyard, the costumes, the felting disaster of 2021, and the shed full of marketplace furniture, and flips the script on what it all actually means. You’ll walk away seeing your unfinished ideas not as proof you’re flaky, but as memorials to your curiosity and every time you had the courage to ask what if.

What’s in this episode:

[00:00:30] What the idea graveyard is and why we all have one
[00:01:00] My costumes, the felting disaster of 2021, and the shed
[00:02:30] The shame spiral that comes with an idea graveyard
[00:03:00] Why your graveyard is evidence of growth, not failure
[00:03:30] What abandoned ideas actually teach us
[00:04:30] Reframing unfinished projects as memorials, not mistakes
[00:05:00] When it’s okay to let an idea rest in peace
[00:06:00] Why creators have more ideas than they’ll ever execute
[00:07:00] The challenge: stop hiding your graveyard and honor it

If you’ve ever walked past an unfinished project and felt that little sting of you never follow through, this episode is going to feel like a deep breath.

Did you enjoy this episode? Check out this past solo episode What’s Tripping You Up?

Transcript

[00:00:00]

Welcome back. Hey [00:00:30] friend. I wanna talk to you about something every creative probably has, even if we don’t wanna admit it out loud. It’s a place we don’t post on Instagram. It’s a place we don’t show in our portfolios, a place we don’t mention when clients ask. So what’s next?

I call it the idea graveyard. It’s where all of my half finished projects, abandoned plans, and messy beginnings go to rest. And I don’t know about you, but mine is crowded. So let me tell you of a few [00:01:00] resonance of my own idea graveyard. There are costumes and backdrops I bought for elaborate self portraits.

I had these grand visions of photographing myself in these historically inspired cinematic themes. I was going to bring stories to life and body characters create art that felt like stepping into a painting. And where are those costumes now? Hanging up in my client closet, sitting in bins with the tag still on waiting.

and then there’s the felting experiment of [00:01:30] 2021, sitting in bins still with the tags on waiting. I decided I was going to felt my own little newborn ies, these tiny, little, adorable, handmade props. I imagined myself holding up my proud masterpiece, proud that I created something so special.

so what actually happened? Broken needles, bleeding fingers, and a lump of wool that looked more like a chewed up slippers than anything you’d hand to a baby. And oh, the shed. [00:02:00] Let’s not forget the shed. It’s filled with marketplace furniture.

I drag home with the intention and big plans to refinish them. each piece was going to be transformed into a dreamy set prop. life got busy. C piled up, my energy ran low, and those tables and chairs are still sitting there gathering dust silently mocking me. Now, here’s the thing. I used to look at that graveyard and feel shame I walk past the costumes that lumpy felting project, the furniture in the [00:02:30] shed, and hear the voice in my head saying, see, you never finish anything. You’re flaky. You waste money, you waste time. You’re not disciplined enough to follow through. Sound familiar? But here’s what I’ve come to realize.

the idea graveyard isn’t proof of my failure. It is proof that I am alive and creative. It’s proof that I’m willing to try because here’s the truth. Not every idea is meant to live [00:03:00] forever. Some ideas are just stepping stones to other ideas. Some are experiments, some are practice. Some are meant to spark something else entirely.

That felting project, it taught me maybe my gifts are better used behind the camera than with wool and needles. The costumes, they’re still whispering to me, reminding me that self portraits are something I want to return to. When the season is right, the furniture okay. Maybe that one is just a reminder to stop scrolling Marketplace late at night, but even that taught me [00:03:30] something where my energy should and shouldn’t go.

We need to stop looking at our idea graveyards as evidence that we’re not good enough. They’re not evidence of failure. They’re evidence of growth. Think about it. Every single successful person you admire has an idea graveyard of their own.

They have books, they’ve never read, drafts. It never saw the light of day. Projects that fizzled. Experiments that bombed. They just don’t show them to you. But those abandoned projects weren’t [00:04:00] wasted. They taught skills. They sparked new directions. they shaped the work that did make it out to the world.

And here’s. Something I want you to think about. Your worth is not measured by how many of your ideas make it across the finish line. Your worth is in the fact that you had the courage to try, and let’s talk about the emotional side of this, because it’s one thing to say, oh, not every idea is meant to grow.

It’s another to deal with the guilt. When you walk past the costumes in the closet, the supplies in the craft bin and the [00:04:30] untouched furniture in the shed, the guilt is heavy. It whispers you are wasting money. And maybe your partner says that too. You are wasting space, you’re wasting potential.

But I want you to try reframing it instead of seeing those things as failures. see them as memorials. They’re reminders of a season of curiosity, of bravery. They represent the moment. You dare to say what if. That’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of. I’m not saying you should [00:05:00] hoard every failed project forever.

Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let an idea rest in peace, sell the furniture, donate the costumes, toss the failed felting project. Clear the space physically and emotionally, but don’t erase the fact that you try, because here’s the thing, ideas are like sparks. Some ideas ignite into roaring fires.

Some flicker out quickly, but either way, they were sparks, they were signs of life, and every spark matters. [00:05:30] So what do we do with our idea graveyards? We learn from them. We honor them. We let them teach us without letting them shame us. So maybe your idea graveyard has a half written blog or a podcast we launched and then stopped, or a photography series you shot once and never revisited.

Maybe it’s a stack of fabric or a camera lens you thought would change everything, or a domain name you bought in a moment of inspiration that’s still sitting unused. Now, instead of beating yourself up, I want you to [00:06:00] stand back and just look at it differently. You’re not flaky, you’re not failing. You’re a creator.

And creators create more ideas than they’ll ever execute. That’s part of the job. Think about musicians. For every song that makes it onto an album, there are dozens that don’t. For every novel on the shelf, there are drafts and notebooks filled with dead ends. For every successful photo series, there are experiments that didn’t work.

That doesn’t mean those artists failed. It means they showed up and they [00:06:30] tried. It means they were alive in their creativity. So here’s my challenge to you. Stop hiding your idea graveyard. Stop being ashamed of it. Instead, honor it. It’s part of your process. And if you’re ready, maybe you even share it.

Imagine how freeing it would be to say, here are all the things I’ve tried that didn’t work out, and here’s what I learned. Imagine how many other creatives would feel less alone if they saw this from you, because trust me, you’re not the only one with a graveyard. And I’ll close with [00:07:00] this. Ideas are meant to move.

Some will fizzle, some will thrive, some will rest in peace, and that’s okay. Your job is not to make every idea live forever. Your job is to keep showing up, to keep creating, to keep daring, to ask what if. ’cause even if the graveyard is full, it means you’ve been alive. You’ve been trying and you’ve been being brave, and that’s what makes you an artist.

I am sending you so much of my light and [00:07:30] love my friend. Keep making art, keep showing up, keep trying. I’ll see you next time.