Fumbling in the dark (it's not what you think)

In the darkness came light

Humans are evolutionarily wired to fear the dark. It made sense when rustling bushes could hide something with teeth. We learned to pause and assess. This wiring didn’t go away just because we traded cave walls for Canva. Today, that same survival instinct kicks in when we face a blank page or a blinking cursor. We stall.

But we’re also wired for curiosity. We poke and prod, and we press the button that says "Do not press." (Because what does it really do?). Curiosity is what got us fire, space travel, and cheese. It’s the reason toddlers shove Lego up their noses and why my thumb had a brown bullseye branded on it from the bright orange glowing rings of my dad’s car cigarette lighter.

These two instincts, fear and curiosity, are always duking it out in the creative brain. One says, "Stay safe." The other says, "Push the button."

Get comfortable with the lights off.

While it’s tempting to wait until everything is clear and the lightbulb moment hits, new ideas are more likely to emerge when we learn to sit with uncertainty. It’s the not knowing that holds the potential.

Think of it like a lottery ticket. You don’t know if it’s a winner, but that not knowing is the whole thrill. It sparks hope, imagination, and what-ifs. You’re not paralysed by the uncertainty, you're excited by it. Now flip that into the creative process: same uncertainty, but suddenly it feels like pressure. Why? Because the outcome feels personal. The fear of getting it 'wrong' overshadows the excitement of what could go right. But at its heart, both moments live in the same space: possibility.

Teaching students to linger in that space, to tolerate not knowing yet, is less about bravery and more about familiarity. The more time they spend in the dark, the less frightening it becomes. Not because it’s safe, but because their eyes have adjusted and they’ve learned they can move through it anyway.

A good kind of fear

Fear isn’t entirely at fault. It’s the reason my thumbs remain uncharred and why I no longer blindly touch every button I see (within reason). Fear keeps us safe, protects us from real harm. It has its place.

But the blank page isn’t a cliff. It’s not even a steep kerb. And yet, for many students, it feels just as treacherous.

There are, of course, excellent resources to help get unstuck. Keri Smith uses humour, absurdity, and tactile play to make experimentation feel safe in her wonderful book 'Wreck This Journal'. Dan Nelken openly discusses self-doubt, impostor syndrome, and how scary it can feel staring at a blank page in his brilliant book 'Self-Help Guide for Copywriters'. Even AI can generate a weird brief or two. But what if the fear kicks in before the help? What if you can’t even bear to crack open the book?

That’s when curiosity needs reinforcements.

Helping students light a match

1. Build trust: Trust is the bridge between intention and action. If a student doesn’t trust the process or you, they won’t take creative risks no matter how many times you tell them to. One of the quickest ways I’ve found to earn that trust is by removing the personal risk. I often say, “If you mess up, it’s on me.” That small shift can be liberating. It's the psychological equivalent of a football manager telling their penalty taker to go down the middle. When the instruction comes from someone else, the fear of personal failure lightens.
2. Normalise the fear: Talk about it. Bring it into the room. I’ve been having honest conversations with my students and creative teams for years about the jittery mess that often precedes good work. We discuss the pit-in-your-stomach feeling before a pitch, the dread of starting something new. When fear is acknowledged, it loses some of its power. When it’s shared, it becomes manageable.
3. Be awkward on purpose: I enjoy a good silence. Sometimes I’ll let it hang in the air just a few seconds longer than is socially comfortable. Or I’ll move a little closer during a workshop—nothing weird, just enough to play with personal space. Why? Because discomfort is a great teacher. When nothing disastrous happens, when the world keeps spinning despite the awkward moment, students learn that discomfort isn’t dangerous. If we can make peace with that tension, the creative process becomes far less intimidating. Important note: this only works if trust has already been established. Without it, students just think you're being weird.

Final (Dark) Thought

Creativity doesn’t come with a torch or glow-in-the-dark stickers. It requires you to stumble around in the dark, fumbling for the light switch. And yes, there will be a few bruised shins along the way, but nothing more than that.

So next time your students (or creative teams) hesitate at the edge of an idea, remind them: they’re built for this. Their brains are wired to question, wonder, and explore. They just need a little help remembering that the dark isn’t always dangerous. Sometimes, it’s where the best ideas sleep.