As someone who works in the creative industry and knows video creation like the back of my hand, I’ve seen firsthand how the stakes feel when you're starting out versus when you've been in the game for a while. For me, the work is just that—work. But when I collaborate with someone new to video production, their anxiety and eagerness to "get it right" are palpable. This divergence in perspective has led me to a broader realisation: nothing is as important as you think it is.
Let’s walk through the stages of making a video and see how this plays out.
First, there’s the planning stage. For a seasoned creator, it's a series of routine decisions: setting up the concept, drafting the script, and organising the shoot. But for someone new, this stage can be fraught with anxiety. Every choice feels monumental, every word of the script meticulously crafted, as if the fate of the project hangs on each decision. The pressure to 'get it right' is intense.
Then comes the shooting. The experienced hand knows the rhythm: lights, camera, action—repeat. Mistakes are expected, retakes are just part of the process. But for a newcomer, the camera’s red light is a glaring reminder of the weight of every performance. The fear of flubbing a line or missing a cue looms large. The stakes feel sky-high because this is their vision coming to life, and it must be perfect.
Editing is the next hurdle. To a veteran, it’s a puzzle with familiar pieces. You cut, splice, and stitch together the narrative with confidence. To the uninitiated, it’s a minefield. Each cut feels like a potential disaster, each transition a tightrope walk. The new creator agonises over every second, convinced that the slightest misstep will ruin everything.
Finally, there's the release. For someone with experience, it's another upload, another notch in the content belt. The views, likes, and comments will come and go. For the newbie, hitting 'publish' is a heart-pounding moment. Their creation is about to face the world, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.
But here’s the truth: once that video is out there, most viewers will watch it, enjoy it (or not), and move on. The first time making a video, it feels like the world is watching. The anxiety, the need for perfection, the heightened expectations—it's all there. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, it's just work. No one else will ever know the intricacies of the effort, the silent battles fought behind the scenes.
This isn’t to diminish the passion and dedication of new creators. Their journey is valuable and transformative. But by setting our perspective straight and recognising that nothing is as important as we think it is, we can allow freedom to set in. We can appreciate the process, learn from it, and move forward without the crushing weight of ‘getting it right’.
This perspective isn't limited to video creation. Think about something you know like the back of your hand. Maybe it’s cooking, coding, or playing an instrument. When someone doesn’t grasp it right away, we’re often taken aback. How could they not understand something so basic? Like, how else can I explain it so they ‘get it’? But we forget that our expertise, built over years, makes what’s second nature to us seem daunting to others.
The same principle applies across our lives. The phrase "This is new to me, so it's also new for you" often governs our interactions and expectations. When something feels monumental to us, we assume it holds the same weight for everyone else. But in reality, most of what we consider crucial is viewed as just another detail in the grand tapestry of life by others.
When we let go of the need for perfection and recognise that our heightened sense of importance is often inflated, we find freedom. This isn’t to say that we shouldn't care about our work or our passions. On the contrary, caring deeply is what gives life its richness. But understanding that the world won’t crumble if things aren’t ‘right’ can be liberating.
Next time you find yourself in the throes of stress over a project, or more likely mundane decisions like booking a hotel or deciding where to go for dinner, take a moment to breathe. Ask yourself if this will matter in a week, a month, or a year. The importance of these everyday choices plummets just as fast as the decision is made. It’s part of the human experience to care deeply about things that are ultimately insignificant. Embrace that reality, and allow it to lighten your load.
Stay safe, and pass-it-on.