Deep within anyone who creates, you will find a lingering terror that one day, they will be outed as a fraud. Or maybe it’s just me.

There is a chilling, complicated suspicion that over and over again, people overestimate my ability, and over the years that has compounded into a systematic deception that I cannot possibly escape. It keeps me up on nights after days in which ugly ideas prevailed my craft–bad days, off days, wasted days. By morning, it has resounded itself into a droning worry that my best days are behind you.

No amount of success resolves this feeling. In fact, success only deepens the fear.

To be precise, this fear is composed of two related concerns: one that you aren’t nearly as capable as your reputation would suggest, and another that the magic propping up the deception will finally dissipate, thereby realizing the former concern.

Both of these concerns ultimately derive from the subjective, ephemeral nature of creativity.

In ancient Greece, Muses were the source of all knowledge and creativity. Harsh mistresses that they were, it would become the perennial occupation of artists, philosophers, and poets alike to court their favor.

In our modern understanding, creativity is but an exercise of reconstituting pieces of our prior experiences. We steal ideas. Nothing is truly original. Divinity is replaced by a chaotic process, albeit equally unexplainable.

Because we are blind to everyone else’s creative process, we cannot reconcile the naked ideas behind our work with the unexplained genius we see in others. In reality, it’s one in the same. Our creative output merely reflects a function of intellectual diet and chance; we are wholly products of our environments. Everyone else is equally terrified.

Because we are sensitive to the whims of inspiration, we cannot help but despair when it fades. All we can do is resist the temptation of cargo cults, to endlessly attempt to recreate exact conditions in the hopes of having lightning strike twice. Everyone else is equally terrified.

It would seem to be a sucker’s game, then, to continue chasing the affection of muses, no? It’s fun, certainly, but it’s foolish to seek fulfillment in this alone.

Perhaps the way out of this cycle is to enjoy your craft for what it is. Be satisfied with improving your craft, and let what comes of it to be a gift to yourself and those who you share your work with. Make it your resolution for 2012, if you’re into that.

If everyone else is equally terrified, there’s nothing to be scared about.