I’ve always loved the writer Ann Patchett—her novels, essays, and especially her way of capturing the messy, complicated reality of being human speak to me in a way that makes me feel less alone. There’s one quote of hers that I keep coming back to, and often share with my clients, a metaphor that perfectly sums up the struggle so many of us face, not just in creative work, but in everyday life.
In one of her essays, she talks about the feeling of having a perfect, beautiful idea for a book in her head. She describes it like a butterfly—alive, colourful, full of potential. But, she says, the only way to turn that idea into something real is to “kill the butterfly.” She writes: “I press it down against my desk, and there, with my own hand, I kill it. Everything that was beautiful about this living thing—all the color, the light and movement—is gone.”
BAM. This is exactly why Ann Patchett is so amazing to me. She doesn’t just get the creative struggle, she lays it out in a way that hits you right in the gut, doesn’t she? She’s not afraid to say what we’re all thinking but can’t quite put into words.
I like to think that Ann’s idea of “killing the butterfly” extends beyond creative work though. I think it also applies to all of the ways we hold ourselves back, waiting for the right moment, the perfect conditions, or when everything aligns just so. And often, that moment never comes.
Take exercise, for instance. I’ve often caught myself waiting for the “perfect” time to work out—when I’m super motivated, wearing stylish and matching ‘activewear’ (just like the influencers that pop up in my Instagram feed), and have plenty of time to dedicate to a fully planned routine. In my mind, it’s all about being this energetic, focused version of myself, ready to tackle anything. But in reality, that version rarely shows up. Instead, I squeeze in workouts between life’s chaos, often in old clothes, with only 25 minutes to spare, being interrupted by the dog barking at something outside or my son asking me where his shoes are, and very little of the ideal vision intact. Ugh.
The same happens when I sit write these posts. I picture this romanticised version of writing—sitting at my desk with a candle burning, rain softly falling outside, a cup of tea in hand, and an endless flow of inspired thoughts weaving their way gently through my brain. But that’s not the reality. The reality is I’m usually typing away in the small gaps of my day, often in the midst of distractions and deadlines and emails, wondering if there’s actually any point writing this at all and thinking that what I’m writing about is probably a load of bollocks anyway.
All in all, my writing process looks nothing like the perfect, peaceful moment I imagined. It looks like a bit of a shitshow, to be honest.
But here’s what I’ve learned (and continue to learn, over and over and over): I have to “kill the butterfly” to get anything done. The perfect version of anything—whether it’s a creative project, a workout, or even a conversation or emptying the dishwasher—exists only in my mind. Once I start, I have to let go of that ideal and embrace the messy, imperfect reality of whatever it is that I am doing. It may not be as beautiful or complete as I envisioned, but it’s real. And real is what matters most to me.
This is the tension we live in every day as humans: the gap between what we imagine and what we do, between the ideal and the real. But maybe the point isn’t to avoid killing the butterfly; maybe it’s to embrace the messiness of that process. Because in the imperfection, in the effort, in the realness of what we create, live, and do, there’s a different kind of beauty—a beauty in the mess itself.
Perhaps the raw, unfinished, chaotic parts of life are what make it so unique, vibrant, and truly alive?
Perhaps killing the butterfly is the necessary step toward creating something real.
