When did you last tell the world how brilliant you are?

I’ve noticed a pattern in creatives as we get older. 

We’re much better at our jobs, but much more reserved in promoting what we do and make. Pride gets in the way, so we find it harder to ask for what we want. Especially if what we want is more work, more money, more recognition. Or we’re trying something new and need help.

Certainly, I look back at me aged 21 and think: a) that girl was an idiot, she had no idea what she was doing; b) I really admire her nerve for blundering about and doing it anyway. 

I can’t imagine being that brave now. 

Or that willing to make a fool of myself. (Which I did. Often.) But then I’m not as desperate as I was at the age of 21.

After finishing my degree in London, I didn’t want to go back to live with my parents in Birmingham. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I’d be welcome. My brother had moved into my old room, plastering the walls with Page 3 girls and car posters. And mum seemed very happy using his old room for crafting and sewing.

Besides, I loved living in London. And I didn’t want the kind of sensible, ‘proper’ job I knew I’d be pressured to find if I went back home. I wanted to write.

So I did what I had to do.

I relentlessly pitched ideas to every publication I could think of. I said yes to jobs I didn’t know how to do. (And then I learned – fast.) 

I did whatever I could to get by financially – bar work, restaurants, cleaning, painting and decorating – while applying for every media job I saw advertised, whether I was qualified or not. 

I did this as if my life depended on it, because it sort of did. Certainly, the life I wanted depended on it. 

If you look back at your twentysomething self, you probably did something similar. Things you wouldn’t dream of doing now.

I asked and asked, and a lot of people said no.

But a few said yes. The London listings magazine City Limits took a chance on me, putting me in charge of their music section for the princely wage of £15 a day. (And by ‘day’, think 10am to midnight, at least twice a week.)

I cycled everywhere, lived on lentils and the free food served at press events, and still pitched relentlessly, writing every weekend or staying up all night to get freelance work done before going to my day job.

I grabbed DJs, fashion designers, musicians, actors in nightclubs at 2am, and asked if I could interview them. I told Face publisher Nick Logan that he needed me on his team so often that he eventually believed me, and gave me a job.

Luck played a huge part in all of this. 

But it’s also true that the more you ask, the more you put out there, the luckier you tend to get. 

I was lucky to find mentors, more experienced writers who shared contacts, passed on work, showed me the way. And editors who patiently explained how to pitch ideas, approach PRs, write an intro that drew readers in. 

Writing the club listings for City Limits put me in the middle of London’s thriving nightlife at a time when hardly anyone else was consistently covering it. So I stood out as a writer. And I could get into any club I wanted for free, which was my social life sorted. 

A lot has changed since then.

My generation had access to squats, housing association flats, cheap housing that allowed us to live in city centres. No amount of cycling, blagging and lentil-eating will make that possible for most young people now. 

It was possible then for an unknown photographer, stylist, writer or designer to go to a magazine or agency and show their work to someone in a position to give them work, or at least offer advice. 

You could pick up the phone and talk to the right people, if you were persistent. Now, most creative workplaces are so over-stretched that even if you ring daily, no one will answer.

So this isn’t a lecture for the young. It’s a call for older creatives to channel their blundering, arrogant, desperate, passionate, super-keen twentysomething selves, and use some of that energy now. 

What would you do if you had nothing to lose?

In coaching sessions, when people are stalled in their careers, or feeling trapped, frustrated or overlooked, I often ask what they did when they were starting out, how they first broke into their field. 

Remembering this often helps them see how they might move forward now. The main barriers are often embarrassment, shame, not wanting to appear needy or amateurish. Get over that, and there’s a lot of fun to be had. 

You can promote your work, shamelessly. Ask for the support you need. Pitch ideas, if there’s something you really want to do.

Don’t be afraid to be a beginner. Be willing to try new directions, new projects – then get attention for them any way you can.

A few examples:

• A scriptwriter decides to write a speculative project that will probably never get made – but shows their writing at its best. 
• A photographer tries a completely new technique and direction, then enters competitions and showcases it in their newsletter and on their socials. 
• An artist shows new, experimental work that their gallery rejected in an empty shop front.
• Turned down for a grant, a choreographer instead crowd-funds some development money, blags an unconventional venue for free – and creates something scrappy but magnificent.
• A journalist calls up every podcast company they can find, offering their services as a host/interviewer. 
• A DJ tells everyone who will listen that he wants to make music for films, even making new soundtracks for movies that are already out, to show what he can do. 

This takes courage.

All of the above are real examples. None of these paths were easy. There were also people who wondered if they’d lost their mind, who told them to stay in their lane, who thought what they were trying was beneath them, undignified, unfitting for their age/status/skills. 

But they all paid off eventually, and opened doors – often in completely unexpected ways. 

So what would you do, if you didn’t listen to those voices? What did you do in your teens and twenties, to get where you are? Is there a version of that you could try now?

Be shameless. Risk rejection. Allow yourself to be vulnerable. 

Try new things. Tell the world how brilliant you are. Ask for what you want. 

Channel your blundering, idiot, twentysomething self. It worked for you then. It might work again now.