What does it mean to be “creative”?
I’ve known I wanted to be a writer since I was a child.
But I never really believed I could actually do it. I was filled with those predictable fears — of not being good enough, of not having enough discipline, motivation, magic to make it happen. Writing, I decided, was something those special people did over there.
So instead of trying to be a writer, I committed to being a reader. If I couldn’t do the damn thing, I’d at least admire the hell out of it. And I’d create an identity adjacent to the one I truly wanted.
As a kid, I’d write poems, songs, stories, musings.. but by the time I hit middle school, I knew better than to see any act of personal creativity as valuable or worthy. I equipped myself with the unfortunately common social defense of pretending to be something I wasn’t. I perfected the art of denying my Self.
I walked through my formative years committed to being an academic, an intellectual. This came fairly easy to me and was well-regarded by my father who hoped it’d lead me to a more externally successful life than his own. I was good at digesting, analyzing, contextualizing information. I did well in school, and I pretended I had no interest in being one of those “artist types.”
I would hang around more artistically-inclined peers and lust after their freedom, their expression, their commitment to personal truth. We were only in high school, and these young women were confidently presenting themselves to the world, and I had no freaking idea how they were doing it. I couldn’t even open myself up to the idea of trying.
I went to college, and the possibilities of being a more “me” version of myself began to unfold. I did things that made me feel rebellious, different, vibrant, which in-turn tended to be paired with often reckless and self-destructive behavior: partying with little regard to safety or consequences, fucking people I had little to no connection with and generally rebelling against “the system” without any real direction, goal or intention.
The desire to be creative continued to exist in the background of my being, waiting to be acknowledged and honored, but instead, I remained committed to the path of abandoning and distracting myself.
The older I got, the more my social circle included creatives of all sorts: actors, writer, directors, singers, musicians, poets and visual artists of every flavor. When I talked to them about their work, I adopted the air of someone who knew they were not creative and therefore did not even try, which allowed me to interact with their creativity with feigned appreciation, engagement and absolutely no envy.
It became a badge of honor for me to make it abundantly clear how okay I was with not being creative. I had my brain, enlightening conversations, TED Talks.. I was equipped with an intellectual arsenal that protected me from feeling less-than.
But then something changed — I got back from traveling at the age of 26, and I had a new perspective on life. There’s something about leaving behind everything and everyone you know that opens up the possibilities of life in unprecedented ways. Limitations slowly gave way, and for the first time in my life, I thought maybe I could do or be anything I wanted.
It was exhilarating and fucking terrifying.
After some deep internal excavation, I came to a unshocking conclusion.. I wanted to be a writer.
But what kind of writer?
I’d attempted fiction in college and never produced anything hopeful. I’d also dabbled in screenwriting, which I thoroughly enjoyed but saw no future in. And then there was journalism, which I’d done in high school, touched on in college and felt compelled by in adulthood.
If I was a journalist, I figured I could be both a writer and a force for good.
Well, a few half-starts later, and spoiler alert: I’m not a journalist.
So now I write on Medium. I write the things that come to mind with little expectation that they’ll take me anywhere other than into a space of increased clarity and peace of mind.
Sometimes, when I’m feeling intimidated, I’ll call myself an essayist. Saying this now, my mouth fills with invisible vomit; it feels like the thing you call yourself as a writer when you’ve got nothing else — no prestige, publications or real direction.
So in general, I try to avoid a label altogether. Because it doesn’t matter much to me. Calling myself a writer doesn’t make me feel more confident, worthy or valid. It feels.. empty.
BUT, I have become much more inclined to call myself creative, because this feels less limiting, less inclined to having to prove myself or my status. And most importantly, it feels like something inherently human, not an attribute specific to my personhood.
Being creative is a core part of the human experience and takes on innumernable forms in daily life. Problem-solving calls for creativity. Trying to cheer someone up, entertaining yourself, navigating an uncomfortable social situation — these all call for creativity, for complete presence and engagement with life.
I believe the way we walk through life is the crux of creativity.
I remember meeting a musician at a farmer’s market in New Orleans, and her exclaiming with bold confidence,
“My whole life is a work of art!”
This is the type of phrase that if said by a certain person in a certain tone with a certain air, it would cause me to internally roll my eyes and mock later to a friend. But I felt the genuine truth of the sentiment as she spoke of her desire to bring the same sense of wonder, thirst and curiosity to her daily life as she brought to her art.
Being a “writer” feels like a status that I have to consistently re-earn.
If I don’t write for a month, a year, a decade, will I still be a “writer”? When does my right to this identity expire?
But when it comes to being creative, I have a much firmer resolve— people can try to take it away from me but it’s all-but-impossible for them to prove my lack of right to it.
I don’t know if I’ll write for the rest of my life, because if I find something that tames my soul with more precision and grace, I’ll opt for that instead.
I had a friend who was a lifelong journalist, and after getting brain cancer, lost the capacity to write the way she used to. So now she sculpts. And she finds it to be much more fulfilling creatively than her writing career.
So maybe I’ll take up glassblowing in my middle-age.
I want to dedicate these words to the person who doesn’t feel creative. The person who’s afraid of even considering that they have something burning inside them to offer the world.
I want to send them the message that creativity has no particular form it has to take in order to be worthy. I believe one of the most creative aspects of life is engaging fully and openly with another human being.
Creativity can be finding a way to appreciate your job even if it’s in no way your dream.
It can be what you wear, how you carry yourself, the way you observe the world, the way you touch someone.
There are no barriers, and anyone who says otherwise can suck it, because I have no intention or interest in proving my right to being a creative being.
Most humans for most of human history have created out of necessity— to make sense of life, to better understand the world, to engage with a part of themself that felt otherwise inaccessible.
In a culture obsessed with achievement, status and “success,” it can be really hard to believe there’s value in doing something without any purpose other than enjoyment, appreciation, catharsis. Even my meditation practice often feels like something I do in order to tell people about it.
But if there is anything I hope remains outside of the realm of “proving myself,” it’s the act of creating. Creating a moment, a memory, an idea, a connection, a ritual, a sense of hope… because creation for the sake of shifting you, another person or society in the direction of beauty, joy, enlightenment, healing, empathy is a revolutionary act.
By simply trying to be creative, we shift the world around us in ways we’ll never know or measure. And the more we’re able to embrace this side of ourselves, the more receptive we become to our collective capacity to create a more interesting, compassionate, just world.
