We were talking about creativity, specifically how freeing it can feel to create outside of the intention to impress anyone else. Not your audience. Not your peers. Not even yourself, but simply for its own sake. It reminded me of what it was like to be a kid, long before I knew a damn thing about coolness, trends, or social media algorithms.
I didn’t wonder whether something I wanted to make was worth my time or care whether I had permission from the right people to do it in the first place. I just made things. And then sometimes I showed them to other people with unshakeable pride, never even considering that they might not think it was any good.
Bad poetry. Weird Lincoln Log creations. Silly stories about my toys that almost certainly contained way too many references to farts and burps. A set of homemade mini-books about my family and friends, hand-illustrated and lovingly "bound" with construction paper and staples. They were definitely the creations of a little kid still figuring life out. And they were glorious.
Naturally, I wouldn't submit a childhood story full of fart jokes to a literary journal today or expect an award for the god-awful poem I wrote about my purple digital bedside clock when I was ten years old. But those creations still stick in my mind today because of the sheer creative joy I felt while making them.
Somewhere along the way, most of us lose that. And that's a real shame.
How the Fear Creeps In
As children, most of us are just like I used to be –– energetic, bright-eyed little people who create simply because it feels good. Or because we have something to express and don’t yet know how to hold it in (or see why we should try). If an adult liked what we made, it was a bonus. But it was never the point.
Then adolescence arrives with its comparisons and self-consciousness. Later, adulthood adds even more pressure to the whole sordid mess. Can this make money? Is this good enough to share? Am I still relevant? Why even bother when the internet is already littered with other people's art, essays, songs, and opinions?
The impulse to create gets all tangled up in the desire to matter. Before we know it, we've become people who need our work to be beautiful, interesting, and true, but also seen. Liked. Heartily approved of. Maybe even purchased. And while none of those desires are inherently wrong, they can easily crowd out the spark that made someone want to create in the first place.
The Middle-Age Pivot
Now that I’m in midlife, I’m starting to notice a new shift. Not quite a return to childhood abandon, but a recognition that the fear of being irrelevant and not mattering "enough" is just another trap I went right ahead and stepped in at some point.
I’ve spent years caring too much about whether I was too extra, too soft, too honest. I worried about whether people would respect me anymore if they really saw the way I see the world and take up space within it. But slowly, I’ve also been letting that go.
At this point in my life, I’m way less concerned with curating a persona and more interested in reconnecting with the part of me that used to make things out of sheer, unbridled joy and curiosity. The part of me that never even thought to flinch at the sight of a blank page.
So What Do I Make When I'm Not Trying to Impress?
Honestly? Sometimes I just make things like this.
I write rambling essays that mix memory and spirit while helping me sort out something I've been thinking about. Maybe I open up Midjourney and fuck around with random image ideas for a while. Sometimes I go into the kitchen and bake colorful, nostalgic cakes out of box mixes because I don't know how to bake from scratch.
I let myself start a story without knowing where it’s going. I create little rituals with salt and herbs. I talk to objects and name them, and sometimes I find that they talk back.
These aren’t always things I show. Most I never even tell anyone about. But that doesn't mean they didn't feed me, ground me, or turn out to be any good. It's because I didn't necessarily make them to share or validation-seek. I made them because I felt like doing something and decided to give in to the impulse, just like I used to do when I was a kid.
Takeaways for Returning to That Space
If you’ve been feeling blocked, burned out, or hamstrung by other people's expectations lately, it might be worth attempting a return to the place where your creativity still lives free of all that noise.
Remember what you loved as a kid
What did you lose hours doing before anyone told you whether you were good at it? Try revisiting that space, even if it feels silly at first.
Give yourself permission to be bad at something. Like... really bad. Let the storyline wander all over the place, or throw in a fart joke or two. Let the drawing look like a monkey on crack did it. Forget about excellence. Sometimes, it's overrated anyway.
Create in secret
Give yourself permission to make something just for you, and start a project you don’t intend to share. (I promise the grown-up police won't show up to arrest you.) Create a little corner of your life that isn’t part of your brand or your career, sit there for a while, and see what happens.
Reframe relevance
It's worth considering –– relevant according to whom? If something matters to you, if it heals or excites or intrigues you, it's relevant. Period. It doesn't need to go viral (or even be seen) to matter.
There’s a kind of sacred freedom that lives in the work we do when no one’s watching. And even though it doesn't always feel that way, that freedom isn’t something we outgrow. It might go dormant for years and years, but it's still in there waiting to be rediscovered. Even now.
So, if you’re feeling overwhelmed or unsure, go make something weird and wonderful today that doesn’t need to impress a soul. Make it solely because you want to and because you can. You can thank me later.
* This piece is part of this month's iteration of the Feast of the Wandering Pen, a self-led writing challenge that's all about creation for its own sake.
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