At some point in our creative journey, we’re going to come face to face with a wall.

Our music streams will plateau.

Our follower count will stop growing like it used to.

Our views will stall.

Our sales won’t be enough to sustain the life we’re trying to build.

And the frustrating part is…

we can still see the vision on the other side.

We can see the life we want.

The work we want to make.

The people we want to reach.

The mountain we’ve been climbing is still there…

But it continues on the other side of some unexpected wall.

And that wall can feel like impending doom.

It can make us wonder if this is where the journey ends.

It can make us question our own talent. Our judgment. Our ability. Our choices.

Even if we were ever good enough from the start.

But the wall is not the end.

It’s a puzzle.

And usually, we can’t solve a new puzzle with the same thinking that solved the old one.

That’s what makes this part of the journey so uncomfortable.

The things that got us here may not be the things that get us over there.

Something has to change.

Not the dream. Not even the work.

But the system surrounding it all.

Maybe it’s our positioning, storytelling, distribution, consistency, collaborations, niche, product, pricing, business model…or so much more.

Something that once worked has reached its limit.

And now our job is to figure out what comes next.

That requires experiments.

Lots of them.

Some will work.

Most won’t.

And that’s where things get dangerous.

Because when enough experiments fail, it becomes very easy to turn a strategic problem into an existential one.

That voice that spoke to us at the beginning of the journey….

the voice that almost convinced us not to take this journey in the first place…

is back with a vengeance.

“Maybe nobody cares about what I make. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe the dream was stupid.”

But when our back is against the wall, I think there’s a question worth asking:

“If this takes much longer than I hoped, is the vision still worth pursuing?”

Because I feel like if we’re honest with ourselves, the answer will be yes.

And if so, something changes.

It opens us so we can care intensely about commercial success without making commercial success the reason we continue.

Once we separate those two things, we can see the problem much more clearly.

Streams plateauing is not an existential crisis.

It’s a problem to understand.

Sales slowing down isn’t proof the dream is dead.

It’s data.

Views falling aren’t about our worth.

They’re feedback.

So we experiment. Something fails. We learn. We change something. And we run another experiment.

Again and again.

The dream remains stable while the strategy becomes extremely flexible.

Thomas Edison was fixed on practical electric light while changing materials, designs, and entire systems until it worked.

Walt Disney kept chasing immersive storytelling while moving from cartoons to feature films, television, and theme parks.

Pablo Picasso never stopped trying to find new ways to see even though he abandoned one visual language after another to do it.

As creators, we must be stubborn about the destination and flexible about the route.

So when you reach the wall…

don’t mistake it for a sign that you’ve gone too far.

Sometimes the wall is just telling you that you’ve made it farther than the version of you who started ever knew how to go.

That’s something to be proud of!

You are not standing in front of the end.

You are standing in front of the next version of yourself.

The version of you who knows how to solve bigger problems.

Who knows how to adapt.

Who knows how to create new paths when the old ones disappear.

Who knows how to keep the vision alive.

I promise you…

The fact that you’re reading this message shows me you’re a lifelong learner committed to growth.

You can learn. You can change. You can ask better questions.

You can try a hundred bad experiments until one finally opens a door.

You can become someone today that you didn’t even know you needed to be yesterday.

That’s our superpower.

The wall is fixed.

We are not.

So build the ladder.

Build the stairs.

Throw the rope.

Dig underneath it.

Walk around it.

Invent something nobody has tried before.

But do not confuse “I don’t know how yet” with “I can’t.”

Your vision can remain the same.

Your strategy can change a thousand times.

And as long as you are still willing to learn, adapt, and create…

there are more ways forward than you can currently imagine.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

P.S. If this sparked something for you, you can buy me a coffee here.​

But I think creativity requires us to lose our mind.

Not our intelligence or sanity.

But the part of us that narrates, judges, compares, and anticipates criticism.

I feel most creative when I’m completely lost in the work.

So deep inside of it that I don’t even realize I was lost until I return.

Completely changed. Observing my experience in hindsight.

And right now, I’m writing this note fresh out of one of those journeys through nothingness.

And I’m returning to reality carrying this idea:

“Creativity requires us to lose our mind because our mind is often the thing standing between us and the work.”

The most creative parts of us deeply yearns to become absorbed in the act itself.

But the mind keeps interrupting it:

How am I coming across? Is this good? What will people think?

I thought creativity only came from expressing the self.

But maybe our best creativity emerges when we temporarily forget the self.

An ego disappearance.

A brief period where there is no “me making something.”

There is only the making.

Flow is one version of this. Time disappears. The world goes quiet. And you become almost indistinguishable from what you’re doing.

A peak example a jazz pianist.

They can’t know and discover at the same time.

Discovery requires giving up the need to know where you’re going.

And some of life’s most beautiful moments happen the same way.

When we’re laughing so hard we forget how we look.

When we’re holding someone we love and forget where we end and they begin.

When we’re playing like a child, dancing without watching ourself dance, or watching a sunset without reaching for our phone.

For a moment, the person we spend our whole life trying to become disappears.

And somehow we just feel more alive.

Yet we spend so much time building a “self”.

Protecting it. Improving it. Proving it.

But life seems to open widest in the moments we forget to protect the person experiencing it.

Art is a great way of practicing the act of disappearing long enough to actually be here.

Because when a creator becomes “one” with “more”, they can make magic.

Unfortunately, many of us keep that magic boxed inside the ego.

But creativity is like the Genie in the story Aladdin.

The Genie is only magical when he isn’t bottled up.

Creativity isn’t about manufacturing something impressive for the world to see.

It’s about removing the psychological cage that prevents something already alive inside you from expressing itself.

Escaping your bottle.

Losing your mind.

And making magic.

Stay creative,

Way

The right idea.

The right color.

The right word.

The right melody.

In the creative process, it’s as if we want certainty before commitment.

But our work typically reveals itself when we have the courage to walk up to the door and enter it.

We can’t think our way into a painting we haven’t painted.

We can’t edit a sentence we refuse to write.

We can’t adjust a note we never play.

Sometimes the next step is hidden because the current step hasn’t happened yet.

The road on our creative journey only appears after we start walking.

While I’m writing these notes on creativity, I decide what sentence to write next…

And with every new sentence, the entire message changes.

And so every sentence creates a problem.

A tension I need to resolve.

But that problem creates another decision.

And that decision creates another problem.

Eventually, there is a complete note I’m proud to share with you.

We call our finished things a “masterpiece.”

But while it was being made, it was mostly a series of problems.

Great work is just a beautiful history of solved mistakes.

And so our best work isn’t about knowing exactly what to do, when to do it.

It’s embracing whatever happens and trusting ourself to work with it.

That’s creative confidence in its purest form.

To create one thing, you must kill a thousand possibilities.

The first sentence kills every book that could’ve started differently.

The first note kills every song that could’ve sounded like something else.

The first brushstroke destroys the perfect blank canvas forever.

Creation is not only addition.

Creation is the courage to exclude.

Every yes is surrounded by thousands of quiet no’s.

And sometimes we’re so distracted grieving everything we didn’t choose that we ignore the beauty and potential in the choices we’ve made.

So make the choice. And then make the best of it.

In art and in life, I’m starting to believe that wisdom isn’t always knowing which road leads to the best outcome.

Wisdom may be understanding that no road is ever complete.

We participate in what the road becomes.

We choose the person. Then we learn how to love.

We choose the craft. Then we give decades to it.

We choose the city. Then we build a home there.

We choose the idea. Then we keep returning until it’s brought to life.

And so identify the single action that will get the ball rolling.

Take that first step.

Because every meaningful life contains a leap.

A brush stroke. A sentence.

A proposal. A resignation.

A plane ticket. A dream.

A frightening yes. A necessary no.

An end. A beginning.

If you feel a calling echoing deep in your soul…

Answer it.

You do not need to know that every decision is the best.

You need enough courage to find out what happens if you give it your all.

And one day, you will look behind you and see something you could never have planned.

A body of work.

A friendship.

A family.

A life.

Beauty built from hundreds of unsure decisions.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

JACKSON POLLOCK

Jackson Pollock pioneered an art movement known as “action painting.” He developed a technique called drip painting, where he poured and splattered paint onto large canvases, often laid on the floor. Although some may glance at Pollock’s artwork and wonder why it fetches hundreds of millions of dollars, criticizing it as mere paint splatters, the essence of his creative brilliance requires a glimpse into the records of art history.

Art history began with humans drawing their observations on walls, capturing the world around them. Over time, our repertoire of drawing techniques expanded, and we invented various mediums to create more realistic art. Concepts such as perspective, proportion, and reflection aided in accurately depicting the world’s essence on canvases. However, there came a turning point when artists like Monet defied conventional norms. Breaking free from the shackles of realism, Monet employed rough, expressive brushstrokes and vibrant, invigorating hues to portray landscapes, people, and other subjects. That’s when technology threw the art world a curveball with the invention of the camera. The camera eliminated the need for art to look real. What’s the point of posing for hours to get a realistic portrait painted when someone could just take a quicker even more realistic photo? In light of this, artists like Picasso challenged the status quo. He pondered, “What if I ignore the laws of perspective, leaving that to cameras, and instead paint a subject from multiple angles?”. This sparked the birth of distorted art forms, expanding the horizons of artistic expression.

Here’s when Jackson Pollock arrived. With audaciousness and unpredictability, Pollock posed a profound question: What if I create art that isn’t of anything, free from any subject or representation? He discarded the idea of using any subject at all and, instead, painted paintings and nothing else. It only represented itself. This was the ultimate act of rebellion, not just against an art movement but against art history itself. That’s what made him a genius.

Through relentless mastery of his craft, he defied conventional thinking and forged new techniques along the way. Do not be deceived by the seemingly simplistic nature of his paintings; his art is not easy to create. They required him to exert a painstaking amount of energy and emotion to create paintings so unique that they are nearly impossible to replicate. He created dynamic and spontaneous compositions emphasizing the physical act of painting itself. Pollock’s novel techniques and the absence of a recognizable subject have had a lasting impact on contemporary art. Since then, artists have broken free from the chains of subjectivity, creating art for the sheer sake of creation, owing their liberation to Jackson Pollock.

LEARN THE RULES BEFORE YOU BREAK THEM

Even though Jackson Pollock is famous for developing a groundbreaking abstract style of art, many people don’t know that he was proficient in painting realism. He received formal art training and mastered all the traditional techniques, just like all of his artsy peers. By perfecting the methods of the great artists before his time, Pollock elevated to creating art ahead of his time. He learned the fundamentals so that he could intelligently question them.

Creators of the past laid the fundamental groundwork to master your craft. If you go to art school, they’re going to help you rewire how you see the world. At dance school, you’ll learn how to cultivate strong body awareness and control. In film school, professors will stress the importance of framing and composition. By mastering the rules, you’ll become proficient and knowledgeable in all the time-tested conventional techniques, frameworks, and traditions. However, to transcend conventional boundaries and explore new frontiers, you have to break those rules. This will unleash true artistic freedom, innovation, and creative thinking.

Don’t rush this process by trying to break the rules prematurely. You’ll only end up falling short of your true potential. If you break the wrong rules, nobody will notice

Read more

So I’ve been taking an Anthropology 101 lecture series while reading The Art of Being Human by Michael Wesch.

And I came across a paragraph I haven’t been able to get out of my head.

Wesch wrote:

“The art of seeing can be broken up into four parts. First, we have to see our own seeing—that is, see how we see the world, recognizing our own taken-for-granted assumptions, and be able to set them aside. Second, we have to “see big,” to see the larger cultural, social, economic, historical, and political forces that shape our everyday lives. Third, we have to “see small,” paying close attention to the smallest details and understanding their significance. And finally, we have to “see it all,” piecing all of this together to see how everything we can see interacts from a holistic point of view.”

I read that and immediately thought:

This isn’t only anthropology.

This is creativity.

The more I study great creators, the less I think creativity begins with making and the more I think it begins with seeing.

Perception.

Artists improve as they learn to see more of the world.

Art of seeing = See your own seeing + See big + See small + See it all.

And Wesch’s four ways of seeing gave me a formula for how that happens.

1: See your own seeing

Before you can see the world differently, you have to notice the lens you’re already looking through.

We have ideas about what good art looks like.

What serious writing sounds like.

What music is cool.

But where did those rules come from?

Most were handed to us.

By a teacher. A parent. A critic. An algorithm. A genre. A trend. An industry.

We’ve spent our lives collecting all these ways of seeing.

And eventually those ways of seeing stopped feeling learned. They started feeling true.

That’s the trap. And there’s only one way out…

We have to become capable of stepping outside our view. Even just for a moment.

And asking: What would I make if I stopped assuming this had to be made the way I currently think it should be made?

2: See big

Then Wesch said we have to learn to see the larger forces shaping our lives.

All that history. Culture. Economics. Technology. Politics. Institutions.

And for an artist, this means realizing that no piece of work just randomly appears out of nowhere.

We’re creating inside a giant conversation that started long before we were born.

So a musician who makes a song today isn’t only working with melody and rhythm like ancient tribes were.

They’re also working inside global streaming economics. TikTok loops. Music production bedroom-setups. Sampling. Auto-tune. A century of recorded music. Thousands of musical traditions.

That entire world sits invisibly inside whatever song they create.

The same is true for every kind creator across any domain.

And once you start seeing those forces, context becomes a creative collaborator.

We can start asking better questions about why we create.

A big aspect of originality is understanding the conversation between these forces well enough to say something the conversation hasn’t heard before.

Once you see the water everyone’s swimming in.

Suddenly…the water becomes a medium too.

3: See small

I talk about this a lot, but it’s so true…

Creators notice things.

Almost invisible things.

Like the path to a seemingly impossible future.

The melody in a car’s ticking blinker.

The picture-perfect millisecond.

Most people pass right through those moments.

The artist stops.

But what happens when you stop is important. Your level of attention matters.

Beginners often create from categories.

Loneliness. Love. Anger. Beauty. Loss.

But those are enormous words that hold a lot of attention.

A seasoned artist keeps looking until the category becomes a moment.

Loneliness becomes the second toothbrush still sitting beside the sink.

Grief becomes updating your phone’s wallpaper to honor their memory.

Love becomes noticing they’re cold before they say they are.

You would think the more specific something becomes, the fewer people would relate to it.

But the opposite happens…

The more precise the observation, the more human it feels.

So instead of asking: What is happening?

The artist learns to ask: Exactly what is happening?

“Exactly”…that one word changes everything.

4: See it all

And then comes the part I find most interesting.

We put everything together.

We see our own seeing.

We see big.

We see small.

And then we begin noticing relationships between them.

Our inner world.

The outer world.

And the tiny details sitting between the two.

This is where something abstract starts becoming art.

Let’s jump into the mind of an artist for a moment….

Imagine a photographer on a train who notices people staring at their phones.

Seeing small notices their bent necks. The light from the screen bouncing off their faces. The thumbs moving instinctively. The people six inches away from each other who might as well be six miles away.

Then seeing big notices smartphones. Social media. Attention economics. Urban life. Changing public space. Shifting human connection. A world where we can reach almost anyone while barely looking at the person beside us.

Then seeing their own seeing asks: Why does this bother me? What do I believe connection is supposed to look like?

And with the snap of a photo…all of those ways of seeing come together as a larger question appears:

“Can we be connected to everyone and present with no one?”

Now the photographer has something more than a photograph of a group of people holding their phones.

They have a question about being alive right now.

They have a point of view.

They have a photo capturing a worldview.

And that level of attention is beautiful to witness because it’s an act of love.

Think about it…

To really see someone is to notice the small things they thought no one noticed. To understand the larger world and life that shaped them. To question the assumptions you’ve placed on them. And then, somehow, to hold all of it at once.

Being able to look at another human being in their impossible complexity and say, “There you are. I see you.” brings us closer.

Because someone paid enough attention long enough to discover who was actually there.

Seeing is powerful because it’s impactful.

Creativity is more a perception problem than an idea problem.

Before you can make something you’ve never made before, you may need to see something you’ve never seen before.

A contradiction. A pattern. A strange detail. A cultural shift.

The world is overflowing with inspiration to work with.

But you can only create from what you’re capable of perceiving.

If you see the same things everyone else sees, through the same assumptions, at the same level of detail, you’ll probably keep arriving at familiar ideas.

But change how you see, and suddenly there are questions everywhere.

Tensions. Metaphors. Stories. Possibilities.

Everything everywhere is extraordinary.

Maybe the world doesn’t need to become more interesting.

Maybe we just need to become more interested.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

I’m tempted to create a playlist, rent a dance studio for a few hours, and just let my body take over.

The kind of dancing where you stop thinking about how you look.

Because when your body is moving and your heart’s racing and your blood’s flowing…

You can’t help but feel alive.

And when I think about the life that moves through the body.

I’m reminded that our souls dance too.

Your joy. Your curiosity. Your envy. Your boredom. Your longing. Your restlessness. Your resistance.

They’re all movements

It’s the rhythm of your life humming clues.

What melody drains you?

What melody gives your soul the energy to dance?

I remember watching a nature documentary and learning something fascinating about honeybees.

When a honeybee colony needs a new home, a handful of bees fly in opposite directions to scout locations.

After each of them finds one they love they all come back to the colony and have a dance-off.

A better location gets a longer, harder dance.

Then the colony packs up and moves toward whatever new home is danced about most fiercely.

The bee’s dance conveys enthusiasm.

And that enthusiasm is data.

When our souls dance…

It’s enthusiasm….

That’s data….

Pointing us in a direction.

Sometimes it feels like a nudge. Other time like a pull.

A feeling you yearn for.

A place you keep thinking about.

A subject you can’t leave alone.

It often whispers before it speaks.

Subtle then all at once.

So you don’t need to know why something moves you.

You only need to notice that it does.

The soul often starts dancing before the mind recognizes the music.

It’s like the musical phenomenon called sympathetic resonance.

Where if you pluck one guitar string it can cause the exact same string on a nearby guitar to hum softly.

It didn’t have to choose to hum. They matched a natural frequency. So it danced.

You don’t choose what moves you any more than the string chooses to hum.

Your only job is to notice what’s moving inside of you.

And to stop apologizing for it not being something else.

I’m asking you “What makes your soul dance?”

Not “What music does everyone else want your soul to dance to?”

That is hard for adults.

Children simply move toward what they love.

Adults require some abstract signal of value.

We ask curiosity for a business plan.

We ask play to be productive.

Our soul screeches to a halt when every desire has to be useful.

And it’s so easy to fall into this cycle.

At first, we make what moves us.

Then people start noticing.

Soon, we start making what moves them.

But like the strings on separate guitars make each other dance, we must look inward at our own strings to notice what moves us.

Our job is to follow that sound.

And that journey is truly a dance.

You don’t need a whole plan.

You need the next honest step.

You move before you know every move.

You listen while you act.

You let the last step teach you the next one.

Maybe aliveness is less about having all the answers…

And more about becoming sensitive enough to notice what in you is answering.

What makes your soul dance?

Listen before the music stops.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

And somewhere between the wrong turns, long roads, and places I never planned to see, one idea keeps following me:

The vision gets you started. But the twists and turns make the masterpiece.

Sometimes, you just have to spin the globe.

Point.

And go.

But I’m not really talking about traveling (even though I highly recommend it).

I’m talking about leaving the small world you already know.

Every artist has a home.

The creators we study.

The styles we draw inspiration from.

The information we save.

But most of us never leave that home.

And the strange thing is, the internet gives us the illusion that we’re exploring.

Scrolling feels like exposure. But it can become an enclosure.

The algorithm learns what you like.

Then it gives you more and more of it.

Until your whole world starts looking strangely like you.

And that’s scary...

Because a cage feels like a home when it’s shaped exactly like you.

I’ve started thinking of the algorithm like a zoo of ideas.

Everything is right there.

Curated. Fenced. Fed on schedule.

Arranged for your viewing pleasure.

It looks like nature. But nothing in it can surprise you the way wilderness actually does.

The wild has all the things the zoo removes.

The boring thing.

The confusing thing.

The thing you’d never click.

The thing you don’t understand.

And sometimes, those are the exact things that would change you.

Because an algorithm can only learn from what you’ve already done.

What you clicked.

What you watched.

What you liked.

It can show you more of who you’ve been.

But your best work may need something you’ve never met.

That’s one reason I’m grateful you’re here.

By subscribing to a newsletter like this, you’re making a small choice about what gets access to your mind.

You’re choosing some of your inspiration instead of letting an invisible system choose all of them for you.

But even these words I write every Thursday morning aren’t enough...

You still need more wild inspiration.

A strange book.

A building you don’t understand.

A song from a country you’ve never visited.

A lecture in a field you don’t know about.

A conversation with someone who sees the world completely differently.

Spin the globe.

Point.

And go.

We need that unpredictability because we never know something is useful until it changes us.

And I believe that’s where some of our most interesting work is born.

When something new meets something familiar.

The new comes from outside us.

The familiar comes from inside us.

And our most inspired work is the rope tethering them.

That’s why a great song idea can feel fresh and somehow inevitable.

The best ideas don’t just show us something new. They make the new feel strangely familiar.

There’s an old quote from G.K. Chesterton that says:

“If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.”

I used to deny this quote because I thought it was about settling.

But now I hear it as permission to begin.

Because “badly” is how almost everything worth doing starts.

We put so much pressure on choosing the “right” idea.

The “right” medium. The “right” direction. The “right” place to begin.

We’re searching for something tangible in a word that’s fluid.

But the starting point matters less than what we do once we arrive.

We spend so much of life wondering if we took the right road.

But some of the people, places, and moments we cherish most only exist because something didn’t go according to plan.

A hiccup. A failure. A heartbreak.

We don’t always know which turns matter while we’re taking them.

Sometimes the roads we thought were detours was life rewarding us.

That’s the point of spinning the globe.

You’re not giving up responsibility by leaving your creative process up to chance.

You’re only giving up the illusion that you must know where something leads before you follow it.

Chance can choose the door. But you still have to walk through it.

You still have to pay attention to notice the beauty.

You still have to make the novel connections.

You still have to turn what you find into something only you could make.

The masterpiece is rarely hiding at the end of the perfect plan.

Most of the time it’s hiding three wrong turns away.

So every once in a while…

Leave home.

Leave the feed.

Leave the map.

And spin the globe.

Point.

And go.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

I’ve been repeating this phrase in my head a lot recently.

I used to think it was about being original.

Making something no one has seen before.

Finding a way to stand out.

Becoming impossible to compare.

But originality comes with pressure.

It puts the whole world in the studio with you.

Now every idea is struggling to compete with every idea ever made.

All on a mission to be “different”.

But different from what?

Different from who?

There are billions of people.

Millions of books. Millions of songs.

An unfathomable amount of art made every day.

Trying to stand apart from all of them is too much weight for one idea to carry.

The hunt for originality often begins with fear.

We’re afraid our work is too familiar.

So we push the idea from a low vibrational place.

We make it stranger. Louder. Smarter.

But in turn, we make work that looks original and still feels empty.

We stand out without standing for anything.

The true key to making what only we can make actually has nothing to do with asking: “What can I make that is different?”

And everything to do with asking: “What feels most honest to me right now?”

Originality tells you to scan the whole world.

Honesty wants you to notice one thing.

Maybe you keep thinking about time.

Maybe you keep thinking about home.

Maybe you keep thinking about someone’s smile.

Beauty. Faith. Power. Loneliness. Freedom.

A hundred honest pieces reveal a pattern.

So lean into your truth. Piece by piece.

And over time you will start to notice the things that keep returning.

You may paint it today. Write it next year. Film it ten years from now.

The form may change. The truth will stay.

I know an artist who keeps returning to freedom.

I know another who keeps returning to grief.

Another keeps returning to love.

They all make a hundred different things.

But underneath them, they are all making the same thing.

They are turning one truth like a stone in their hand.

Looking at it from every side.

That is how you build a body of work.

Work that’s confidently yours.

And maybe this is how we build our lives too.

We look around before we look within.

We ask what kind of life will make sense to everyone else.

What job we should pursue.

What age we should accomplish a goal.

What dream others will clap for.

Little by little, we become original in private and acceptable in public.

We deny ourselves the life we would choose if no one else had to understand it.

Then one day, we wake up inside a life that looks right from across the room but does not feel like ours from inside it.

A life can be praised and still feel lonely.

A life can look full and still have no one home.

The same thing happens in art.

We can spend years making work that proves we’re talented while avoiding the work that proves we were here.

We make what gets the quick sale.

We make what earns praise.

We learn how to impress people without letting them close.

But the cost of always being understood is that you may never be known.

That is why creating from an honest place feels like coming home.

We’re returning to the parts of ourselves we left behind.

The child who made things before learning to judge them.

The person we were before we became good at becoming what was needed.

A life becomes ours the same way a body of work does.

One small, honest choice at a time.

The thing you admit. The thing you refuse.

Honest choices reveal a person.

Honest pieces reveal a voice.

Do not try to become impossible to compare.

Become impossible to replace.

Make what only you can make.

No one else can tell the truth from where you stand.

You do not have to invent a new sun.

You only have to show us what the light touched in you.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

MJ’S LEGACY

Michael Jackson is arguably the most famous and influential singer, songwriter, and performer in the history of music. From childhood, he was obsessed with perfecting his craft. Michael Jackson created Thriller, the best-selling album of all time. His ability to make timeless music like Billie Jean, Beat It, and Thriller solidified his global stardom. Jackson blended pop, R&B, funk, and rock to develop a new universal sound. He used this distinctive voice to sing catchy lyrics and melodies. His stage presence gave his music life. He used groundbreaking visuals, flashy outfits, and jaw-dropping choreography to create unforgettable experiences. Medical staff stood watch at his shows because fans fainted at the sight of him.

We categorize Michael Jackson’s legacy by the iconic moments he created. One of those moments was his performance of Billie Jean on the Motown 25th Anniversary TV special. It was the first time he introduced the world to his iconic white diamond-laced glove that became a cultural fashion statement. Also, during this performance, Michael Jackson revolutionized dance by showcasing his new dance move, the moonwalk. The moonwalk seemed to defy the laws of physics. With every step forward, he smoothly moved backward.

Michael Jackson knew that everything he created was the cornerstone of his legacy. He once said, “Every day, create your history. Every path you take, you’re leaving your legacy.” That’s why he valued challenging himself creatively in every aspect of his career. Instead of making basic music videos, he created compelling cinematic narratives. When you watch his Thriller, Smooth Criminal, or Black or White videos, he takes you along a captivating visual journey. Also, instead of performing standard dance moves, he invented his iconic signature moves, such as the robot, the anti-gravity lean, and, as I mentioned, the moonwalk. Each of these moments and creations became staples of pop culture. Even after passing away, Michael Jackson’s artistic legacy continues to influence new generations of creators.

DON’T OBTAIN. CREATE.

Your legacy isn’t built on the things you obtain, it’s built on the things you create. The things you obtain are merely borrowed. After you pass away, the material possessions you own will be relinquished from your control and transferred to a new owner. On the other hand, your creations are the evidence you leave behind to let others know that you were here. No matter who owns it in the future, there’s only one creator.

Entrepreneur Felix Dennis died with a net worth of over $750,000,000. In his old age he only had one regret. He said, “If I had my time again, knowing what I know today, I would dedicate myself to making just enough to live comfortably as quickly as I could, by the time I was 35. I would then cash out and retire to write poetry and plant trees.” He learned later in life that creativity was the secret to fulfillment and building a legacy.

People rarely remember what you did, but they always remember how you made them feel. As we discussed in the Key of Sharing and the Key of Emotion, creativity is the most effective way to evoke hard-hitting emotions at scale. If you want to leave a legacy that’s remembered for generations to come, create art so impactful that your audience can’t help but think about it, talk about it, and remember it. Ask yourself: what are the most important things, other than children, you’ve brought into the world that would not exist without you? Your answer will give you insights into the legacy you’re currently building.

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is expect our past self to know things only time could teach.

We find an old painting. An old song. An old video. An old journal.

And we cringe.

“How did I ever think this was good?”

But I think the better question is…

“Who’s asking it?”

Because the work didn’t wake up one day and become less.

We woke up seeing more.

The painting stayed the same.

The person looking at it didn’t.

We are using today’s eyes to judge yesterday’s hands.

And that idea makes it so hard for me look at my old work the same.

Yesterday’s hands could only make what yesterday’s eyes could see.

How could they have done anything else?

We can’t paint what we can’t imagine yet.

We can’t write what we don’t know yet.

We can’t build with tools we haven’t found yet.

We keep asking our younger self to borrow wisdom from the future.

That’s impossible.

Wisdom is the only teacher that gives the lesson after the test.

You don’t get a map.

Until you’ve already walked the trail.

And that’s why your old work matters.

Every painting gives you a beautiful new pair of eyes.

Then those new eyes turn around…

And judge the painting that made them.

Isn’t that strange?

Without that painting we would’ve never learned to see what was missing.

Without that story we would’ve never learned what a better story feels like.

Without that first song we would never hear the melodies we hear now.

Your old work didn’t just make art.

It made you.

Every time we create something…

…two things are made.

The work.

And the person who made it.

Most creators only acknowledge the first one.

But honestly…the second one is where the magic happens.

We think we’re making paintings.

We’re really making painters.

We think we’re making books.

We’re really making writers.

We think we’re making music.

We’re really making musicians.

The work changes you long before it changes anyone else.

Yet the hardest person for us to understand is often the person we used to be.

We look back at old work. Old choices. Old dreams. Old relationships.

Old versions of ourself.

And wonder: “What was I thinking?”

But that version of us wasn’t a “fool”.

It’s hard for me to even use the word “amateur”.

I’d rather just say we were “early”.

Because there’s a difference.

A seed isn’t a failed tree.

A caterpillar isn’t a failed butterfly.

A sunrise isn’t a failed sunset.

It’s just the beginning.

Why are we so ashamed of “becoming”?

A tree never hides its rings.

A butterfly never apologizes for being a caterpillar.

A sunset wears the colors of every hour it took to become.

Nature leaves proof that it changed.

We try to erase ours.

We delete old posts. Hide old drawings. Throw away old notebooks.

Don’t erase the bridge.

It carried you here.

One day the work you’re making today will embarrass you too.

And when that day comes…I hope you smile.

Because it means you kept going. You kept gaining. You kept growing.

You build the work.

The work builds you.

Don’t hate yesterday’s hands.

They’re the reason you have today’s eyes.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

Very few taste it.

Recently, I’ve been interested in water sommeliers.

Someone who is a professional at tasting and evaluating different types of water.

This intrigued me because every single day I swallow what keeps me alive without noticing what it has to say.

But a water sommelier notices the weight. The minerals. The softness. The sharpness. The way it enters. The trace it leaves behind.

While I say, “That was refreshing.”

They might say, “That began with a soft and silky rounded entrance, combined notes of a gentle sweetness and a faint chalky texture, and then became slightly dry across the tongue.”

Same water.

Different attention.

That’s true taste.

Taste isn’t knowing what is good.

Taste is noticing what is there.

Most people hear a song.

A musician hears the silence holding it together.

Most people see a face.

A photographer notices the smile arriving before the pain left.

Most people see a painting.

An artist sees the one imperfect mark that makes it human.

The world doesn’t become more interesting when we embrace our inner artists.

We become more interested in the world.

Our most expansive taste begins where being trapped in autopilot ends.

Even something as common as drinking water becomes an experience.

Familiarity makes things invisible.

But attention makes them strange again.

We often confuse taste with preference.

Preference = “I like this.”

Taste = “What is this actually doing to me?”

Preference collects. Taste compares.

Why does this rough sketch feel more alive than the finished piece?

Why does one sentence open us while another only impresses us?

Why does one song stay in the body after the sound is long gone?

Taste lives inside the difference.

And the deeper our attention becomes, the more precise our language to describe it becomes.

And the more precise our language becomes, the more precise our intention behind our art can become.

It’s all connected.

Taste is attention practiced until it becomes creative instinct.

It is built by slowing down.

By looking twice.

By listening past the obvious.

By asking why something moved us before asking whether others will approve.

A fundamental pillar of our creative potential is not built by more talent.

It’s hidden inside the things we stopped noticing.

Everyone drinks water.

Very few taste the minerals.

Everyone moves through life.

Very few let life move through them.

Today when you’re thirsty and you grab a glass of water...

I challenge you to slow down.

Take another sip.

There is more in your water than water.

Most artists drink.

Great artists taste.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

So much so, that I don’t know if any phrase contains more possibility than...

“A universe of possibilities.”

And somewhere inside the universe between your two ears...

I can almost see them.

Worlds of ideas.

Half-finished projects.

Questions that won’t leave you alone.

Dreams you’ve been carrying for years.

I see both the excitement and the exhaustion in your eyes as you try to keep them all alive at once.

But let me ask you something very important.

What is your sun?

I know. Your universe is big.

But what’s at the center of your solar system?

What gives you energy without asking for it back?

What still shines over you on your darkest days?

What keeps you warm through your coldest seasons?

What’s the thing that makes all your other things make sense?

Because worlds without a sun just...

Float...

Aimlessly.

Beautiful, but disconnected.

Full of possibility, yet pulled in every direction.

A sun changes that.

It gives scattered worlds a relationship to one another.

It turns cosmic chaos into a solar system.

It gives every planet a place.

I think deep down that’s what so many creatives are actually searching for.

A center.

We write a book.

Then we want to start a business.

Then we become obsessed with photography.

Then filmmaking.

Then music.

Then another book.

All distracted by the next possibly floating around in our universe.

But here’s the thing...

The greatest creators rarely spent their lives making the same work too.

But they almost always spent their lives orbiting the same sun.

The projects changed.

The medium changed.

Sometimes even the audience changed.

But underneath it all...

the same invisible force kept pulling everything together.

And that force allowed each new work to amplify each other.

My sun is awakening human creativity.

Every email. Every video. Everything I’ve ever build somehow keeps finding its way back there.

Bob Marley wrote different songs.

But they all orbited freedom.

Steve Jobs built computers, then music players, then phones...

But they all orbited simplicity.

Leonardo da Vinci painted. Studied anatomy. Designed inventions. Filled thousands of notebook pages.

But they all orbited curiosity about the world.

Lauryn Hill wrote songs about love, faith, motherhood, and injustice...

But they all orbited spiritual truth.

Unfortunately some people build their creativity around a weak energy source.

Praise. Validation. Followers. Money. Fear.

The moment those disappear...

their whole system collapses.

But the best sun a creator can have never borrows its light.

It generates it.

It might not be the thing that gets the most applause.

But it is the thing that keeps producing energy, even when no one is watching.

Whatever sits at the center quietly determines the path of everything else.

Our life becomes a map of whatever we place at the center.

Harmony naturally emerges once we embrace what everything is supposed to orbit.

The uncomfortable truth about all of this is that we are already orbiting something.

Everyone is.

The only question is whether we chose our with intention or fall victim to the gravity of expectations placed on us.

So before you chase another idea...

Before you add another planet to your universe...

Pause.

Search for the source of light underneath it all.

Because once you choose your sun...

Its gravity will gather the scattered worlds.

Revealing what belongs.

And it giving everything else permission to drift away.

What is your sun?

Stay creative,
Way Walker

And I’ll be honest.

I dread every single run.

Every time I step on the pavement there’s a part of me that screams:

“Who do you think you are?”

Because I know my habits. I know my body. I know what I tell myself when running starts to hurt.

And when I really sit with what it will take to run this race in October, I keep coming to a strange realization...

I cannot do this as the person I already am.

I will have to become someone I’ve never met before.

Someone with a different relationship to pain.

Someone who doesn’t negotiate with physical discomfort.

Someone who hears the voice that says “stop” and doesn’t immediately worship it.

And I think that’s why our biggest creative goals scare us so much.

It’s not because we’re afraid of the work.

It’s because we can feel the identity death hidden inside the work.

A half marathon is not just asking me to run.

It is asking me to become the kind of person who runs.

And those are two very different things.

Because running is an action.

But becoming a runner is a funeral.

I have to bury the version of myself who always had a reason not to go running.

I have to bury the version of myself who needed to feel ready first.

I have to bury the version of myself who made discomfort mean danger.

And even though we know the finish line comes with a proud new version of ourselves, the old self does not leave without a fight.

It grips the doorframe.

It screams, “But this is who we are! We don’t do things like this! This is too much!”

And in this is a fight…

The protagonist and the antagonist are the same person.

They’re both us.

But every meaningful act of creation requires us to participate in this fight.

It’s never just...

Can you make the painting?

Can you write the book?

Can you start the channel?

Can you build the app?

Can you finish the album?

No. The real question is:

Can you become the kind of person who would?

Because the person who dreams about making something is not always the same person who can survive making it.

Dreaming requires imagination.

Creating requires transformation.

And most people try to create a new life with an old identity.

But to unlock your creative potential, you may have to betray your former self to become someone else entirely.

A person who finishes.

A person who shares.

A person who embraces flaws.

A person who can be misunderstood.

A person who can unapologetically create.

A person who can keep going without an audience.

Do you want to know the only way for me to become a runner?

It’s to wake up every day and do one thing...

Run.

Not think about running.

Not imagine myself running.

Not wait until I feel like someone who runs.

Run.

It’s that simple.

Not easy. Simple.

And even though it’s hard for me to see right now, eventually something will change.

Eventually the road will stop feeling like a place where I prove how weak I am and start feeling like a place where I remember how strong I can become.

Eventually my lungs will stop feeling like a fire I have to survive and start reminding me I’m alive.

Eventually the run will become a full body conversation with rhythm.

And that’s the part I think every creator needs to understand.

We don’t transform our identity by thinking harder about who we want to be.

We transform it by giving our life evidence.

Small evidence. Daily evidence. Simple evidence.

This is not a “fake it until you make it” approach.

I’ve never really liked that phrase…

Because “faking it” implies there is a real version of you somewhere else, and right now you’re just pretending.

Becoming is not pretending.

Becoming is practicing.

Becoming is being the person in the smallest possible way before you fully believe you are.

Do not fake it until you make it.

Be it until you are.

Be the person who finishes by finishing one small thing.

Be the person who shares by sharing one honest thing.

Be the person who embraces flaws by creating one intentionally bad thing.

This is how identity changes.

Not through some grand reinvention.

But through tiny acts.

Because whether we act with intention or not…

Every day, our choices are building a version of someone new.

That’s just the quiet beauty of becoming.

At first, we do the work because we want to become someone else.

Then one day, we do the work because we are someone else.

The evidence becomes identity.

The practice becomes personality.

The repetition becomes belief.

So I challenge you….

Don’t wait to become the kind of person who can live the life you want.

Live one small piece of that life today.

And then again tomorrow.

And again the day after that.

Until the day that nagging voice in your head asks, “Who do you think you are?”

And you can finally answer…

“This is who we are.”

Stay creative,
Way Walker

The longer I sit with an idea…

the more I start doubting it.

An idea will come to me and for a brief moment it feels undeniable.

“This is it. This is the one.”

I can already see the finished video.

Or the app.

Or the sentence.

It feels so alive.

Then I leave it alone for a while.

Sometimes just a day or a week.

And somehow...

the exact same idea starts feeling ordinary. Predictable. Naive.

Not worth making.

Nothing about the idea changed.

Only my relationship to it did.

And I think that’s because there’s a huge difference between having an idea...

And examining one.

The first time an idea appears, we’re inside it.

We’re experiencing it.

But the longer we stare at it the more we step outside of it.

We stop creating and we start evaluating.

And evaluation creates distance.

Distance creates perspective.

Perspective creates questions.

And questions create doubt.

Maybe this is just the cost of consciousness.

We’re one of the only creatures that can think about our own thinking.

And so an idea doesn’t just have to exist.

It has to survive our own interrogation.

And in this interrogation, some doubt sharpens the work.

It forces us to ask better questions.

It forces us to dig deeper.

That doubt is a gift.

But on the other hand, there’s the doubt that doesn’t improve anything.

It only asks whether we deserve to make it in the first place.

Whether someone else already did it.

Whether we’re talented enough.

Whether it’ll fail.

That doubt isn’t trying to make better work.

It’s trying to stop us from pursuing our vision.

I’m beginning to think creativity isn’t about becoming someone who never doubts.

It’s about learning which doubts deserve a seat at the desk...

Because if we wait until we feel certain...

we’ll spend our entire life protecting ideas instead of creating them.

And so we must embrace uncertainty.

Creation is an act of sacrifice.

Every finished thing is also a thousand beautiful possibilities that had to die.

And that’s true for every decision we make.

Every meaningful yes...

is built on a thousand invisible goodbyes.

Nothing beautiful has ever existed without that grief.

A song only exists because every other melody was left unwritten.

A sculpture only exists because everything that wasn’t the sculpture was carved away.

A life only becomes a life...

the moment it stops trying to become every possible one.

And simply focuses on being our own.

Maybe that’s what doubt really is.

The mind’s last attempt to keep every door open.

But the doors were never meant to stay open forever.

Because one day...

the greatest tragedy isn’t that you made the wrong thing.

It’s realizing you spent your whole life waiting to feel ready...

while your real life waited patiently for you to simply begin.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

POWER

Ideas are powerful. We cope with death based on our idea of the afterlife. We love people based on our idea of who they are. We spend ungodly amounts of money based on our idea of a brand. The influential nature of ideas gives creativity power. Creativity is the vehicle your mind uses to package and share your idea with the world. Every war we’ve ever fought, shift in humanity’s eras, economic revolution, social justice movement, scientific breakthrough, and artistic trend can trace back to one idea someone had. They probably weren’t the first to think of the idea, but they were the first to share the idea in a thought-provoking impactful way.

CREATE THE FUTURE

Chaos theory is a branch of mathematics that studies how things that start simple can become unpredictable and complicated. A known example of the chaos theory is the butterfly effect. This effect states that a butterfly flapping its wings in one part of the world can cause a chain of events that leads to a storm happening somewhere else.

The chaos theory shows that seemingly simple systems can have unpredictable outcomes. It helps scientists understand things like weather patterns, an animal’s behavior, and planetary movement. The world is a complex and interconnected place. Even the most minor things can make a huge difference.

Creativity spreads the same way. Tupac once said, “I’m not saying I’m going to rule the world or I’m going to change the world, but I guarantee that I will spark the brain that will change the world. And that’s our job. It’s to spark somebody else watching us.” Your ideas have the power to change the world. Some ideas are more impactful than others, but everything you create will influence the trajectory of humanity. Each contribution has a ripple effect, influencing the next generation’s ideas. Ideas have power and influence that transcends the limitations of time. Economist John Maynard Keynes suggests, “Ideas are immortal, and as such, they are the most powerful force in the universe.” The future is impossible to predict, but instead of speculating about what could happen in the distant future, get out and create the future you wish to see. Participate in the creator’s shared responsibility of shaping our destiny. The future belongs to the creators who create it.

CULTURAL GENOCIDE

The fairy tales, plays, songs, paintings, and other forms of art from the past give us a glimpse into who we once were. The artifacts we investigate are all preserved art from the past. That means the art of today will become the artifacts of tomorrow. It’s our footprint in the sand of human history that preserves the stories of our time. When you create something new, you’re contributing to our story. Protect your creations to secure your place in the shared human consciousness.

Creativity is so powerful that destroying it is an act of warfare. This process is called cultural genocide. It’s when an invader asserts dominance over the natives by demolishing their physical artifacts such as artwork, music, architecture, and literature, as well as the suppression of cultural practices, traditions, and languages. Art is the heart of a culture. Without it, the cultural ties that bind the natives together unravel, weakening them for generations to come. Once the invader strips the culture of its essence, they replace the art with their own and exploit or appropriate the resources they have left. They forcefully plant their ideologies in the native’s minds knowing that one day, generations later, the natives will completely forget their cultural heritage.

In the late 19th century, Native Americans in the United States experienced a tragic example of cultural genocide. The U.S. government forcefully removed Native American children from their families and communities. They relocated them to boarding schools where they forbid their native languages and traditions, including banning traditional religious practices like the Sun Dance and the Ghost Dance.

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Their voice is different.

Their pain is different.

Their vision is different.

Their fear is different.

And in a way, that’s true…

Our style is ours.

Our lens is ours.

Nobody else can make the exact thing we’re here to make.

But underneath all our differences, most artists carry the same quiet hunger.

We want to be understood. We want to make something that matters. We want to stop feeling invisible. We want proof that our work isn’t pointless. We want to be witnessed without being rejected.

And the moment we realize that…

Other artists stop looking like rivals.

And they start becoming reflections.

In the mirrors of our humanity.

And I think this at the root of almost every real connection between two people.

Because most disconnection comes from the illusion that we are experiencing life alone.

I think my fear is only mine.

You think your pain is only yours.

So I protect my story.

You protect yours.

And so we end up as two people standing right in front of each other, both wanting to be understood. Both afraid of being rejected. Both hoping the other person makes the first move toward vulnerability.

And all it takes is just one honest move. And suddenly, the distance between us collapses.

Revealing that we share the same humanity…

So for creators to connect, we have to stop confusing difference with distance.

We have to stop comparing whose work is better.

Instead, we should recognize that the fear underneath our work is often the same.

One artist is afraid they’ll never be seen. Another is afraid they’ll be seen and still not be enough. Another is afraid they already missed their moment. Another is afraid their best work is behind them.

Different rivers. Same water.

And I think this is where real creative community begins.

Not when we all pretend to be the same.

But when we stop using our uniqueness as walls.

We build walls around our voice, our pain, our process, our opportunities, our knowledge. We think we’re protecting what makes us special. But eventually, the thing we built to preserve our identity becomes the thing that keeps us disconnected.

The irony is, when we finally admit what we have in common, we don’t become less ourself.

We become more free.

Free to collaborate on goals that one person can’t champion alone. Free to be vulnerable without feeling weak. Free to share knowledge without feeling replaceable. Free to celebrate someone else’s gift without questioning our own.

That’s why I make my videos. That’s why I write these emails. Everyday I wake up trying to put language to the things we feel but rarely say out loud.

Because every time we reveal that we are not as separate as we think, we become stronger.

Individually.

And together.

We are all rivers convinced we are separate streams.

But every river is made of the same water.

And maybe the goal was never to protect ourselves from merging.

Maybe the goal was to realize that when we finally do...

We don’t disappear.

We become the ocean.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

But my brain is limiting me.

You see, our brain processes an unimaginable amount of information.

Light. Sound. Temperature. Movement. Facial expressions. Memories. Sensations.

I learned this week that it’s roughly 11 million bits of sensory information per second. Flooding in.

And yet our conscious awareness only receives around 40 bits per second.

A tiny slice of reality.

Which means something strange is happening…

Reality isn’t simply appearing before us.

Reality is being selected. Filtered. Edited. Compressed.

And so we experience what our attention allows through. Those 40 bits.

Which means two people can walk through the exact same day and inhabit entirely different worlds.

One person notices beauty. Another notices danger.

One notices possibility. Another notices rejection.

One notices patterns. Another notices problems.

Same reality. Different attention. Different world.

In a way, our attention shapes who we become.

A musician spends years paying attention to rhythm.

Eventually they start hearing rhythm everywhere.

A writer spends years paying attention to meaning.

Eventually they find stories in everything.

An artist spends years paying attention to color, texture, shape, emotion.

Eventually the entire world becomes a living gallery.

They’ve transformed their perception.

And so if we’re the sum of what we pay attention to...

Then every day is a vote.

Every scroll. Every conversation. Every obsession. Every curiosity. Every rabbit hole.

It’s all a vote for the person we’re becoming.

Whatever receives our attention grows.

Whatever loses our attention fades.

Relationships. Skills. Beliefs. Dreams. Entire identities.

They all live or die based to the attention we direct toward them.

Which is why living a creative life is primarily about devotion.

Deep devotion.

The daily practice of returning our attention to what fascinates us.

Again. And again. And again.

Until our life starts organizing itself around what makes us feel alive.

What captures our attention when nobody is watching.

The things that align to our real values.

So pay attention to your attention.

Notice what keeps pulling you back.

Notice what you can’t stop thinking about.

Notice what makes hours disappear.

Ask yourself…

What are you paying attention to?

Stay creative,
Way Walker

It arrives carrying ideas, inspiration, and a strange sense of purpose.

And thanks to it, these emails exist.

For a long time, I thought it was creativity.

But recently, I’ve started wondering if it’s something else…

My Calling.

What’s strange is that it never approaches me head-on.

It always seems to arrive from behind.

And the more I sit with that idea, the more I realized I’ve been looking at my calling all wrong.

We often imagine a calling as something waiting in the future.

A revelation. A lightning strike. A moment of clarity.

So we keep squinting at the distance. Waiting for a signal from the future. Searching for something different.

Different careers. Different identities. Different ambitions. Different cities. Different versions of ourselves.

Certain that one day we’ll finally discover the thing we were meant to do.

But recently I’ve been toying with a different possibility…

What if a calling doesn’t come from in front of us?

What if it comes from behind?

What if our calling is less like a destination and more like a trail of footprints?

Evidence of where we’ve already been. Evidence of where life has been quietly pulling us all along.

A footprint in a half-filled journal.

A strange obsession that followed us through every season of life.

A conversation that somehow lasted for hours.

A problem people keep bringing to us to solve.

A type of work that makes us forget to check the clock.

All footprints…

But we overlook these footprints because they don’t feel extraordinary.

They usually feel painfully easy and effortless.

And that’s exactly the problem.

When something comes naturally to us, we assume it isn’t valuable.

And so over time, we become numb to our own gifts.

We reduce it with the word “just.”

“I’m just good with people.”

“I just notice patterns.”

“I just explain things well.”

“I just make people feel comfortable.”

“I just get obsessed with ideas.”

“I just understand how artists think.”

But just as a fish doesn’t notice water, humans rarely notice the thing they operate inside of every day.

Pianists don’t realize how strange it is to hear emotion inside sounds.

Entrepreneurs don’t realize instinctively seeing systems and opportunities everywhere isn’t normal intuition.

Artists don’t realize most people stopped noticing beauty years ago.

Writers don’t realize most people aren’t constantly collecting ideas from every conversation.

The thing that feels most ordinary to you is often the thing that feels most remarkable to everyone else.

And maybe that is why our calling feels so mysterious.

Because it’s not hidden. It’s been standing in the place we never thought to look…

Behind us.

In the footprints we’ve already left.

In the projects we couldn’t stop working on.

In the themes that keep resurfacing.

In the questions we’ve spent years asking.

In the pains that keep breaking our hearts.

In the people who keep finding their way back.

In the things we’ve done for free.

In the moments that made us lose track of time.

Yes, the future still holds so many beautiful surprises.

But maybe your calling isn’t waiting for you there.

Maybe it has been walking behind you.

Trying to introduce itself to you your entire life.

Patiently leaving clues.

Patiently tapping you on the shoulder.

Patiently asking the same question over and over again…

“Will you finally embrace who you’ve been all along?”

Stay creative,
Way Walker

Lately I’ve been wondering if self awareness is actually the first step in a process instead of a destination.

Because a behavior can be understandable and still have an impact.

Understanding why something happens doesn’t erase the consequences.

I used to feel like understanding myself was the goal because understanding myself felt like progress.

And in some ways it is.

When we understand why we avoid certain ideas, why we play certain areas of life safe, why we procrastinate, why intimacy scares us, why we react the way we do… it gives us context.

It makes us feel less crazy.

But to me there’s a tug of war happening here. Between being compassionate and responsible.

Compassion for the root cause. And responsibility for the impact.

Because the moment we can explain a pattern, a reaction, a choice we’ve made, it feels like a full circle moment.

We feel a sense of completion.

“I know why I do this.”

And that feeling of knowing is so satisfying that it mimics the feeling of change.

But insight doesn’t automatically mean transformation.

Understanding happens up here in our mind while impact happens out there all around us.

I can exercise extraordinary self-awareness to be able to articulate the origin of every wound…

And still fall victim to the same patterns in my work, my relationships, even my own self worth.

These patterns, regardless of where they come from, are how I impact the world.

Who is absorbing the impact of my understandable behavior?

That question makes me feel like understanding ourselves might not be enough.

Maybe the most meaningful way to approach life is not by only measuring ourselves by the quality of our self-knowledge, but by the quality of the experience our presence imparts on the people closest to us.

That would mean holding true accountability for how our patterns impact others.

Growth is when our self awareness stops being a private realization and starts becoming a public change.

Maybe instead of asking:

“Do you understand yourself?”

The question is:

“Does your understanding make you safer to love? Kinder to work with? More honest in your art? More present with others? More capable of pursuing the life you want?”

Maybe our self awareness is not measured by how deeply we can explain ourselves…

But by how differently the people we love experience us over time.

Stay creative,
Way Walker

LOOP THOUGHT EXPERIMENT

Imagine if your entire life was an endless one-hour loop until you died.

What would you fill your hour with? Maybe you’d choose to eat a tasty sandwich, watch a short episode of your favorite show, and chat with your friend. Then it all repeats. You’d experience the same thing repeating every hour, 24 times every day. At first, you’ll feel fine, but eventually, the sandwich will lose its luster, the show will be too predictable, and the conversation will bore you.

The lack of change will soon become mind-numbing, and you lose track of time in the repetitiveness of it all. After a few months, this loop will become your new normal, but you’ll feel completely empty. You’ll question the purpose of life. What started as an hour of enjoyment quickly turned into a life of misery. You’d give anything to take a key that would free you from this endless trap.

Let’s bring this thought experiment to reality. The effect a looping hour has on you is the same effect a looping day has on you. Unfortunately, we live in a world where living the same day over and over is the norm. Wake up. Eat. Work. Eat. Work. Eat. Relax. Sleep. Repeat.

But that is the norm. It almost seems like your entire life has led up to this moment. You went to school, followed the rules, and passed those tests because that’s what you were told you were supposed to do to become a contributing member of society. Then you reached the goal they told you to pursue. You moved into your new house, landed your dream job, and settled into a routine. The first few months of this lifestyle probably felt invigorating. I mean, you made it, right?

But over time, just like the effects of a looping hour, you get lost in the sameness of your days. You start to feel like you’re operating on autopilot. You wake up at the same time as yesterday. You mindlessly drive to work. You interact with the same people. You eat one of the few meals you typically eat. You take a shower and get dressed for bed. Soon, the only thing that excites you is the novelty of the content you consume—news, streaming services, and social media feeds. This cycle makes you lose track of time. Multiple days blend into one. Then into weeks, then months, and, before you know it, years fly by. Eventually, you lose yourself.

Many of us are trapped in this endless loop. Some of us have been in it so long that we don’t even notice it. “It’s just life,” we tell ourselves. Everyone around us is doing it, so it feels like the way of life. Nobody questions it. But for a second, ignore what everyone else is doing with their lives and ask yourself: I know I am alive, but am I really living?

If you yearn to break free from this cycle, I have a gift for you. It’s a key that can unlock the days in your life, allowing them all to be novel.

That key is called creativity.

EVERYDAY CREATIVITY

When it comes to creativity, we often think of artists, musicians, or writers. However, drop your paint brushes, mics, and pens because creativity is not limited to those fields alone.

The Encyclopedia of Creativity by Mark A. Runco and Steven R. Pritzker covers a concept called Everyday Creativity that expands the standard definition of creativity to touch all aspects of our lives. Painting, building products, dancing, or singing don’t classify Everyday Creativity. Instead, it’s the creativity that flows through the originality of your day-to-day life. It’s demonstrated in how you raise your kids, garden your plants, cook a meal, or even choose an outfit.

Everyday Creativity is typically undervalued and unnoticed, yet it’s one of the most practical ways to exercise your creativity. Instead of reserving creative thinking to specific activities, you can apply it to your personal life, too.

THE DEMAND FOR CREATIVITY

According to a LinkedIn report, the number one soft skill employers look for is, you guessed it, creativity. That’s because, over the last couple of years, top companies have shifted their views on creativity. So why the change of heart?

Read more