There are a host of questions I wrestle with as a creative. Most of them you would know already, without even talking to me. The same narcissistic pull, the same neurotic push of “when will people find my genius?” to “why do you even bother?” Usually at the same time, which is absolute torture.
But those are just the ego and the id having it out on my psyche. Not relevant to the overall conversation, even if it happens to be relatable. No, I want to drill down into the deeper questions that really keep me up at night. I want to know what drive me.
Yes, I absolutely have the drive. Even when my coward brain slaps the keyboard out of my hand, I can’t help but feel the physicality of not creating. It hurts to not tell stories, not to innovate, and not to create. It’s the why that I really want to figure out.
It goes beyond love. And I do love telling stories. I love the reaction from the audience, to play with the emotions, making parts of the story bigger and smaller to manipulate the faces in the crowd. I love to hear the stories: funny, sad, happy, or angry.
Novels, movies, poetry, and plays all speak to me with the same crescendo. But maybe that’s all just being human. From comedians, to prophets, to teachers, we all love telling stories. Our stories, your stories, new stories, and remodeled stories.
The answer to my “why” is looking for a way to connect. To join the conversation and to share in the story. The second of the questions I wrestle with: what am I going to do about it?