There's a vulnerability and time exchange in creating that cannot be avoided or traded away. No matter what we make, it takes a part of us, that's the cost. Whether it's a painting, writing, or a business that we've built from the ground up, little by little, it demands all of us. And when it comes to the act of creating, purely for ourselves, we know that cost is worth it. We'll willingly give a part of our soul in order to bring this thing to life. It's the trade we've signed up for.
And then a new vulnerability steps in, the act of sharing it. It's all well and good to make something and keep it tucked away from the world, to keep ourselves safe from judgment or perception.But if we don't share our work and our story, it begins to suffocate.
To share this bit of our soul is vital, and excruciating.
It's one thing to pick up the paintbrush and pour your heart out in the hopes that expression is found, and it's another thing entirely to pick up a camera and document that sacred and solitary process. It creates the perfect space for doubt to creep in.
And it does.
Suddenly, instead of thinking about your art, you're thinking about lighting and camera angles, and god forbid you try to tell a story on top of it.
Does this b-roll look good enough?
Is the narrative clear?
Is this interesting?
And then you set down the paintbrush, or your pen, or your story, and you begin the process of creating something other than your creation. Sometimes it feels like an exciting challenge, and other times it borders on self-betrayal.
"This isn't what I'm supposed to be doing."
"What if it doesn't even reach anyone, and I've spent all of this time for nothing?"
"What if it does reach someone, and they can see I don't know what I'm doing?"
There's a pressure that comes with this process that feels outside of your control. It's a new medium, it's more technical than you'd prefer, and it's surprisingly difficult. Suddenly, you're learning a whole new art form to try and show people the one you've already chosen. But you try because at its core, it still matters to you. And if it matters to you, maybe it could matter to someone else .
So you put your new creation out there, this brief story, and you hope it counts for something. Maybe it gets a little traction, but maybe it gets less than everything else you've posted. You're left with a vulnerability hangover and find yourself thinking, "Wow, I never want to do this again." And that's okay, because it shows you where your work is. This work can be a burden, or it can become an extension of your craft. The playground for you to delve deeper into this sacred creative contract, and the invitation for others to connect with you and your story in a deeper way. And so you keep going, and maybe eventually you finally reach a point where you're ready to ask for help. To learn from someone who can teach you about the areas you feel stuck in, and a community to remind you why you're doing it in the first place.
Wherever you are on this path, take comfort in the very real reminder that it was always meant to challenge you, and your story was always meant to be shared.
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