I don’t create because something’s missing. I create because something matters. Because I’ve seen how a simple sentence can shift a day. How colour can crack open joy. How a journal page can become a place to land, rest, and rise again.
When I sit down to write, I’m not trying to fill a gap, I’m following a glow.
A flicker of beauty. A phrase that won’t let go. A whisper of wonder that says, This… this is worth your time.
There’s something deeply powerful about making what you’d want to find, not out of frustration, but from fascination. From love. From a deep desire to live in a world where the quiet things, the sacred things, the heartfelt things, are not overlooked but celebrated.
I want more wonder in the world, so I make it.
I want more honest, heart-spilled, healing language, so I write it.
Not because no one else is, but because I want to be one of the ones who does. To me, creativity isn’t just about talent. It’s about telling the truth in a beautiful way. It’s about amplifying the goodness. Contributing to the chorus. Creating the kind of work that doesn’t just get consumed but felt.
We all have that pull to make what we’re moved by.
Maybe you read a poem that stirs your spirit, and your fingers twitch to write one too. Maybe you see a painting and think, yes, more like that, please. Maybe you hear a melody and you hum along, wishing you had your own chorus to carry. That impulse is not imitation. It’s initiation.
It’s your creative spirit waking up, stretching out, and saying, Let’s go.
You don’t have to wait until something is needed. You can simply decide it’s worthy. You can bring more of what you love into the world because you love it. You can honour your taste, your truth, your tenderness, by shaping it into something that lasts.
So here’s my invitation, and maybe it’s yours too:
Make what you’d be delighted to find on a bookshelf, in a gallery, on a greeting card. Write what you’d highlight, underline, or send to a friend.
Create what makes you sit a little straighter, breathe a little deeper, feel a little more alive. Your joy is a compass. Your curiosity is a clue.
Your creations don’t have to be revolutionary, they just have to be real.
We’re all building the world we want to live in, one piece of art, one line, one loving act at a time. So if you’ve been wondering whether your voice is needed, the answer is: Yes. Not because it fills a void. But because it adds to our becoming.