We Are All Creators, We Just Don't Talk About It
Why do we talk more about our jobs and less about our passions?
What do you do?
The question seems harmless enough. It’s one of the first we ask when meeting someone new. The question tends to get a common response. We answer with our job titles.
We live in a data-driven culture. That’s not inherently wrong. Data helps to shape us and inform us in making smart decisions. But hard numbers, quantifiable stories, are largely collected, disseminated, and utilized by businesses. 7 in 10 consumers prefer this brand of toothpaste. Simple enough. We judge failures and successes that way.
But I’m more curious about why the other three chose something else. I’m curious about the 7, if they use that brand simply because that’s what their parents used. I’m curious if they use that brand because it’s what’s on sale. I’m curious if any of the 10 are lying. They don’t even know the brand they use, but feel foolish saying differently.
We’re human beings, each with different stories. Though many try, we can’t be shuffled into numerical categories. Still, when we’re at a party, a ball game, or anywhere else and we get the question What do you do, we’ll answer with the thing that pays us.
What if I asked you that question and said you cannot answer with your job title? What would you say? Maybe the question needs to be turned slightly. Instead of "What do you do?”, maybe we should ask “What are you passionate about?” You know, get to the heart of the matter.
Beyond Your Escape
The question can’t be “What do you do in your spare time?” A question like that will elicit a lazy response. I don’t care about your Netflix-binging or your bar-hopping or your obsession with working out. And God help us all, don’t tell me about spending your evenings scrolling social media.
All of those things are largely escapes. We stare at our phones or numb ourselves with Netflix to escape jobs we’d rather leave behind. And while we all love a good run-through of Seinfeld or Suits or Love Is Blind or whatever, we weren’t created for it. We were created to create.
Putting In Work
My first salaried job with benefits was in sales. I worked six-day weeks in the spring and fall selling lawn fertilizer and weed killer to customers in Lowes and Home Depot stores. I worked overnights in the late winter to reset products on shelves. I sprayed down 40-pound bags of grass seed with cleaner to wipe off mice droppings and urine. I spent countless hours building impressive displays of indoor bug killers only to have them ripped down by my competitor a few days later.
I spent the first 10 years of my career in sales. And I hated it.
Even away from my job, I grew to despise it. Because it was in those moments when I wanted a break that I was lured into thinking about my job. Talking about it. Fearing it.
When I wasn't in a store working, I was answering questions from people at church. "How do I get grass to grow in these shady spots of my yard?" Friends would text. "What's the right fertilizer for this time of year?" Then the dreaded holiday conversations with relatives. "How's work going?"
I always answered these questions. I'm happy to help where I can. I'm glad to give life updates to family I only see once a year. But the yearning to talk about something else has always been there.
While much of my time was spent thinking about how to boost sales while also balancing the dichotomy of serving both Lowes and Home Depots equally (despite them being competitors), I snuck in time to do what I loved.
Writing.
In a dusty corner of the internet, a carcass of an old blog site exists. It’s called Pine Riders Anonymous. In 2008 I began writing it. It’s nothing but sports content, full of pointless ramblings and unforgivable typos. We had recently moved to Knoxville, so I wrote a lot about Tennessee sports. In large, the writing is bad. But one or two fun nuggets stand out, like this one following yet another UT loss to Florida in 2008:
It only makes sense the person that hacked into Sarah Palin’s e-mail account was a University of Tennessee student. Maybe instead of trying to get into the potential VP’s e-mail, they should’ve hacked into Urban Meyer’s playbook.
It was just a few years later when I’d begin writing for more than just my own poorly run WordPress site. I wrote a few dozen articles for Bleacher Report, including one on the time when Barry Bonds almost joined the Braves. Years after that, I expanded my writing to Relevant Magazine, a faith-based site dedicated to articles on Christianity that appeal to people under 30. My piece on the things I wish Jesus had never said got mild attention on Facebook. More importantly, it validated the thing I most love to do.
Those hours spent crafting online content for free opened doors. Well, a specific door to writing for a sports ministry full-time. A job I fell in love with.
When Work Doesn’t Feel Like a Job
The saying goes to find something you love doing so much you’d do it for free. Then get paid for it. That’s exactly what I did. Now what I want to do is write books. Stories. Things that stir the imagination.
Last year I spent months crafting the first draft of a young adult novel. After a few run-throughs and revisions, it now sits at around 93,000 words. Some might see that and shake their head. Who in their right mind spends time writing 93,000 words and not get paid for it?
But like all of us, it’s a passion. It’s something I love to do. Not once in the time I’ve worked on the novel, whether outlining or drafting or editing or querying agents have I not loved it. Every second of every hour I’ve been able to create something, to perfect something, has been amazing.
But what about you?
You’re likely not aching with the desire to write a book. Still, you are a creator. Aren’t you? You’ve done something, maybe even as recently as today where you’ve created, crafted, designed, or built something. Something you wanted. Something you love. And not just love the final product, but the process.
We are all burning with a desire to create. It’s instilled in us by our Maker. I’m not talking about just writers. I mean everyone.
Like our oldest daughter who wants to create amazing photographs.
Like our youngest daughter who wants to create her own path as an amazing horseback rider.
Like my wife who spends time each week making incredible sourdough bread.
Like my dad, a master gardener who designs the backyard in the most efficient way to grow numerous fruits and veggies. That includes a hand-built trellis.
Let’s get back to you. What do you do? Not your job title. Not what occupies the hectic parts of your day. What are you passionate about?
Why don’t we talk about these things? Because they’re silly. They’re fairy tales. They’re pipe dreams. I can tell you who I am by describing the work I do that pays our bills.
But if you wanted to know, I mean really wanted a genuine answer, I’d say this: I want to be a full-time author living on land with all the animals my wife wants and a nice little nook where I can write stories.
That’s it. Simple, right? I’m not Stephen King. I’m not John Grisham. I’m not anyone special. But I don’t want to settle for less than my dreams just because it doesn’t feel realistic.
Follow the Green Lights
I’m reading through Matthew McConaughey’s memoir Greenlights. He tells the story of when he realized he no longer wanted to become a lawyer. He sat on a couch in his frat house at the University of Texas and upon reading some of the book The Greatest Salesman In The World, he knew what he wanted.
“It occurred to me that it was a bad habit to lie to myself any longer. Becoming a lawyer wasn’t for me. I wanted to tell stores. I paced my dorm room trying to assess the best time to call my dad and tell him I had changed my mind and no longer wanted to go to law school, I wanted to go to film school.”
Matthew called his pops. His charismatic dad responded in the toughest, most supportive dad-type way.
Silence. One. Two. Three. Four. Five seconds.
Then I heard a voice. A kind, inquisitive voice.
”Is that what you wanna do?” he asked.
”Yes sir, Dad, it is.”
Silence. Another five seconds.
”Well…Don’t half-ass it.”
And of course, he hasn’t. McConaughey has become one of the most well-established actors of our time. In large part because he realized what he wanted to do. He discovered his desire to create. And he went and did it.
I wrote a few weeks back about Zach Bryan’s songwriting. He recently released a video for his song “Nine Ball”, starring, of all people, Matthew McConaughey.
The video tells the story, much like you’d expect. It’s just a story. Just an example of what happens when we choose to create.
Last week I shared a story I’ve had bouncing around in my head for a few years. It’s a fictional story. Two teenagers in love facing a cold reality. Like most things I write, I’m always hesitant to share. Will anyone read this? Does anyone care?
But those doubts don’t last long, because creators create. And fail. And sometimes they make a little piece of art people enjoy. But killing the flame of creativity is snuffing the soul’s candle.
I’ve got friends who have respectable full-time jobs. But their passion is in something else. Building stuff. Writing music. Teaching. Preaching. Making soap. Painting. All kinds of things. So what about you? What are you creating? Are you sharing it with the world? The worst thing about a selfish creator is they don’t allow others to treasure the things they create.
Just…whatever it is…don’t half-ass it. Creating is always a risk. You can’t jump off the cliff with one foot still on the rock.
As for me, I’m about a dozen rejections into my agent querying phase. Most have been form letters, a few with kind words to say. But I’m pressing on. Jumping off the cliff. And if a branch doesn’t break my fall, I’ll dust myself off and climb up to the top again.
Hope you’ll join me.
Relatable!