We all are creative. Even when we don’t feel like it. Even when the world tries to box creativity inside the borders of “art,” “design,” or “music.” If you are able to think, imagine, and create something – even just an idea – you are creative.
I’ve always loved creating. Loved building things with my hands, sketching thoughts into shapes, turning the noise in my head into something you could see, touch, or read.
And when that energy doesn’t find a way out, I start feeling anxious.
Restless.
As if my brain is trying to tell me: move it out, or it will drown you. Starting this blog was one of those moments. I didn’t have a big idea or a vision. I just had an urge. A small, foolish nudge to do something on April Fools’ Day. To begin – without knowing what beginning meant.
But looking back now, it’s clear: the moment I acted, creativity answered. Not with a masterpiece. But with more sparks. One small act of creativity doesn’t deplete you – it feeds you. It opens a tiny door inside your mind that leads to another room, and another after that.
At first, the flow feels endless. You think: “Look at me go. I must be some kind of machine.”
You’re not.
You’re human.
And creativity, for humans, flows more like a tide. It fills you up – sometimes slowly, sometimes suddenly.
You act. You build, sketch, write, imagine.
You feel alive.
And then…It ebbs. And that’s when the questioning starts. Am I stuck? Have I lost it? Was it just a lucky streak? The mind, so clever in making things, is also very good at making doubts.
During Easter, I felt it. After a rush of energy – ten blog posts in a 2 weeks, dozens of small side projects, a whirlwind of ideas – I hit an emptiness. Not a dramatic block. More like a strange silence. No sparks. No urgent new projects. No wild flashes of “next big things.”
Just… quiet.
At first, I was scared. Because if you start to see yourself as a “creative person,” silence can feel like failure. Like you’re not who you thought you were anymore. But somewhere deeper, I realized: this is the other side of the wave. The ebb. Not the end. Creativity isn’t a faucet you can just turn on.
It’s a reservoir.
And after enough creating, you need time to let the water rise again. Even when you’re not consciously “being creative,” your mind is massaging the next burst into place. Filing away ideas. Connecting stray thoughts. Building pressure behind the dam. You don’t see it. But it’s happening. At the end of my Easter break, I felt it.
That familiar restless flutter at the edges of my brain. Tiny sparks flying again. The urge to start designing a yard sauna. Sketching lamp ideas for the summerhouse. Outlining new adventures for Bagi, the character I barely meant to create. The flood returned.
And honestly, it felt a little overwhelming at first.
Because when the tide comes in, it doesn’t always arrive in a polite queue. It crashes. One idea after another, stacking up, demanding attention. Suddenly you feel behind again. Like you need to act on everything before it slips away. This too is part of the cycle.
And maybe – just maybe – this is the real work:
Learning how to surf it.
Not every wave has to be caught. Not every idea has to be built. Sometimes it’s enough to notice the tide is rising. Pick the waves that call the loudest.
Ride a few.
Let the others roll past without guilt. Because creativity feeds itself. The more you honor it – not by forcing, but by noticing – the stronger it grows. One post creates another post. One small sketch gives birth to three bigger projects. One fictional character like Bagi opens the door to a whole world of stories.
Creativity multiplies when you act with it, not against it. And sometimes, the most creative thing you can do is to pause. To listen. To let the wave come to you without trying to shape it before it’s ready. What I’m learning – and I’m still learning – is that creating isn’t about forcing a constant flow.
It’s about trusting the rhythm of your mind.
Trusting that emptiness is part of the process. Trusting that the next spark is already growing inside you, even when you can’t feel it yet. We are all creative. We just forget that creativity is not a performance. It’s a pulse. It speeds up. It slows down. It disappears. It returns.
It dances with your life – not apart from it, but inside it.
And when you listen closely, when you move with it instead of against it, you find yourself doing things you didn’t plan. Writing posts you didn’t intend. Drawing ideas from empty skies. Building something beautiful from a day that seemed ordinary.
That’s the magic.
That’s the gift.
Not the finished product, but the permission to flow. So here I am, post-Easter, letting my mind flood again. Sketching saunas, lamps, and Bagi’s next misadventures. Smiling at the flood instead of fearing it. Choosing a few waves to ride. Letting the rest crash beautifully at my feet.
Curiosity leads the way.
And creativity –
Creativity feeds itself.