Meaning, success—I know they sound grand.
But when I hear about “big” people, their stories, their tactics, their habits, all I can dissect is that it’s simple but not easy. They have a reason, primal and bigger than themselves. They want to matter.
From the surface it seems they have it all figured out, getting things their way.
But second glance that polished monolith and there you’ll see a simultaneous evocation of what once was crude. Stare long enough within the furtive folds and what transpires is a confluence of harmony and drudgery. In the midst of crafting, there’s dullness and excitement, blood and relief, uncertainty and revelation.
An artist molds a glass, forms gentle and jagged protrusions, sheds rough and grandiose skin, the flawless product we revere. What we forget, however, is that they all started somewhere, failed, picked up strategies and made their own map. They could have given up when things were difficult but found themselves staying in the arena.
For what, exactly?
Meaning—we’re all rooting for it.
Do you feel that urge to create… anything? Do you feel that void when you keep postponing? Are you holding back your youthful enthusiasm? We all have that propensity for wonder. That’s why creativity begs to be materialized; it claws on us in so many ways.
Eventually, when we find ourselves engaged in a craft, we grow a simple, big reason. Why do I cook? Why do I keep learning? Why do I crunch data? Why do I labor for words? Why do I keep sketching? Why do I keep tinkering?
That reason belongs to each one of us. It’s what ignites us to stretch our capacities. It’s what nudges us up in the morning—our ikigai. It’s what lends a hand when we’re in a slump. It’s what makes us come back frayed and move towards the horizon.