Creativity Doesn’t Owe You Anything
The Hidden Cost of Expecting Too Much
The second you start expecting something from creativity is when you lose.
It’s a subtle trap, and it doesn’t feel like one at first. You sit down to write or paint or film or sketch, and some part of you is already looking for the payoff. A spark. A breakthrough. A sign that this is the idea that will “change everything.” But creativity doesn’t respond to need. It doesn’t feed off ambition. In fact, the hungrier you are for a result, the quieter it gets.
And that’s what makes creative work so brutal to pursue seriously. You’re agreeing to tap into this elusive, invisible force day after day, without any guarantee it’ll meet you there. Creativity can come in a flash, or it can creep in slowly. Most days, it doesn’t show up at all. If you’re someone who makes things, you know exactly what I mean. You can show up faithfully and still walk away empty-handed.
Back when I was at BuzzFeed, I didn’t have time to worry about any of this. It was creative chaos, and somehow I thrived in it. It felt like the millennial version of SNL—every Monday started with a full-on panic attack and zero ideas. But by Wednesday, a video had to be live, and my next one already in pre-production. Period. There wasn’t time to wait for inspiration. I had to start with nothing and trust that something would show up. Every. Single. Week.
Some of my best work came from that pressure. It was like there was a metaphorical gun to my head every week, and that urgency forced me into flow. Lorne Michaels has a great quote about SNL:
“The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready. It goes on because it’s 11:30.”
That was my life for 5 years. Panic, then publish.
But now, working for myself, the stakes feel different. I have time. And weirdly, that makes it harder. Time to overthink. Time to second-guess. When I made the shift from viral videos to TV writing, the writing wasn’t just about making something funny or smart; it felt like my shot at a better life. Every sentence suddenly carried weight. Every draft felt like a test.
That’s where I messed up.
When you start expecting something from your creativity—when you need it to open a door, fix your life, prove your worth—you put a pressure on it that it can’t survive under. You’re no longer creating to connect. You’re creating to control.
Actors in LA know this feeling intimately. If you’ve ever auditioned for something you needed to book because rent was due, or your savings were gone, you know how that desperation seeps into the performance. It’s two minutes to prove you’re worth hiring. And if the part is in a pilot that looks promising, you’re already fantasizing about a new car or finally moving out of your shitty apartment. You’re not acting anymore. You’re begging. And the camera sees it. It always sees it.
It’s the same with creativity. When you chase results, you lose the magic. The joy gets replaced by calculation. The excitement turns into anxiety. What started as a playground becomes a performance review. And when the algorithm changes, or the audience drifts, or you hit a dry spell, it feels like you failed because you were counting on it to deliver something it never promised.
You didn’t fail. You just got disconnected. You forgot why you started.
The good news is you can get it back. The spark. The freedom. The weird joy of making stuff that doesn’t make sense yet. But it won’t come from trying harder. It comes from stepping back. From remembering the kid in you who made videos or songs or stories for no one but yourself. Who didn’t care about monetization or engagement or agents or virality. Who was just playing.
Creativity is a collaboration with yourself. A relationship. And like any relationship, it needs trust and space, not pressure and conditions. If all you ever do is demand something from it, it will close up. But if you protect it, if you create space for it, if you show up without expectations, it’ll come back to you.
And when it does, protect it. Not just from the internet. Not just from deadlines. But from yourself. From your own hunger to make it mean more than it does. Because creativity isn’t just a transaction. It’s a gift. And not everyone deserves access to it.
Don’t create because you want something back. Create because it’s how you stay connected to who you are.
And trust that when you’re ready, and when it’s ready, something beautiful will come through.
Keep creating and repeating.
Zack
📚 Design Books by Stripe Press: Design books for non-designers, recommended by the Stripe Design Team.
✍️ Words as Material – Nicole Fenton: An essay that explores writing as an essential design tool.
🎨 30 Lessons from Art, Business & Life: Personal reflections on creativity, entrepreneurship, and finding your authentic voice as a public artist.
🧩 Sections.wtf: A gallery of cool web page sections, hero headers, footers, forms, pricing tables, perfect for design inspiration.
Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.
The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.
Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor
Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.
History repeats. Create the future.
