Creative Hooker

I love to create. I picked up a pencil when I was 3 years old and started to draw my world. As soon as I knew how to make words, I created them too. I made up stories and fantasy worlds and made-up languages for those worlds. I wrote sad poems and filled up journal pages with all the words that made me want to cry. All the words I wanted so badly to scream.

I still create today, too. Not as much as when times were slower. Quieter. Simpler. Now I have to fit in short bursts of creativity between virtual meetings and doctor's appointments. Sometimes I'll find that I've run out of words to say after a long day of work. I've said them all in small talk and emails. My identity as an artist stops where my career begins.

Some people insist there's a way I can have it all. Have I looked into monetizing my graphic design? Have I put my illustrations on Etsy? Ultimately, what they're asking is: is it making you money?

In their eyes, it only counts if you monetize it. You can't be allowed to just enjoy something. You can't want to create for yourself. You have to give yourself away to be valuable.

A creative hooker. Someone who strips their ego and bares their soul on the page for the enjoyment of others, with a token dollar thrown at them. They hate it now. They remember when they started, blinded by the prospect of getting paid to do what they love. Now they sit disillusioned in front of a laptop. They're on their fourth coffee of the day — whatever it takes to meet those deadlines. They haven't done it for pleasure in months.

I didn't want that to be me. I didn't want to hate what I once loved. I didn't want to grow to resent my passion. By separating my two lives, I protect it. I allow it to ebb and flow and grow alongside me. There are some things you just can't force. And there are some things I'm just not willing to give away.