"Once you have entered this creative wonderland, there is no way back. It’s like trying to fit into your teenage skinny jeans—it just isn't going to happen. I call this...
Have you ever wondered why we set out on this great creative adventure? At times, we question our entire raison d'être. Sometimes it feels like discovering new stellar worlds; other times, you start doubting whether anything is ever worth... anything.
I think I was born creative, but I needed thirty years to wake up to it and another ten to fully step into it. Now, having led design projects for global icons for over a decade, I’ve realized that creativity isn’t a career choice—it’s an obsession.
The nature of creative obsession
Creative obsession sounds scary, intriguing, and wonderful all at once. It’s that vision you try to forget because you know it might end in double trouble, yet you still sneak out at night to chase the excitement.
You know the feeling: spending way too long in the layers of Photoshop or Illustrator. Just a little more. What if we try this colorway?
I believe creative obsession is both our best friend and our worst enemy. It is a friend because it shapes us into curators of things no one else cares about, hoping someone will notice that tiny, perfect detail. But it can also be a dark hole that makes us paralyzed and unable to ship our work.
As a Creative Director, many of the titles I held in my design career, my job has always been to care about these things. I have to fight for the details. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose, but we cannot move forward without that care.
I recently had a conversation with a colleague who said we should be a bit embarrassed when we launch something—otherwise, we’ve launched too late. I’m not sure I agree. I think we should feel proud of our work. But it is true that we need to show up before we are ready; otherwise, the world’s greatest work stays hidden in studios and on forgotten canvases.
Once you have entered this creative wonderland, there is no way back. It’s like trying to fit into your teenage skinny jeans—it just isn't going to happen. I call this the point of no return.
When we stand at the crossroads, an ocean of the unknown lies in front of us. We have no idea if we have a boat, if we can swim, or if we will be eaten by mermaids. Behind us are all the known parts of ourselves that we have simply outgrown. We cannot step back into the cocoon of the familiar because that chapter is finished.
However uncomfortable it might be, this is where we belong—with our creative obsessions and occasional identity crises, surrounded by colors, textures, and a community of seekers.
So, what does your obsession look like? Is it filing tools in the garage? Color-coding stickers? Does it give you joy? Then it was worth it. I’m heading forward now to where there is no return. I’ll bring a helmet, just in case I fall, because I’m going to need my head for the next pattern.
