And now we arrive at the third part of an ongoing series based off of my book, The Endless Creative. If you’re just tuning in, you can find part one right here.

Creative

When I first recognized creative being used as a noun, something sparked inside me. Everything about it felt right. The person using it was author and entrepreneur Joanna Penn, in reference to herself and one of the many guests she interviews on her podcast. She said it boldly, without a sniff of hesitation. And that’s how it should be said, as if you’re standing high atop the Swiss Alps like some Ricola commercial, shouting “I’m a creative!” for all of God’s green earth to hear.

There’s something so freeing, so revitalizing about knowing you are a creative—someone who wholeheartedly and unabashedly lives a life of creativity. It’s a badge of honor, a password to a secret club, a ticket to the chocolate factory, an edict from the king, one that gives you permission to be who you are.

But I want to set the record straight: being a creative is not an emblem for only a privileged few to strut around with—it’s an invitation to a party, and anyone may join. I wouldn’t have bothered writing this book if I didn’t believe that with all my heart.

Back when my family and I moved from Los Angeles, California to northern Arizona, I felt obligated to buy a pair of leather cowboy boots—partly to fit in, partly for their practicality. Boots offer great outdoor protection against a host of foot enemies such as (but not limited to) snakes, cacti, other pokey plants, biting insects, and biting children.

After purchasing said boots, I kept the tags on and walked around the house in them for a while. You see, I’ve had foot issues ever since I went on a weeklong backpacking trip in Yosemite and then lost feeling in one of my toes for six months. I blame the hiking shoes.

Now, when I buy shoes, I give them a good long test run before they can be feet approved. I keep the tags on and wear them only inside the house until I’m as sure as can be that they’re just right.

Sadly, a lot of people treat creativity this way. They try it out, maybe wear it around the house where it’s safe and free of judgment, but they don’t really own it or take it out on the town. They keep the tags on so it can be returned if it turns out to not be so great a fit.

You’d be surprised at how many highly creative (including artistically talented) people I’ve talked to who will not admit their own creativity. It’s shocking.

I’m here to tell you, it’s time to tear those tags off. It’s time to go to the rodeo.

When you do, you’ll realize that being a creative is something special—something no one and nothing can take from you. It’s yours, and you’ve earned it by right. When you’re a creative, you know that you’re not a hack or a fake. You stop caring what the critics say, because you know, deep down inside, you’re the real deal.

That’s how it should feel, but it isn’t always the case. Not everyone accepts the invitation to the party. Some think it came to the wrong address. Others believe that the title must first be earned. Yet others have more than earned that title but still feel like frauds, imposters, kids who tricked a few adults into letting them sit at the big table, only to be found out.

There is a sort of truth to that last one. Being a creative is more than saying the right words and tapping your heels together. It’s a process, a journey—if you will. And that journey involves struggle.

There is a temptation to live an ordinary and uncreative life, to take the safe route. This temptation comes even for those who deeply desire the life of the creative. Just when we think we’ve got it figured out, we fall back into old habits again. We get discouraged. We lose heart.

Sometimes, we give up.

I wish I could tell you it’s easy to be a creative, but that would be misleading. So, to avoid the situation where my nose grows unnaturally long or my pants spontaneously catch fire, let me tell you the truth:

Creativity takes effort. Creativity comes at a cost.

Yes, creativity may come easier to some, but every person reaches a point where it is difficult to take the creative approach, where it’s the last thing they want to do.

Sometimes creativity demands a great deal of effort. Sometimes the cost is high. The Statue of Liberty didn’t build itself. That song you can’t stop thinking about writing might require some deep soul searching, it could bring back painful memories or reveal something that you’d rather keep hidden. Developing that nonprofit organization will cost you significant time and money, will be emotionally draining, and could even lead to the end of a close relationship.

Don’t misunderstand me—being creative doesn’t have to be complicated. In fact, it can be as simple as opening your eyes. What’s more, the reward for creativity greatly outweighs the cost. I don’t think it’s possible to measure the impact the Statue of Liberty has had on American and even global culture. Your song may be the one thing a person on the edge of suicide needs to pull them back. That nonprofit you built up could save the lives of an entire village by eradicating the disease or hunger that has plagued them.

Even if the benefits aren’t immediately obvious, true creativity—endless creativity—changes the creator for good and is advantageous to those who experience it. Besides all that, if I didn’t make it clear, you need creativity to live. I mean really live.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, the stories…