November 18, 2025

Most of us have a very capable inner self who’s ready for a fuller, more meaningful life — even if the rest of us keeps politely clinging to the familiar “just in case.” These reflections are for that inner self, the one that already suspects life has a few more possibilities tucked up its sleeve. There’s nothing drastic here, no dramatic leaps required — just a few ideas that might brighten a corner of your thinking and open a door you didn’t realize was closed. If something in these pages sparks a small yes inside you, feel free to follow it. Sometimes the best changes start with nothing more dangerous than a new thought… and a little curiosity.

When Humanity Replaced Spirit with Storage:

How We Lost Our Creative Center — and How We Can Reclaim It

There was a time — long before bank accounts and quarterly earnings — when people woke each morning with a single, simple question:

Will the world be kind to us today?

Rain, sunlight, animals, berries, rivers… everything that kept a person alive came straight from the living world. People weren’t perfect, but they carried a natural sense of connection. They thanked the sky, the land, the unpredictable mysteries that kept life going. Their spiritual life wasn’t lofty; it was practical. You kept a respectful relationship with whatever held your fate.

The Quiet Shift From Trust to Storage

Then came the first cultivated crops.
The first seasons we didn’t just work with — we tried to manage our future.
The first idea of “later.”

And with that, something shifted.

When people learned to plant, harvest, and store grain, their daily dependence on Spirit softened. Not because anyone suddenly became arrogant — but because a full barn changes the way a person feels.

A full barn whispers:
We are safe. We have enough. We did this.

Once you can store grain, it’s only a matter of time before you invent the idea of storing value. Grain becomes clay tablets. Clay tablets become coins. Coins become interest. And interest becomes a system so powerful it quietly takes over the steering wheel of human life.

When Money Became the Trusted One

Today we call that system “the economy,” but at times it behaves more like a giant wandering reptile — huge, blind, emotionally indifferent, and very sure that its lumbering path is the only one anyone should follow.

Money is dependable, yes. It solves problems. It cushions uncertainty. It feels like a protector.

But when something dependable moves quietly into the center of life, it also becomes easy to miss the signs that we’ve drifted off track. We stop noticing the moments when we’re no longer aligned, no longer connected to the wiser presence inside us. Instead of being guided by intuition, clarity, or a deeper sense of purpose, we start acting from fear, habit, or ego — without even realizing it.

And in that shift, something precious slipped to the edges: our connection to creation.

There was a time when artists and craftspeople weren’t considered extra.
Singers, dancers, storytellers, and makers were simply part of daily life. What they offered wasn’t decoration — it was nourishment. Creativity helped people feel grounded, balanced, and connected. It kept the culture breathing.

But as money became the thing everyone trusted, creativity slowly got pushed into the “nice but not necessary” category. Something you do after the “real work” is done. And when that happens, a lot of us quietly shrink inside without realizing it.

You don’t lose your talent — you just start forgetting why it matters.

And once that happens, people naturally look outward for direction instead of inward. They trust money because it feels predictable. They lean on the system because it seems safer. Not out of greed — just habit. Just trying to survive. Just trying to do the responsible thing.

Now, creativity is often treated as “extra,” while money — abstract, breathless, always hungry — becomes the voice we look to for permission.

But when money becomes the thing we trust most, we stop noticing when we drift off center. We forget what alignment feels like. We forget the inner clarity, the intuition, the sense of “rightness” that comes from being connected to something deeper. We forget how alive we felt when we were creating, imagining, or building something that mattered to us.

It’s not that money is bad.
It’s just that it was never meant to be the thing in charge.

Why Creative Work Matters So Much Now

The painter, the musician, the writer, the dancer — they remind us how to live from the inside again. They invite us into colors, emotions, possibilities, and truths that the giant reptile of economics can’t even see. Creativity brings us back into relationship with something larger than the market and deeper than a paycheck. It reminds us that our purpose was never to simply accumulate until retirement.

And history warns us of what happens when a society pushes people into a single money-centered identity. It restricts the soul. It shrinks the imagination. It starves the culture.

The Myth of the Starving Artist

For a long time, there’s been a popular belief that you can either work for money or be a starving artist. One or the other. Practical or inspired. Responsible or authentic.

But that split is mostly a myth.

Another reason the “starving artist” idea even exists is because we haven’t built many structures to support creative people in the first place. Not grants, not handouts — I mean the basic learning ladders that almost every other field enjoys. Apprenticeships. Clubs. Mentorship pipelines. Clear paths from beginner to skilled to professional.

Kids who want to code have programs.
Kids who want to play sports have teams.
Kids who want to be doctors or engineers have step-by-step maps.

But creative kids?
Creative teens?
Creative adults?

Most of the time they’re handed nothing but a sketchbook, a guitar, or a journal and told, “Good luck.”

And this gets even trickier when you look a little closer. Many schools no longer teach cursive — a small example, but a meaningful one. Cursive builds manual dexterity, rhythm, flow — the same qualities that support drawing, painting, crafting, designing, even music. STEAM programs (the version of STEM that includes art) tried to fill that gap, but they never fully took root in most places.

And then there’s the reality that a lot of creative people — not all, but a noticeable number — also have ADHD. Which often means rejection sensitivity. Which means that the lack of structure, the lack of encouragement, and the lack of clear pathways doesn’t just confuse them — it hurts. It can make them feel like they’re “too much,” or “not enough,” or simply “not built for the world.”

But the truth is, they’re different because they have something extra to add.
Something the world actually needs.

When you look at it this way, what we call “starving artists” are often just unsupported artists — people with real gifts but no runway, no roadmap, no scaffolding to help them grow into the fullness of who they are.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste — and so is a gift.

What actually happens — when a person makes space for their talent, tends to it, strengthens it, and slowly becomes an instrument rather than just a consumer — is that life begins to organize around who they really are. Not overnight. Not in a dramatic flash of destiny. But gradually, steadily, in small steps that make surprising sense.

And when that happens, the financial side often starts coming together too — not because you chased it, but because you grew into someone who can hold it.

It’s the old idea of “all these things shall be added unto you,” but understood in a grounded, human way. You’re not giving up what you want. You’re finally becoming the person who can receive it.

The shortcut — working only for money — rarely leads to a full life. It might create stability, but it rarely creates fulfillment. It doesn’t activate the deeper currents of who you are. It doesn’t spark the kind of momentum that brings real opportunities.

But when you live as who you truly are, something else happens — something most people only quietly dream about as children. A sense of rightness forms. A sense of belonging. A sense of “I was meant to do this.” And that feeling, that alignment, is worth more than any vacation or any escape from life.

It’s the feeling of living in the world as yourself.
And surprisingly often, the wealth follows — not just financial wealth, but the kind of wealth that makes life feel full, awake, and genuinely your own.

Choosing a Different Center

But we are not required to follow that path.

We can choose to restore the older, wiser balance:
Let money be a tool — not the center.
Let creativity be a calling — not a luxury.
Let Spirit be a quiet, steady partner — not a superstition.

The world doesn’t need more people controlled by fear or accumulation.
It needs people who are awake.
It needs people who create.
It needs people who remember that the barn and the bank account may keep you alive, but only meaning, beauty, and Spirit can make you live.

And maybe — just maybe — our creative work is one of the ways the world becomes whole again.