Stephen, the Creator™️
‘Am I a creator?’
I thought to myself as I navigated the crowded Apple Store. It’s only mid-week, yet the store is packed as dozens of us hover admiringly over the carefully arranged wooden tables, each displaying samples of the latest devices.
The author faithfully captures his lanky proportions and concave backside in this sketch drawn on his iPad
For years, Apple’s marketing has convinced me that the right device could unlock the ‘creator’ within. But standing here, waiting for the next available associate, I am forced to question myself—does buying the tool make me a creator? Or am I just another consumer, chasing an image of creativity instead of the real thing?
Or—and perhaps more vulnerably—am I simply curating? Collecting the aesthetics of creativity without actually making something of my own?
This sleek slab of aluminum and glass packed with the latest sensors and software, is something many of us unwrap every few years, convinced it holds untapped creative potential.
Yet for me—and maybe for you—these same tools are often reduced to consumption: scrolling feeds, shopping online, and watching others create.
The creator story promoted in Apple ads plays like a cinematic highlight reel. A musician hovers over their MacBook in a trendy loft, effortlessly tweaking sliders in GarageBand. A painter flicks their Apple Pencil across the iPad screen in Procreate, creating beautiful strokes of digital art. An amateur filmmaker, mid-edit, watches their footage come to life in Final Cut Pro.
It’s all seamless, spontaneous, creative.
Meanwhile, here I stand in the Apple Store, not sketching, not filming, not making music—but waiting for an associate to call my name so I can buy another device. I am here, like so many others, not as the creator in the ad, but as the consumer drawn in by its promise.
When Tope (shout-out Tope, if you see this someday), the Apple Store employee, finally greeted me, I surprised myself by saying something I hadn’t anticipated out loud:
“I want to create more.”
It felt like a confession, maybe even a plea. I wasn’t just intending to buy a device; I was buying an identity I hadn’t fully stepped into.
As I left the store that day, new iPad in tow, the reality began to seep in: owning the tool wouldn’t be enough. And if I was serious about stepping into this identity, I had to change how, and where, I created.
That’s one of the reasons I built this site. Not just to have a space to write, but to reclaim ownership (and authorship) in a digital world where most of us have unknowingly surrendered it to ad-driven, algorithmic platforms.
What Does It Mean to Be a Creator?
This journey has made me ask: what does it mean to be a creator? Does it require an audience?
As someone still building their online voice—and reach—I’m acutely aware of the highs and lows of connecting creativity to visibility. Moving my work to a platform of my own design shields me from some engagement pitfalls—likes, comments, and view counts—but I still rely on social media to spread awareness.
And that process exposes one of the most challenging and vulnerable aspects of creation—validation. The moment you put something from your heart into the world, you surrender a little control. You’re forced to reckon with something new—the perception of your work by others.
We’re obsessed with sharing, reposting, and reacting, but how often do we actually create? Is curating playlists, collecting aesthetic objects, and archiving our memories online enough? Or do we owe it to ourselves to create something instead?
If no one ever read what I wrote, would I still do it? For me, the answer is yes—and it’s only because of this I feel comfortable sharing these stories, even if they’re met with disinterest or judgement.
We’ve all hit ‘post’ or ‘submit’ on a photo or thought, only to watch the expectation of engagement not match reality—a few likes from close friends, no comments. Maybe you even considered deleting it, erasing the evidence that it didn’t broadly resonate beyond your social network.
But that discomfort? That’s exactly what we need to lean into.
Your voice, your message, and your intention will resonate with the right people at the right time.
When the lovely and effervescent barista at my local Starbucks greeted me one morning and let me know how much they enjoyed my writing—that validation was worth more than a thousand likes or shares.
That single interaction reinforced that the value of creation isn’t measured in numbers—it’s in connection.
However, even knowing that, another question lingers. Is simply having intention to create enough, or does it only count if we consistently make things?
The Role of Consistency in Creation
Regardless of your professional path, one thing has probably become clear: your career isn’t shaped by what you meant to do, but what you actually did—consistently and over time.
Those first days and weeks at work were long and difficult, but they got easier. You developed a rhythm, strategies, and the confidence to show up and express yourself and your skills to an audience—including coworkers and potentially complete strangers.
I believe that same concept applies to creating in your personal life. That consistency matters more than our best intentions.
If consistency is what defines a creator, how do we cultivate it?
In 2025, one of my goals is to be more prolific in my writing. I chose that word intentionally because I believe words have power. For me, prolific means not only producing more but doing so with a confidence—and dare I say an audacity—that was once relegated to a younger version of myself.
While my intention was never to create at the expense of quality—as a perfectionist and someone who naturally gravitates towards sitting with their ideas—I wanted to shift towards acting on them.
Sometimes ideas or topics come to me out of the blue—while I’m zoned out on my commute or in the shower.
However, one thing I’ve noticed is that the more I write and give voice, structure and meaning to the ideas in my mind, the more effortlessly these ideas appear. Creating itself gives you permission to keep going.
Creating regularly also gives my ideas a place to live, instead of letting them float endlessly in my head.
Think of something in your own life that the mere act of doing brings you joy—what would it look like if you set aside time even just once a week to do it more? What would it look like if you shared this with others?
Creation vs. Consumption
I know all too well how easy it is to mistake ownership for action. A faster processor or a bigger, sharper display may be the catalyst for your purchase—but what really lies beneath the surface that you’ve been waiting for permission to acknowledge?
Over the past year, I’ve spent less time watching others create and spending more time learning, playing, and acting. I’m learning how to create digital art, fulfilling an adolescent dream of becoming an underground rapper and designing and building websites.
And I’m doing all of this messily, imperfectly and with joy.
Does this mean I won’t be back in the Apple Store anytime soon? Absolutely not lol. But I recognize now that it’s easy to buy the tool and feel like that alone makes us feel closer to the creator we want to be.
However, a tool without action is just an object.
The real work and identity as a creator don’t come from what we own.
They come from what we make.
The author in his home studio, sipping a 0% beer, rapping imperfectly over Flume beats, and patiently awaiting his inevitable Apple ad debut.
Creativity loves company. Share this with someone on their own creative journey.
