Creating Is Just Exploring
There’s a way we often talk about creativity—as if it’s something we have to produce, make, deliver. But what if creating isn’t about producing anything at all? What if it’s just another name for exploration?
Lately, I’ve been sitting with the idea that pure creation is simply deep exploration. And that a lot of what gets in the way of creative flow is the subtle shift we make from “exploring” to “trying to make something happen.”
When I think about the most alive moments of creative inspiration—whether I’m making music, writing, coaching, or simply walking in nature—what ties them together is a sense of openness. A sense of listening. Of letting the world in. That’s exploration.
At its core, exploring means using your senses to experience the world. Feeling, hearing, tasting, wondering. Not trying to figure it out, but letting yourself be with whatever’s there.
And that’s how most creative acts begin. You stumble on something that catches your attention—a sound, an idea, a moment—and curiosity pulls you in. You're not trying to make anything yet. You’re just exploring.
But then something happens.
The moment you name what you want to make, a subtle pressure sets in. An expectation. Suddenly, it’s not just about following the thread anymore—it’s about producing something. Meeting a deadline. Making it good. That wide open sensory field narrows into a task. A goal. A finish line.
And maybe that’s where we lose something.
Because we think we know what wants to be made. We think, “Oh, I’m going to turn this into a song,” or “This is going to be a great article,” or “I should build something out of this.” But maybe we don’t know. Maybe it’s too soon to know. Maybe trying to know collapses the magic of not knowing.
I’ve started noticing how quickly my mind jumps ahead. “Okay, this is a cool idea—how do I use it? Should I write about it? Teach it? Turn it into something?” And when I catch that jump—sometimes through stillness, or breath, or listening to my inner voice—I can gently return to just being with it. To letting it show me what it is.
Because when I stop trying to create and just keep exploring, the energy flows again.
Exploration, real exploration, has no guarantees. That’s what makes it exhilarating. You head into the unknown. Like any good expedition, there may be a vague intention—but you don’t know what you’ll find. That’s kind of the point.
And yes, skill helps. The more you’ve practiced something—music, painting, teaching—the more terrain you’re able to explore. If you’ve never sailed, you can’t go far from shore. But once you know how to navigate the winds, you can reach new continents. Still, the purpose isn’t the destination. It’s the discovery.
And that shifts how I relate to my creative practice. I'm not trying to master a craft so I can impress people or perform. I'm trying to deepen my ability to explore. To see what more I can feel, touch, express. It’s not about proving anything. It’s about being in awe of the human experience—of this life, this mind, this body—and tasting more of it.
From this lens, the “artists” and “creators” we revere are just explorers with strong skills and wide eyes. Their work—the music, the writing, the performances—are simply the artifacts they brought back from their journey.
When I feel stuck creatively, it’s usually because I’ve stopped exploring. I’ve shut off the input valve. I’ve narrowed in, closed down, tried to force something out of thin air. But creativity, like breath, is a two-way flow. You have to let the world in if you want something to come out. Just like it takes a lot of milk to make a little bit of cheese—it takes a lot of living to make a little bit of art.
So I’m starting to ask myself: What expeditions am I on right now? Not “What am I trying to make?” but “Where am I being called to explore?” And the four that feel most alive for me right now are:
The expedition of family — Learning how to be a father, a partner, a steward of a new life.
The expedition of music — Discovering what my voice sounds like, what rhythms move through me, what melodies want to be born.
The expedition of nature — Letting the wild earth shape me, challenge me, remind me of what’s real.
The expedition of self-discovery — Not just personal growth, but a continuous discovery of what it means to be human.
These aren’t “purposes.” They’re not end goals. They’re journeys. And I don’t need to know where they lead.
Maybe the question isn’t “What am I here to create?” Maybe the better question is: What part of this grand, beautiful world do I want to explore next? And if I keep exploring deeply enough, the creating will take care of itself.
In Practice:
What creative practice or project currently feels tight or pressure-filled? What would happen if you approached it as an expedition rather than a production?
What would it look like to develop your skills not to accomplish something, but to deepen your capacity to explore?
