Peace in My Present:

 A Creative’s Reflection on Contentment and Capability

1. The Season of Stillness

There’s a quiet season in every creative’s life that isn’t filled with momentum or milestones. It’s the kind of season that feels like sitting under the shade of a tree, watching others pass by in a rush while you remain still, listening, breathing, wondering. For a long time, I fought that stillness. I believed I had to constantly chase success to prove my worth. But eventually, the noise became too much, and I allowed myself to pause. And in that pause, I began to find peace.

2. Living Outside the Frame

The world often expects creatives to walk a linear path: discover your talent, turn it into a profitable skill, build a brand, and thrive. It's easy to feel like a failure when you don’t fit into that frame.
I’ve pursued many opportunities. Some led to small victories, others to disappointments. The inconsistency used to frustrate me until I realized that my journey as a creative is uniquely my own. I don’t need to fit into anyone’s version of success. I can choose a different path, one that prioritizes peace, self-awareness, and emotional safety.

3. The Gift of Support

We don’t often talk openly about what it means to lean on others as adults. There's this unwritten rule that independence means doing it all on your own. But I’ve come to believe that interdependence, the mutual exchange of care, love, and presence is just as valid, just as strong. Sometimes, the most nourishing environments aren’t the ones that push you out into the world, but the ones that hold you as you recalibrate. It’s not a weakness to accept support instead; it is wisdom to recognize where you are safe enough to heal, create, and grow.

4. Reframing Capability

I used to equate capability with financial success. If I couldn’t earn a living from my art or ideas, I told myself I wasn’t capable. But I now understand that capability is broader. It’s in the ability to feel deeply, to notice the world in colors and textures others might miss. It’s in the persistence to try again, to adapt your skills, to create something from nothing. And it’s in the courage to continue being yourself, even when that doesn’t bring quick rewards.

5. Redefining Fulfillment

I’ve made peace with the fact that I might not follow the typical life path. I may never have a traditional family or live alone in a picture-perfect space, but what I do have is company, comfort, and time to invest in the things that matter to me. I find fulfillment in a slow morning filled with sketches, a well-edited design, or a caption that resonates with someone I’ll never meet. That might not sound like much to the outside world, but to me, it’s a life full of meaning.

6. The Creative Pulse

Even in stillness, the creative pulse remains. I still design. I still write. I still imagine. The difference now is that I create from a place of presence rather than pressure. I no longer feel the need to prove my worth through speed or output. I take my time. I listen to my own rhythms. And I’ve found that my creativity is richer, more authentic, when I allow it to flow naturally.

7. Acceptance Doesn’t Mean Giving Up

There’s a misconception that acceptance equals resignation. But for me, acceptance is a grounding force. I’ve stopped resisting the truth of my present, and in doing so, I’ve reclaimed my peace.
That doesn’t mean I’ve given up on growth or possibilities. It means I’m no longer at war with myself. I can dream with open eyes, not desperate ones. I can rest without guilt. I can live gently.

8. A Message to Fellow Creatives

If you’re in a season where things feel uncertain, if your path feels slower, if you're leaning on support, if you’ve started questioning your worth, I want you to know that you're not alone. There is no shame in living differently. There is no shame in needing time, or care, or stillness. Being a creative doesn’t require you to be constantly productive. It asks you to be present, aware, and open. And sometimes, it’s in the quietest moments that the most profound shifts begin.

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Final Thoughts: The Beauty of Being Here

I may not have all the answers. I may still face days of doubt or comparison. But I’m learning to trust this part of my journey. I am not defined by how much I earn or how far I’ve gone. I am defined by my resilience, my creativity, my compassion and my ability to be at peace, even here. So if you find yourself in a quiet chapter, don’t rush to turn the page. Sit with it. Learn from it. Let it soften you.

Because sometimes, peace is the success.

LIFE COMES AT YOU IN PURPLE WAVES

 

Life doesn’t always knock. Sometimes it crashes in—unexpected, fierce, like a wave colored deep purple. Not the kind that drowns you, but the kind that demands you rise, float, and find your rhythm in the chaos.

Purple has always felt like my shade—rich with experience, shadowed by mystery, but always laced with light. It speaks of depth, transformation, and a kind of strength that grows quietly beneath the surface. I’ve lived through moments that stretched me—seasons of grief, uncertainty, and reinvention. Each wave felt heavy, but carried lessons in its undertow.

There was a time I believed stability came from structure—a predictable path. But life had other plans. It broke routines and challenged everything I thought I knew about myself. When life handed me something I never expected, when my career shifted, when silence filled spaces where I once felt heard—that’s when I began to understand the hues of purple. They taught me resilience. When to adapt. When to rest. How to redefine success—not by comparison, but by compassion.

And maybe one reason I’ve always been drawn to purple is because it carries within it a wide spectrum of shades—lilac, violet, mauve, plum. Soft or bold, light or dark. There’s safety in that. I’ve never liked being boxed in, never liked picking just one thing. Decisions feel too final sometimes. But purple... purple gives me range. It gives me space to feel, to change, to exist in the in-between. It’s a color that understands what it means to hold multitudes.

Still, in all that purple, there’s always been a touch of pink.

Pink is the softness I hold onto. It’s creativity in bloom, joy in the little things, the inner child who still believes in wonder. It shows up in my art—in floral prints and glowing smiles, in digital dreams and playful fonts. It tempers the depth of purple with tenderness. A reminder that even in my strength, I get to be soft. I get to be joyful. I get to create.

Every stage of life has painted me a different shade. From burnt-out days in the office to long hours perfecting a digital illustration. From the quiet thrill of uploading a new design to the vulnerable moments of sharing my story, each has added color. Some more vivid, some more muted. But all mine.

And maybe that’s what life is: waves of purple rolling in, sometimes crashing, dancing. And through it all, a soft pink thread… my joy, my art… my voice, woven through the tides, reminding me who I am.

So here I stand, no longer afraid of the waves. Not because they’ve stopped coming, but because I’ve learned to ride them, with grace, with color, and always, always with heart.

What Happens When You Work Hard and Nothing Happens?

 

Have you ever found yourself asking, "What’s the point?"
Because you’ve worked hard, stayed consistent, followed every rule that promised results, and still, nothing?

So, it’s no surprise that I’ve been doubting myself lately.
All my life, I was taught that if I worked hard, I’d bear fruit. That consistency pays off. Eventually, if I just keep going, it’ll all work out in the end.

But is there truly an end to this madness?
How long should someone keep pushing before they begin to lose their mind?

I’ve often wondered if there’s a formula for madness.
Surely, there must be a measure for it, an equation that explains the tipping point between effort and exhaustion.
Now, I’m starting to understand why things take time to “tick,” to be “ticked off.”
Because if you keep doing something with no visible result… are you actually doing anything at all?

You start to feel like life is slipping away.
And you’re just there, watching it waste quietly, powerlessly.
You give up… not because you’re lazy, but by default.
Because there’s nothing to show for it.
You stop caring, not out of apathy, but out of fatigue.
Because deep down, you start believing it doesn’t matter.

But even in that numbness, you keep going.
You show up.
You create.
You try.
Because even if there's nothing to show for it, consolation in persistence feels better than the silence that would come if you gave up completely.

So I tell myself this:
As long as I’m still here, breathing, writing, trying—there must be some reason for the madness.

Maybe it’s not about bearing fruit in the way we were taught.
Maybe being the tree itself—still standing, still rooted—is the miracle.

And maybe, just maybe, someone out there needed to read this to realize… they’re not alone either.