Create Before It’s Too Late
Fear, unfinished ideas, and the quiet regret that comes from never trying
As I write this, I’ve already had about seven different essay ideas pop into my head, but I know this one is the right one.
Today I listened to a podcast about Rick Rubin, and it genuinely stuck with me. What stood out wasn’t just his philosophy, but the way different creators approach their work and the environments they deliberately place themselves in. The routines, the rituals, the conditions that seem strange or unnecessary to outsiders but are essential to the people doing the work.
Some artists create best in isolation. Eminem is said to write his music most effectively with a single TV playing in the background. Marcel Proust famously lined his walls with sound-absorbing cork, closed the drapes, and wore earplugs to block out the world. Alex Hormozi works similarly, using nose tape for nasal breathing, closing the blinds, and layering earplugs and headphones to create complete silence. For them, control and isolation are not preferences, but necessities.
Others thrive in the exact opposite conditions. Justin Waller, an extremely successful real estate owner, has said he does his best work in airports, surrounded by noise, movement, and constant disruption. While most people find that environment unbearable, for him it sharpens focus rather than dulls it.
None of these approaches are right or wrong. What matters is recognizing that your best work emerges somewhere specific, and your responsibility as a creator is to find that place and return to it consistently.
For me, my best writing usually comes from blasting Coldplay after about 300 mg of caffeine while I type. I know how strange that sounds, and I’m sure it would not work for most people, but it works for me. The conditions don’t need to look respectable or disciplined from the outside; they need to be effective. Once you find what works, the overthinking fades, and the work begins to move.
This connects to something much deeper. If you are a creator, you have to create. From my own experience, creating heals something that consuming never will. You can scroll endlessly, watch endlessly, listen endlessly, and still feel empty at the end of the day. Creating, even imperfectly, even privately, does something different. It leaves you feeling lighter and more aligned.
For a long time, I wanted to start writing publicly. I wanted to get on Substack and share my thoughts, but I never followed through. Ideas filled my phone, notes piled up, essays sat half-written, and none of them ever made it out into the world. I was afraid of failing after putting in so much time, fearful of how it would be received, and afraid of what people might think if it didn’t land the way I hoped.
