Think about a form of art. It doesn’t even have to be “art”. It can just be some type of creative outlet, right? I mean beyond writing, singing, acting, drawing, sculpture, or any kind of color on a two-dimensional canvas. But let’s start with painting. There are obviously tons of options here: acrylic, watercolor, oil, or even paint markers, to name a few. Each one lends itself to different techniques or even different subjects. But what if you’re not very good? Is that the point?

That brings us to an important lesson: do not be afraid of failure! You can’t. Not with creation and the pursuit to find an outlet that resonates with you. Because each time you try, you’ll discover something else, no matter how successful you think you were. Your adventures in acrylics might lead you to playing with your palette instead of the canvas, and you discover you like painting plates – and later – mugs or bowls. And a failed attempt at watercolors may find you reveling in the whimsical stains on your napkin or paper towel. Then suddenly, you’re purposefully dying coffee filters or doilies in brilliant sunset blends.

So, now that we’ve established that a creative outlet can be nearly anything, the next big question is this: why do we create?

The obvious answers might be to beautify, to imitate, or to understand. In a world of gig economies and endless content, it seems fair to say we can create to entertain and to get paid. Certainly, to make others laugh, or even just feel.

But what about creating for ourselves? Writing about a particularly profound or formative experience – especially a traumatic one – is a way to get that out of ourselves and externalize it – capture it – in some other form. We call this ‘catharsis’. It comes from the Greek word meaning “to purify or to cleanse”. After all, art or creation need not be pretty or elegant. And even if you’re simply creating to work out your past, it could end up helping another person process a similar trauma. They could see the pain or regret in a piece and say, “Yes! I’ve never been able to describe it, but there it is!”

In the Disney movie ‘Encanto’, we see this play out through the perfect older sister, Isabella. Despite being gifted with the power to create flowers at will, she finds herself only ever performing for others. Her talents are only used for the pretty and pleasant things that beautify. This leads to a bottling of negative emotions, which she takes out on her younger sister, Mirabel. But when Mirabel accidentally helps Isabella release her inhibitions, she is suddenly able to create messier, uglier plants like cactuses and vines. The pressure to be perfect is off, and she is free to create more authentically and spontaneously.

Creating is also an excellent cure for boredom. Being raised in the late 1900s (pause for laughter), we didn’t have screens constantly within arm’s reach. On one particularly mundane ride home, I remember finding one of those compressed paper drink carriers from McDonald’s on the floor of our conversion van. I asked my mother for a pen and was soon tearing the drink carrier into multiple pieces, which I promptly punched with several holes. One piece received a simple little face. I now had all the parts of a little character in my lap, but no way to assemble it. Necessity is the mother of invention, they say – and I quickly pulled the little elastic thread out of my socks and tied the little pieces together. I played with my little drink carrier man the rest of the way home like some deprived depression era youth who didn’t realize what he didn’t have. Was playing with the little guy I made fun? Kind of. Was the experience of pure inspiration far better? Yes.

And that brings us to the final reason to create – and the one that drives me ever onward most often – is simply because I must. I fell in love with the idea of creating stories a good 30 years ago when I was but a wee lad. Character and world building were my early focus, but eventually I learned how to pull together a conflict and resolution. I write simply because I have to. And if I didn’t, I’d probably explode. I have a science fiction trilogy under my belt and am now working on a fantasy chapter book series for kids. In all these, I’ve partnered with artists who are much more talented in traditional illustrations and cover art, but now I want to flex my own artistic abilities in the pursuit of a children’s picture book.

But who says what an illustration has to be these days? All of those done for me have been digital. Does it even have to be two-dimensional, though? So, I’ve forgone ink and paper or paint and canvas and am instead building the scenes in three dimensions. Tapping into my model-making abilities from my engineering school days has reignited a love for creating physical form with my hands. The beginning of that picture book is shown in the image of the rough diorama. The associated story will read, “Once upon a time, there was a little old house. Every morning, the sun would creep in the window, across the floor, and up and over a little old bed.”

Matt Hebert is an engineer and self-published author. His dopamine-fueled creative pursuits have spanned from chicken keeping, sand sculpture, acting, and public speaking, but writing is nearest and dearest to his heart. He lives in Bellevue with his wife and two daughters. You can find him on Instagram at @jerkofalltradeshebert or email him at matt.hebert.books@gmail.com

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