Sometimes I wonder about creations that we will never see. The creations that either eroded over time or the ones hidden in basements and attics. There are likely more Vivian Maiers in the world than Gordon Parks.

For years I thought that being creative required poor mental health. I embraced my depression because I produced good work. But, I’m learning how that is a false equivalency. If I’m talented, it’s not because I’m in pain. It’s because I have a bit of natural talent that a massive amount of repetition has nurtured.

I like long songs. I grew up in a time when an artist could make a song as long as one side of an LP. I especially like long songs with distinct movements. Think “Freebird“ by Lynyrd Skynyrd or “Green Eyes” by Erykah Badu. They feel like expressions of complete thought. I like to listen to these songs when I”m drifting off and thinking of ideas for projects.

It’s thrilling, it’s scary, but it’s also the safest I can remember being in a relationship because, instead of pushing for an impossible steadiness, we dive headlong into the inevitable rise and fall of a well-lived life.

Viral moments are a helluva drug. And like any drug, we’ll make bad choices to get another hit of that dopamine.

For many, the core of the artificial intelligence debate comes down to who or what is doing the actual creation.

I'm not much of a spiritual person at this point in my life. My belief in a higher power is proportional to how dire my circumstances are.

It is easy to think that your creative endeavors are in insignificant in the midst of this chaos. Nothing could be further from the truth.

It’s an easy exercise to create the habit of putting words on paper (or screen) while being corny enough that you aren’t hung up on crafting the perfect verse (until you are).

There is a saying that I have lived by. You are as relevant as you are useful. Your opportunities are directly tied to the utility you can provide others.