Why We Create (Even When It Hurts)

There’s a kind of “no” that doesn’t just close a door.

It slams it, locks it, and leaves you wondering why you ever knocked.

We’ve pitched to hundreds of clients, and heard every version of rejection from cold silence to some of the most aggressive shut-downs we’ve ever experienced.

And still, after one of the roughest weeks of back-to-back denials, we found ourselves up early on a Saturday morning, camera in hand, shooting a Field Trips episode no one had asked for.

We weren’t being paid. No one was waiting for it. But we knew we had to see it through.

That’s the part no one tells you. The real work begins after the rejection.

Making art for a living sounds romantic until you actually try to do it.

The truth is, it’s mostly uncomfortable. You spend most of your time unsure if what you’re making is good, if anyone cares, or if it will ever lead to something sustainable.

You hear people talk about loving the process, but they don’t mention the part where the process makes you question your worth every other week.

There’s no finish line. No magical point where you feel like you’ve made it and can finally breathe.

Even the best jobs leave you restless. Even the biggest wins feel temporary. And the second you let yourself relax, there’s a little voice that says:

“Cool man, but what’s next?”

This isn’t a complaint.

It’s just the reality of choosing a path where your ideas are your currency.

Where your identity and your work are always entangled.

Where you have to be okay with chasing something that might never fully arrive and be able to accept whatever is around the corner.

So why do we keep doing it?

Why keep chasing ideas that might fall flat?

Why keep pouring time, energy, and emotion into something with no guaranteed return?

Because we don’t really have a choice.

There’s something in us that doesn’t shut off. An itch that doesn’t go away.

A quiet pressure in the chest that says: you have to try.

Whether it’s a new concept, a shot you can already see in your head, a sentence that won’t stop echoing it’s there.

And once it’s there, it won’t leave you alone until you bring it to life.

It’s not about the result.

It’s not even about being seen.

It’s about proving to yourself that what you imagined can exist. That you can pull it out of your head and make it real using your own two hands and whatever tools you’ve got.

That’s the thing most people don’t understand.

Making is the point.

The process is the reward.

Even when it’s tiring.

Even when it hurts.

That Saturday morning shoot wasn’t about proving anything to anyone.

It wasn’t a job.

It wasn’t for views.

It was just something we had to make.

Even after a week of brutal rejections when it would’ve been easy to sleep in or check out we showed up.

Not because it made sense.

Because something inside us still believed it mattered.

That’s the part that keeps me going.

The quiet clarity that comes after the chaos.

When you’re in it framing a shot, capturing a moment, solving something with a friend on set the noise fades.

You’re not thinking about who said no.

You’re just present.

You’re building something that didn’t exist yesterday.

That’s the reward.

That’s why we keep doing this.

You don’t need applause to keep creating.

You don’t need a paycheck to make something real.

You just need to remember that this is what you’re here to do.

And if the work still calls to you even after everything then you’re already where you’re supposed to be.

So keep going.

Keep building.

Keep chasing the ideas that won’t leave you alone.

The world doesn’t need more perfection.

It needs people who care enough to try.