If there’s one thing that chaps my balls (and trust me, there are many), it’s ego.
You know the kind—spoken-word monologues that sound like they were written by a mirror:
“I am the truth, I am the fire, I am the cosmic latte of your reflection.”

Cool. Congrats. But here’s the thing: creating isn’t about being the cosmic latte. It’s about doing the thing, failing at the thing, and sometimes—even more importantly—celebrating the fact you did the thing at all.

Because being creative is like being in a bad relationship. You give it everything: your time, your sleep, your Netflix queue. And what do you get back? A drawing of a horse that looks like a toaster with legs. Or a short story that reads like it was typed with someone’s feet.

But now and then, you land it. You make something, you look at it the next day, and you don’t want to vomit. That’s a win.

And here’s the tragedy: most of us don’t celebrate it. We just shrug and say, “Yeah, but what’s next?”
That’s like winning Olympic gold and complaining your shoelaces were untied.

I’ll admit it—I’m guilty. I finish a painting, and by the time it’s off the easel, I’m already sick of it. I’ve literally begged museums just to keep the damn thing because I don’t want to pick it up. I’m like a deadbeat parent to my own art. Done is done, and I don’t want visitation rights.

But you know what? That’s not fair—to me or the work. Because small wins matter.

Wins like:

• That one sketch in your notebook that actually worked.

• A print you sold—even if it was on sale.

• A stranger saying, “Hey, this made me smile.”

• Your kid asking to draw with you. (That’s huge.)

• Or, if you’re me as a kid—spray-painting your toy van army green, taping it like your dad’s body shop, and scrawling FUCK TRUCK down the side. (True story. And yes, the weapons popped out when you pressed the button. Tell me that’s not a creative win.)

Here’s the thing: these wins are your rocket boosters. Each one gives you enough thrust to break gravity and keep going. Without them, you’re stuck on the launchpad, pissed off, wondering why nothing feels worth it.

So here’s your homework this week:
Think of one creative win you’ve had. Doesn’t matter how small. Maybe it was a napkin doodle that didn’t look like hot garbage. Maybe it was a poem that made you laugh. Maybe it was the time your cousin made up a theme song for your ridiculous toy van.

Celebrate it. Out loud. Toast it. Do a stupid dance. Tell your dog because nobody else is going to throw you a parade. You have to be the marching band for yourself.

Creative wins are rare. They’re quiet. They don’t come with confetti or royalties. But they matter. They’re proof. They’re fuel. And if you string enough of them together, you don’t just make art—you make a life.

So celebrate your work, even the messy bits. Especially the messy bits.
Because in the end, small wins are still wins.

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