I think one of the hardest things about being someone who wants to create—and I hesitated just now, calling myself a “creative”—is being honest with yourself. I’ve made a bunch of things, sure. But that label still feels… distant. There’s this low hum of imposter syndrome I haven’t quite shaken. Maybe you know what I mean.
Lately, I’ve had this project idea that’s been pulling at me. It’s the kind of idea that excites you in that quiet, persistent way—where you catch yourself daydreaming about it in between calls or after the kids go to bed. I want to build it. But.
There’s always a but.
There’s a business to run. A project to support. Sales, marketing, accounting, legal. The grown-up stuff that doesn’t ask for your permission before taking over your calendar. All of that, honestly, drains the creative energy out of me faster than I’d like to admit.
The other night, I watched Across the Spider-Verse. It was late—like, should’ve gone to bed an hour ago late—but it totally recharged me. That movie was bursting with imagination and craft. It reminded me there are people out there doing amazing things, pushing boundaries. And I want that. I want to be making things again. Not just managing them.
It’s risky though, right? To go all-in on just making stuff—especially when you know you have a dozen responsibilities stacked behind you like dominoes.
I started out studying computer science, actually. Because I wanted to make games. This was… more than 20 years ago now? (Wow.) I’ve always seen games as this new language—this medium that got invented in our lifetime. How cool is that? Not many generations get to say they lived through the birth of a whole new creative form.
Anyway, I pivoted into economics. Because it felt more “practical.” And I took that same mindset into my early jobs—foreign exchange trading, then eventually video games, then business school, then Sony in Tokyo. Some great experiences. But a pattern started forming: I’d lean into the thing I thought I should be doing. I got good at it. But there was always this tug—pulling me back to the act of creating.
Even after starting my own studio, most of my time’s gone into business development, fundraising, managing teams. And again, yeah—I was good at it. We worked with amazing clients, launched games, grew. But the trade-off was that I slowly drifted further from the keyboard, from the moment-to-moment magic of making something with your own hands.
Now I’m trying to find my way back.
But it’s hard. Not because of time, really—but because it’s hard to justify. Hard to say: “This thing I’m working on? It might not go anywhere. But I’m doing it anyway.” Especially in a world where AI can generate stuff in seconds, where productivity and ROI loom over every decision.
But maybe that’s the wrong lens.
Maybe the truth is: I just miss making things.
And maybe that’s okay to admit.
No big advice in this post. No “top 5 lessons” or frameworks. Just wanted to share the struggle, in case you’re in the same spot. If you’re someone with creative instincts but keep shelving your ideas for “later”—maybe give yourself permission. Even just a little.
Lately, I’ve been trying something new: at the top of my to-do board, I’ve written “Business tasks before creative tasks.” It’s my compromise. I handle the responsible stuff first, then reward myself with the thing I really want to do. Because if I let myself start with the creative stuff, I’ll get lost in it (and nothing else gets done). And if I never get to the creative stuff… well, that’s not sustainable either. Not for me.
So yeah. That’s where I’m at.
Trying to stay responsible. But also—trying to stay close to the spark.
Thanks for reading.
— Brandon