Creativity Is Not for the Faint of Heart

By Marc C. Whitt

Ever compose a piece of music? Ever paint a painting or craft a sculpture? Write and direct a play or choreograph a dance?

Or maybe, like I’ve done—now three times over—write and publish a book?

If so, then you know the feeling. The moment right before you share something deeply personal that you've created—something that’s taken your time, your effort, your heart and soul—and place it before the world to see, to hear, to experience… and yes, to judge.

It’s exhilarating. But it’s also terrifying.

There’s a vulnerability to creativity that’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t felt it firsthand. You’ve poured yourself into your work. You’ve chased the idea, nurtured it, shaped it, maybe fought with it a bit—only to step back and wonder:

Will anyone get this? Will they see what I see? Feel what I feel? Will it resonate? Or will it fall flat?

Those of us who create—whether it’s a piece of music, a book, a painting, a public relations or marketing campaign strategy, or a story told on stage—carry a common burden: the fear of misunderstanding. Of rejection. Of being called irrelevant, absurd, or even foolish.

I’ve spent most of my life in the creative arts. I’ve written several pieces, created and developed PR campaigns, and performed music from a young age. I’ve authored three books while in my 60s focused on public relations—a field that, to me, is as much about heart and humanity as it is about clarity and connection.

And I’ll be honest. No matter how many times I hit "publish" or launch that campaign, step onto a stage to play my trumpet with a band or sing with a choir, I still get that stomach-churning feeling right before that work, that performance goes live. That wave of uncertainty.

And every single time, I ask myself the same question: Why am I doing this?

But not long after, another voice—steady and clear—reminds me: Because this is what I was made to do. Like anything else, the creative arts is a calling.

Because creativity, at its best, is not about me. It’s about us.

It’s about inviting others to join us on a journey—to explore ideas, emotions, and experiences that connect us. It’s about opening a door and saying, “Come in. Sit with this. See what you think.”

We create not to elevate ourselves, but to elevate the moment. To spark something in someone else. To start a conversation. To stir thought. To encourage hope. To challenge norms. To celebrate beauty. To engage the audience.

Yes, even to provoke debate or invite critique.

That’s the beautiful risk of creativity.It’s not for the faint of heart—because it requires courage, transparency, and the willingness to let go.

I think of Gary Larson’s The Far Side, one of my favorite cartoon series. In one classic panel, there’s an island filled with penguins—all facing the same direction, all looking identical, all blending into the crowd. All except for one. He’s in the back, wings spread wide, chest puffed out, belting with confidence: “I gotta be me!”

That’s what creativity is about. It’s about being the penguin who sings.

It’s about refusing to blend in, even when it's safer. It’s about expressing what makes us unique and using our voices—whatever form they take—to add color, character, and meaning to the world around us.

So the next time that inner doubt creeps in…The next time you question whether your idea is good enough, or your voice strong enough…Remember this:

Creativity is your gift to give. It is not for the faint of heart—But it is for the bold, the passionate, the honest, the hopeful.And yes, that means it’s for you.

So go ahead. Paint. Play. Write. Build. Sing. Dance. Design. Speak.

Be the penguin.

Copyright (c) 2025 Marc C. Whitt