I waited.

I waited for permission — for enough people to like my stuff.

For someone to spot me and say “who’s that—they look like someone I could love.”

I waited for someone to hire me. To give me likes, some traffic, a little money — anything.

I needed external validation. I craved it. I still do in some ways.

Approval that my ideas were allowed and worthy.

I held back my full identity, waiting for metrics, money, and a permission slip.

But they never came.

And the more I craved, the more I felt separated.

Yet, I followed their playbook. The templates were in place and it was supposed to be easy — or at least, it was supposed to work. But I wasn’t getting anything. Worse, I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t me. Not really.

It shouldn’t take 40 takes and 4 hours of editing for a one-shot video, scripted and rehearsed until I looked natural.

Hesitation isn’t creative, or authentic. Reflection is fine. And patience can be good. But only in the studio.

Holding back your craft or excitement out of fear from trolls, low views or whathaveyou is absurd.

So screw what the public will say.

I think it’s high time for a new way. A new approach, because creative fulfillment is at stake.

No more waiting. No more hesitating. No more perfection or stress from trends. Rebel with me.

Create without permission.

There’s a paradox in authenticity. The more authentic I try to be, the less authentic I am.

I think creating without permissions helps solve that.

Without permissions, you’re operating from a place of artistic purity and play—like you did when you were young. Authenticity is like your inner Peter Pan. It collects experiences and plays in the woods without a care, flying through the clouds, and they never grow old.

Permissions inherently add a filter onto whatever it is that you’re creating. Sometimes it’s subtle (like a clickbait thumbnail, just to drive more views).

Other times, it’s disruptive (like hiding your rawness out of a fear of judgment).

Permission-less creativity is an act of rebellion as much as an act of artistic self preservation. We can only operate on false foundations for so long, before we start to crack and go crazy. And perhaps crumble.

It’s no wonder ~80% of creators experience burnout. Needing a break is normal. We can’t be “on” all the time. But we’re in a bubble where 24/7 is expected, just to keep up and maintain relevancy.

Appease the powers that be.

At least, that’s the belief. And that’s a type of permission.

“You can be a creator — only if you show up and hustle, forever.”

And don’t get me started on perfectionism. This is perhaps the greatest type of permission. Feeling like you can’t share something or be proud of your work if it doesn’t meet some standard.

External validation is rampant and social media is dopamine, slowly addicting artists, who naturally chase the next hit.

Creating without permission gives the middle finger to all of that.

Even when residual permissions linger within your habits or subconscious, the act of becoming aware and trying permission-less art is a form of activism and protest. Do it enough, and you change your patterns (like changing any habit).

Do it enough, and you become liberated.

Likes, rules, playbooks, templates, best practices, algorithms, and expectations are all permissions. Let’s see what happens when we let them go.

Be weird. Be cringe. Share mistakes and awkward pauses as you talk about something boring and lose your audience after the first 5 seconds.

I cannot let an algorithm or a false belief be my creative director.

Make a mess. Laugh, cry, love — do something, anything creative.

Scream it with me — this new battlecry: create without permission!

I must stop waiting.

I must share it all. Join me.

Hit record, talk about your breakfast and the doodle you made last night.

Share it for you and for fun (not for likes or for funds), because that’s cathartic. And watch as snowballs start forming in the middle of the spring.

You know what I mean, don’t you?