Have you ever had an idea and, before taking a single step, already imagined where it could take you?
You haven’t written the first page, but you can almost see the book. You haven’t started the project, but you’re imagining the conversations it might begin, the people it might reach, the life it could open up.
Give my brain an idea, and you might lose me in that ocean of imagination. I need food for my thoughts and food for my emotions. The possibility itself can make me feel more alive.
Maybe you know that feeling, too.
But eventually, we have to come back to the beginning. There is something here asking for our attention, before we know what it will become. Can we give it that?
Finding Your Creative Purpose Starts Before You Know the Outcome
There’s a particular pleasure in imagining a future where something you love has found its place in your life.
Let yourself feel that. You don’t have to punish your imagination for getting excited.
I’m learning to come back from mine gently. To slow down enough to start, enjoy the imperfect steps, and let the experience teach me something I couldn’t have planned.
You might want the whole road to reveal itself before you begin. Where does it lead? Is it worth the effort? Will you be disappointed?
But walking gives you information that standing still cannot.
You discover an interest you didn’t expect. You make a decision that changes your direction. A door opens, and you get to decide whether to enter.
You can have ambition and still leave room to be surprised.
Does Every Creative Interest Need to Become Something?
Sometimes it feels as though enjoyment needs a convincing explanation.
You like making something, so what are you going to do with it? Will you sell it? Are you building a business? Is there a future in it?
We ask ourselves these questions so quickly that pleasure barely gets a moment to speak.
But pleasure is a return, too.
The hour that leaves you feeling more like yourself gave you something. So did the little project that made an ordinary afternoon feel full of possibility.
Of course you can want income from your creativity. I do. Wanting to support yourself through meaningful work is understandable.
Still, you’re allowed to explore something before deciding what role it belongs in. An interest can grow, change, or remain something you enjoy without becoming the center of your identity.
What Is Ikigai? Does It Have to Be Your Career?
When we talk about finding purpose, ikigai often enters the conversation. It’s commonly translated as a “reason for being”: something that makes life feel worth living.
For some people, meaningful work contributes to that feeling. For others, it might be a relationship, an activity, a responsibility, or an everyday pleasure.
Making an income from something you love can be wonderful. It isn’t a requirement for that thing to matter.
I think this distinction gives us room to breathe.
You don’t have to ask every new interest to explain your entire existence. You can pay attention to what draws you in, what nourishes you, and what you keep returning to.
Perhaps understanding your purpose begins with noticing those things, without immediately demanding a lifelong commitment from them.
Wanting an Audience Is Part of Sharing Your Creativity
Would you still create if nobody saw your work?
I understand the question, but my answer has some conditions. Writing and creating are also ways of reaching people. When you have something to express, wanting someone to receive it makes sense.
Would I mind having hundreds of thousands of readers? Of course not.
But my photography exhibition changed how I understood an audience.
The people who came weren’t asking how many followers I had. They spent time with the photographs, spoke with me, and bought my book because something in the work connected with them.
That experience gave me confidence I hadn’t found in watching numbers.
Think about something you’ve read that stayed with you. Did the writer’s following make it meaningful? Or did you recognize a feeling you hadn’t quite found words for?
Your work can offer someone that experience.
How Comparison Takes the Joy Out of the Creative Process
You share something you care about, then open another person’s page.
Their work receives thousands of reactions. Yours receives a handful. Suddenly, you’re questioning something you felt good about an hour ago.
Maybe you should be doing more. Maybe you aren’t good enough. Maybe nobody is interested.
Comparison can turn a creative practice into a daily judgment of your worth.
I explore this in my book because it’s difficult to stay connected to your own ideas while constantly measuring their reception against someone else’s.
And what exactly are we comparing?
You can see their following. You cannot see every frustration, sacrifice, or disappointment behind it. You may want their recognition while they wish they could write with your honesty, sing with your freedom, or feel the excitement you bring to a new idea.
Creative Success Doesn’t Have One Timeline
I know how frustrating it is to want something now.
Being told to give it time can feel almost insulting when you’re working, hoping, and wondering whether anything is happening.
But another person’s progress cannot tell you what should already have happened in your life.
It helps to ask what you actually want from the success you’re imagining. Financial freedom? Connection? A place to share your ideas? More time to make things?
These desires overlap, but they aren’t interchangeable.
A large audience might bring opportunity without giving you creative satisfaction. A small conversation might give you the encouragement to keep going.
You’re allowed to pursue growth while recognizing what your work is already giving you.
Self-Discovery Needs Space to Hear Yourself
Finding your purpose doesn’t need to become another assignment with a deadline.
Imagine standing in a huge room with one small exit. People and large vehicles are moving through it constantly. You’re trying to find the door while everything competes for your attention.
That’s how a crowded mind can feel.
Sometimes you need to let the traffic pass before you can see clearly.
Take yourself for a walk. Spend an afternoon without asking it to produce something. Give a thought enough time to develop before replacing it with another person’s opinion.
These are habits of a creative mind I want to practice: allowing space, paying attention, and returning without demanding an immediate answer.
I’m practicing, too. Sharing what I’ve learned doesn’t mean I have everything figured out.
A Photography Book for Creatives Asking Their Own Questions
That’s the kind of conversation I wanted to make room for in I Found My Ikigai. It’s Photography. What’s Yours?.
Through photographs and reflections, I invite you to consider your own creative life: what you love, what holds you back, and what you might want to give more space.
You don’t need to be a photographer to recognize yourself in those questions.
And you don’t need a complete answer today.
There’s one question from the book I’d like to leave with you:
If fear had no vote, what would you do?
Include the fear of judgment, the pressure to succeed, and the worry that someone won’t understand.
Then give yourself a moment to answer.
Mariam Megrdichian
📍 Location: Los Angeles, California, USA
📷 Photographer & Author