Walks in the vibrant humidity of late August, food with good conversation, sunrises and sunsets, falling in love, dancing and singing with friends, exploring new places, meeting new people, falling in love again, looking out the window and into the rain. These effervescent experiences and emotions are profoundly human. When I look toward the future, I yearn to make new connections and memories like these; and when I remember the past, these moments, seemingly small then, sit nostalgic and heavy, like thick fog on a familiar lake. 

I live to be passionate and to melt into all moments because even when I feel the worst, I still am inspired to create art. It helps me make sense of life. The ability to hold and express these memories and emotions, then metamorphose them into art brings me purpose and joy. A song, painting, dance, poem, or film is like a songbird calling out into the morning: I am participating in what it means to be collectively human, and I am making something tangible out of something invisible. To complete something so ineffably raw and honest from my heart and mind, through my medium of choice, feels like proof of my being. To indulge in someone else’s art feels like intimately entering their world.

When I was younger, I used to recklessly romanticize daily life, engaging with and creating art whenever I felt inspired. Though once I got to college, I stopped listening to music, stopped watching my favorite movies, and stopped trying to actually create art; it felt like throwing myself against a brick wall. 

I would always say, “I don’t have enough time”, when in reality, I just prioritized everything else. Campus felt like an airtight bubble where within, I felt immense pressure to succeed academically, build a new community, and do everything I thought I should be doing all at once. Making time to sit down and create, or immerse myself in someone else’s art, felt wrong because there was always something more “important” to do. If art used to make me feel so meaningful and alive, why did I feel so guilty making time for it?

We aren’t supposed to pop that bubble. We are socialized to value productivity and efficiency as defined by what visibly contributes to society. Art does not make money in the same immediate way that “work” does; therefore, it is not valued in the same way. Time is money, so it should not be spent on “meaningless” tasks. Purpose starts to feel impractical in a society constructed by modern capitalism. There is an extent to which creating feels too indulgent and taking time to acknowledge feeling and imagination feels irresponsible. 

Maybe my guilt was not about time management. Maybe it was grief. Grief for a version of myself who created without second-guessing, and who was not yet disillusioned by the idea that productivity equates to meaning.

Popping that bubble requires confronting what we believe is a meaningful life. On top of everything else college students feel required to accomplish during every second of every day, that philosophical inquiry can feel debilitating. But collectively, we need to redefine productivity so that living fully does not feel indulgent. Creating and paying attention to art can be one of the most responsible things we can do. In times of political polarization, digital attachment, and social burnout, art fosters community and radical empathy. If the guilt of creating stems from grief, then making art is not rebellion against responsibility to society, nor is it simply self-care or a reason to feel alive. It is a return to ourselves to our most human core.

Personally, we need to remember the innate human feelings that inspire us to begin with. It is a privilege to be able to stay mindful and curious, but feeling, reflecting, and sharing are not luxuries, they are the foundation of a connected, sincere, and purposeful life. If productivity is what the world demands of us, staying creative is how we remain human. Rather than ignoring our guilt, the most radical thing we can do is pay attention to it and remain tender enough to turn it into something beautiful.