Stop Consuming, Start Creating

I’ve been thinking about this for as long as I can remember. I’ve been following creators my whole life and I always envied them how can they create so much great content and have time for client work and personal life.

Side-note: I’m amazed by them so much that I’m writing a separate article about few of those people.

The Fear

My routine is this: When I wake up, I read few book pages. Then, while drinking coffee, I go through my RSS feeds. Even though I don’t follow a lot of people, I manage to open a lot of articles that I want to read now or later. Each of those articles are either something that interests me or I want to try out. And for each of those articles my reaction is: “Shit, this is so great and simple.” Or even worse: “I’ve been doing it like this, why didn’t I publish it.”

The first issue is that I was scared that I was not good enough. That my ideas or the way I do things aren’t good enough. And I think that’s the core of the problem. But every once in a while I get reminded that I made pretty great things and that the only reason I don’t post it anywhere is inside my head.

This website now exists because I have decided to stop paying attention to that fear. I’m publishing all my ideas, I’m building things I want to use and if somebody likes it, great. If not, it’s there the same.

The Balance

The other thing is balancing between consuming and creating. Harsh truth is that we have to consume to be able to create. As much as we like to think about ourselves as special, we’re not. A few of us, anyway. We have to go out to see and experience things to get ideas. We have to watch, listen and read to get ideas.

Consuming versus creating is a tough fight. The former is easier and the latter isn’t. One is pretty straight forward, while the other one not so much. How does one balance between work and play; between reading and writing; between consuming and creating.

These days, everything is made to keep us consuming constantly. Algorithms on social media give us the infinite stream of new things to see. Capitalism compels us to buy everything. Politics trains us to shut up and listen. Everything is turned against creating something new.

It’s a constant struggle between these two, but the solution is simple and it’s to stop. Stop indulging your lowest impulses. Believe me when I tell you that the reward for creating is bigger.

In the beginning, have time-slots for taking in new content and for working on your own ideas. All those articles that you miss will still be there in your RSS feeds. And all those missed reels and shorts will be replaced with new ones. When you let go of that fear of missing out, you’ll be open to joy of creating. And your friends will send you those missed reels.

Eventually, creating will become a natural part of your routine. Not something you schedule like a dentist appointment, but something that hums quietly in the background of your day, like a good engine that finally found the right fuel. You’ll stop asking yourself whether you should sit down and make something, and instead feel slightly off when you don’t. That restless itch will creep in—the kind that no amount of scrolling can scratch—and it’ll push you back to the page, the canvas, the keyboard.

The Reward

And here’s where it gets interesting: the world you used to consume so eagerly starts to lose a bit of its grip on you. Not because it got worse, but because you’ve changed. You’re no longer just a spectator in the grand circus of other people’s ideas—you’ve wandered behind the curtain, smelled the sweat, seen the wires, and realized it’s all made by people just as lost, confused and stubborn as you are. The illusion breaks, and in its place comes something far more valuable: participation.

So you start choosing more carefully. You consume with intent, like a craftsman selecting tools, not like a bored tourist grabbing souvenirs. You take what you need, leave the rest, and get back to building your own strange little corner of the world. And sure, some days you’ll slip—fall face-first into the endless feed, lose hours to nonsense—but now you’ll feel it. You’ll recognize the hangover of empty consumption, and it won’t sit right with you anymore.

That’s the shift. That’s the whole game. Not chasing perfection, and not discipline that’s carved in stone, but awareness sharpened just enough to keep you from drifting too far.

Because in the end, the people who make things—even small, imperfect, slightly unhinged things—are the ones who actually get to live in this world, instead of just watching it flicker by.

Have something to add or comment? Feel free to email me or write me on Bluesky.