I’ve been thinking lately about what truly motivates my creativity—the threads that weave together my songs, stories, art, and even the quirky ghost tours I love. On the surface, it seems I’m simply drawn to nostalgia, folklore, and mysteries of the past. But recently, I’ve begun to sense there’s something deeper at work, something quietly profound and far more personal.
Underneath my fascination with old stories, ghostly legends, and paranormal research lies an unspoken dialogue with the inevitable passage of time. I find myself continually reaching backward, holding onto pieces of the past, perhaps as a subconscious response to the stark reality of impermanence. The ghost stories I cherish aren’t just tales of haunted places—they’re metaphors for my own confrontation with loss, legacy, and mortality.
Maybe, in my art and storytelling, I’m quietly rebelling against life’s most fundamental truths: that everything fades, everyone leaves, and every story eventually ends. By transforming these ephemeral experiences into tangible creations, songs, stories, and even my tours, I attempt to assert control over something that’s inherently uncontrollable.
The truth is, it’s not just about entertaining others or building engaging experiences. It’s about confronting my own vulnerability, preserving memories, and making sense of my identity through a dialogue with what’s lost or could someday vanish. Creativity has become my own quiet act of resistance—a gentle yet powerful way of declaring that despite life’s fleeting nature, some things do remain, preserved within the art we leave behind.
In acknowledging this deeper motivation, I feel both vulnerable and empowered. Vulnerable, because I’m confronting truths I’d typically prefer to sidestep. Empowered, because naming and understanding these forces allows me to approach my work with clearer intent, greater honesty, and a renewed sense of purpose.
Maybe we’re all creating as an act of quiet rebellion—against loss, against forgetting, against the relentless flow of time. And maybe that rebellion, deeply personal and hidden as it often is, is exactly what gives our creations their meaning.