Thoughts on Our Human Need to Create and Why It Matters

Culture, identity, understanding, and progress

Why has creativity been with us from the moment we first walked upright and figured out how to smear pigment on a cave wall? You could argue we’ve always had bigger problems. Survival, for one. But somehow, somewhere between hunting, gathering, mating, and survival, we decided that painting a mammoth on stone was just as essential as finding one to eat.

That impulse hasn’t changed. From ancient temples to modern stages, from journals to sketchpads to garage workshops, creative expression has shaped civilizations because it shapes us. And in that shaping, it quietly (or loudly) defines culture, identity, understanding, and progress.

Civilizations have always told their stories through their creative acts. The Egyptians gave us grand, mathematical visions of eternity carved into stone and lavishly painted. The Greeks and Romans took great care to sculpt ideals of the human form that still influence how we understand design and beauty. In medieval cathedrals, stained glass turned light into storytelling and inspiration. Every era has had its creative fingerprint.

The composer, the playwright, the poet, the woodworker, the dancer, the photographer, the graffiti artist under the bridge—they’re all part of that same continuum. Creativity drives progress not just through innovation or technique but through the courage to say, “Here’s what I see. Here’s how I feel. Here’s what I need. Here’s what matters.” That act is, and always has been, universal.

Creative work changes how we see the world—sometimes literally. Music shifts our mood. Design influences behavior. Writing can teach or even reframe history. These creative acts don’t evolve out of technical necessity alone—they evolve because people are compelled to explore, to express, to play. Photographers chase light. Craftsmen obsess over grain and joinery. Writers spend hours finding the right sentence to say what they really mean.

That same energy lives in the maker who builds a custom table with a hidden drawer. It lives in the performer who choreographs a solo dance that defies symmetry. These aren’t just personal acts, they’re contributions to a broader cultural rhythm. They shift the way others feel, think, or act. Creativity, at its best, is about discovery, and that’s as true in a ceramics or art studio as it is in a workshop, recording booth, or on a stage.

And it’s not just about beauty or decoration. Creativity has always been political, social, and even spiritual. It has been protest and propaganda, identity and empowerment. A play can spark a movement. A mural can reclaim a space. A zine can challenge an institution. Even a minimalist sculpture or an abstract painting—seemingly without a message—can speak volumes in a world obsessed with utility. When you create, you contribute to that ongoing dialogue and send a message, inspire action, create a feeling, teach, or even provide therapy, intentionally or not.

Despite the myth of the solitary genius, creativity has long been collaborative as well. Ancient textiles, modern film sets, symphony orchestras, and public art projects—none of them happen in a vacuum. Even individual artists are never truly alone. They’re part of a lineage, part of a shared practice. You might work by yourself, but you’re in conversation with others who’ve tried, failed, dared, and made before you, and those who will come after.

There’s a quiet generosity in that. You make something today—a photo, a song, a chair, a line of code—that might resonate in someone’s life tomorrow. Or a century from now. Or maybe just for a moment. That’s enough. Creative acts ripple outward. Creative acts may just help us feel a little more human.

When you create, you’re capturing the spirit of your time. Whether it’s through painting, performance or prose, sculpture, or software, you’re turning raw experience into form. You’re giving shape to questions, emotions, and ideas that might otherwise stay unspoken. That matters. Because every creative act is a reminder that we’re more than what we consume—we’re also what we contribute.

Civilizations rise and fall. Technologies come and go. But creativity endures. It’s one of the few things we make that can outlast us. We understand ancient peoples not just through their tools or governments, but through what they made when they didn’t have to. So yes, what we do as creators matters. It always has. And maybe, now more than ever, it’s exactly what the world needs.