It all started with a frustration. I had a new site—clean, modern, and, I daresay, pretty. It had the kind of polish that could catch an eye or two, but as I stared at it, I realized it was a hollow shell. A site with no soul, no substance. I’d built a framework for something remarkable, yet it felt like I was standing in a beautifully constructed house without furniture or even walls to echo my voice.
What followed were a couple of false starts. You know the ones: building, tweaking, scrapping, repeating. Each attempt fell flat, not because the structure wasn’t right but because the heart of it—the content—was missing. I wanted something to say, but I wasn’t ready to say it yet.
And then, one day, I found my calling. I stopped building for an audience of many and instead wrote for an audience of one: myself. I created content that made me laugh, cry, reflect, and dig deeper. I stopped obsessing over who might see it or what they might think. I didn’t care if it ever reached beyond my own screen. What mattered was that it felt right.
Weeks turned into a grind—but a fulfilling one. Content poured out of me, and suddenly, the site began to take shape. No longer an empty vessel, it was now a mirror of my creativity and vision. Each word, image, and idea felt like a brick laid in the foundation of something deeply personal and meaningful.
And today? I’m looking at a site that doesn’t just function—it sings. It reflects exactly what I want it to reflect. The look, the feel, the tone—it’s all me. Sure, I used tools like AI to help bring my vision to life. Why not? Just because an artist uses a brush doesn’t make the art less theirs. If you don’t agree, well, I’m happy to let you stew in your skepticism while I keep creating.
What I learned through this process is that sometimes you have to bang your head against the wall of non-starters. You have to pay your dues—even if those dues are to yourself. That’s what creativity demands.
If you’re frustrated, keep going. If you’re stuck, start again. False starts aren’t failures; they’re steps toward clarity. Sometimes the grind is what shapes the vision. And when you find that vision? It’s worth every ounce of struggle.
Because when I look at my site now, I don’t just see a webpage. I see a reflection of me. And that rules.
