My guitar has been collecting dust in my room for months. I probably haven’t even touched the strings in about a year.

I hate that.

The thing is, I used to write songs in my bedroom for hours. It brought me immense joy, pouring out each lyric as if I were becoming a pop star. Now, the sound of silence rings even deeper.

My childhood fashion sketchbook sits inside a bin, somewhere packed away in my utility closet. In it remain drawings of clothing for imaginary models and luxurious runways. I used to sit and sketch for hours on end, unbound to the possibilities that ran through my colored pencils. Creating designs was fun, and not because I was talented (becoming the next Vivienne Westwood was a tad out of reach), but because it was enthralling.

Whatever it was that filled my creativity, such as stringing together friendship bracelets or painting an entire deck of cards, I hadn’t felt constricted by my experimental curiosity. I found value in picking up new hobbies and projects, no matter how elaborate they were. On a random day, I’d find the urge to learn something new and run with it.

Now, I can’t say the same.

As I write in my sophomore year college apartment, I can count how many different hobbies I have on one hand, and one of them is adding new features to my LinkedIn profile. Somewhere along the way between younger Charlotte and older Charlotte, I’ve lost what it means to find momentum in passion.

I reflect on early memories when these issues weren’t so prevalent.

Take kindergarten, for example, and the encouragement of creative freedom. When you’re 5 years old, you’re challenged by a blank piece of paper — excited by it, even. Nobody is guiding your marker, and there are no rules to follow. It’s a page of opportunity, and you’re surrounded by mentors who motivate your artistic liberty.

Granted, many followed the kindergarten trend of drawing houses with curtain-draped windows and puppy dogs, but it didn’t matter. It was the abundance of markers laced with this inventive freedom that struck dopamine, the most prominent purpose.

One of the best parts of these collective brain-breaks was the lack of perfectionism and pressure. No child’s drawing was to be hung in the Louvre, but we didn’t care. When you’re that age, you’re not creating art to be the best at it — you’re creating art because you want to. All of those origami swans and silly iMovies originated because of joy and fulfillment. Even though we acknowledged our artistic shortcomings, we still enjoyed doing it.

Something we need to get back to.

The problem today is that fewer people indulge in hobbies unless it validates their talent.

My guitar hangs untouched because of doubt. In recent years, life has felt too serious. Too constricting. I’ve been met with thoughts like, “it’s too late to learn,” and “I’m not good enough” — mentalities I’m not alone in.

According to BBN Times, “Adults are too well versed in what they cannot achieve and what cannot be done.” Instead, they are immersed in the whirlwind of “rules, regulations and compliance.”

Unfortunately, many adults remain discouraged regarding what they can and cannot do. Instead of facing new creative ventures head-on, they revel in hesitation. A loud clock ticks away the minutes of self-discovery and spontaneity as we focus too much on a safe routine.

In the daunting hours of college courses, internships and exams, what hour am I to paint a picture or write a story?

The issue is that many feel trapped in a cycle of constant work and drained energy. Few wish to engage in brainy activities after they’ve completed what feels like a mountain of responsibilities. Instead, their “filler” hours are spent mindlessly scrolling through TikTok and Instagram, which are just engaging enough to capture attention.

In those unplanned moments of social media hypnotization, you probably could have painted that picture and written that story. But many don’t. Their safety net revolves around what they consider themselves capable of.

Today, there’s too much demand to already be good. Talented. Skillful. It’s the combination of small pressure-packed moments, ranging from work expectations, strict habits and perception value. There’s no room to be anything less than perfect.

No wonder adults equate simple acts with extreme expectations. With authoritative standards breathing down their necks, they’ve forgotten what it means to invite mistakes.

Stigma around prior creative experience is far too limiting yet widely accepted. Potential talent is left unfulfilled when we indulge solely in instant gratification. If you’re someone who’s played the guitar for 10 years, it’s easier to pick back up than, say, learning the saxophone. Similarly, an avid sewer might not pursue new ventures like pottery.

Activities you excel at are easier and more manageable, leaving you with an abundance of time for repetitive tasks. This leaves many following the self-serving norm. In other words, individuals are unwilling to take new risks due to stability in other high-level performances, often wondering, “Why try if I’m not skillful?”

The sad thing is that most undermine their talent. In fact, only 39% of people identify as creative, while a study by AdAge found that 75% believe they aren’t living up to their creative potential. In other words, there’s too big a gap between diffidence and desire.

But in reality, anyone can be creative. You must remember that being creative means to create. It doesn’t matter whether you’re good.

We need to allow for grace and mess-ups. If not, what’s the point of reaching for anything with value? Aren’t mistakes the groundwork for reward?

Mental constraints are the enemy of a well-lit lifestyle. And it’s not just hobby execution that is a victim of this — it’s also opportunity.

Self-doubt is what promises a name left unrecognized. For instance, what if Vincent van Gogh succumbed to the hate surrounding his paintings? How about if Michael Jordan had never continued playing basketball after getting cut from his high school team? These trailblazers would probably be forgotten.

The key to an elevated mindset is fostering passion. If you unlock new doors, you will discover new paths. Who knows — you could become the next bestselling author, Oscar-winning actor or a renowned Paris fashion designer.

The fear shouldn’t be whether you remain worthy of chasing passion — it should be the fear that you never do. I encourage you not to limit yourself to comfort, for you never know what may alter the course of your life.

After sitting with these stunting tendencies, I decided to put my own advice to the test.

It began with a blank piece of paper.

There are many things I could have drawn, like a large house with curtain-draped windows or a puppy dog. But despite the urge to create a perfect picture, I did the opposite. I let myself be bad. Squiggles and splattered colors surrounded big, bubbly words labeling “You’re Cool.” By the end of the drawing, I realized it’s not good by any means. In fact, I misspelled the word you’re, but I think there’s value in that.

I was too entranced by the enjoyment that I hadn’t even noticed an error.

I challenge you to do the same. Live in the world of creation rather than the pressure of validation. We need more magicians, quilters, bird callers, cartoonists and unicyclists. And there’s no pressure to start well.

In fact, do it bad.

Charlotte Roselin is a sophomore at UT studying communication studies. She can be reached at [email protected].

Columns and letters of The Daily Beacon are the views of the individual and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Beacon or the Beacon’s editorial staff.