When Creativity Meets a Transactional Culture

There are seasons where the work we are doing no longer reflects who we are. Not because the work is wrong or unimportant, but because the pace, the systems, or the expectations leave little room for the human behind the output. For creatives, this can feel especially heavy. Creativity is not just what we produce, it is how we notice the world. It is how we find patterns, make meaning, and feel alive. So when we move through environments that are fast, transactional, or efficiency driven, something inside begins to go quiet.

At first, I did not notice it happening. I was doing the work. I was delivering. I was meeting expectations and often exceeding them. But little by little, my sense of wonder started slipping away. The space where ideas used to naturally bloom felt smaller. My days became a list of deliverables rather than a place to explore. And the longer it continued, the more I lost my shape in the process. Not outwardly. Outwardly, everything looked fine. But inwardly, something essential was dimming.

There was a moment that made the truth clear. Not dramatic. Just human. I reached the end of the day and realized I could not remember a single thought that felt like it belonged to me. I had completed tasks. I had coordinated. I had responded. But I had not felt anything. I was present, but I was not in my presence.

It took time to understand that this was not failure. It was misalignment.

There are environments built to nurture curiosity, imagination, slow thinking, and depth. And there are environments built to move fast, scale quickly, and replicate results. Neither is wrong. But they do not ask for the same things from us. And sometimes, the role we are in simply does not hold space for the part of us that is still growing.

The lesson for me was not to fight the environment or fix myself to fit. It was to listen. To notice. To respect the part of me that needed room to breathe. Creativity cannot be forced into efficiency. It needs rhythm. It needs pause. It needs a little quiet in order to remember what matters.

So I began to give myself that space again. Small at first. A Peloton ride. A chapter in my novel. Baking a favorite recipe. A moment before responding. Letting my own pace return to me. Letting my thoughts feel like mine again. And in that slow return, I felt something familiar. The warmth of my imagination. The steadiness of my inner voice. The clarity that had always been there, waiting.

If you find yourself in a role that feels more transactional than human, know this:

There is nothing wrong with you.

Your creativity is not disappearing.

It is asking for room, a new perspective.

You are allowed to honor that either by finding creativity in the mundane or outside.

You are allowed to adjust.

You are allowed to remember yourself.

Sometimes the most courageous thing we do is simply return to the part of us that has been quiet for a while.

The part that knows who we are.

The part that always knew.