The Energy That Builds When Nothing Quite Lands

I’ve been carrying a lot of backed-up energy lately. The kind that sits in your chest and makes everything feel tighter the more you hang on to it.

Over the last few years I’ve thrown myself into projects. Some are my own—things I’m genuinely passionate about. Some are ones I’m intentionally trying to earn money through because they line up with my skills. Some are helping friends, or employers who become friends, build whatever they’re currently building. I get in. I think I’m communicating. I think we’re working from a shared picture. Then life gets squirrely. Things shift. We don’t reset the goal. It slowly falls apart until I’m frustrated enough to start asking the hard questions.

Did I give it my all? Am I giving up too early? Did I voice my concerns and leave room for feedback? Am I offering possible solutions? Or is this just not the right fit and going against my gut? I start questioning whether I can trust my own ideas at all.

The Pattern and the Doubt

Friends and people I talk to tell me the ideas are good. They say I’m good at organizing concepts, breaking things down into next steps, and seeing a path. I want to believe that. But it keeps happening often enough that I’m starting to wonder. If one person doesn’t agree, that’s fine. If it starts to feel like nothing is landing and nothing is moving toward anything real, then the old line shows up: if one person is a jerk they’re probably a jerk, but if the whole world is a jerk then maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m missing something. And if I am, what is it?

I’ve tried bouncing ideas off people in different stages of life, different backgrounds, startups, more established places, bigger businesses, smaller ones. I’ve tried leading. I’ve tried being a good teammate who stays in my lane and trusts that someone else has the plan. Neither has really worked. I start to feel bitter and sad, like something is wrong with me, and I don’t know what the missing piece is that would let me help build something that earns a living wage with actual clarity and intention. Not random paid tasks. Real solutions to real pain points that people want to pay for, without trying to rip anyone off.

What Still Feels Clear

My why for art is still clear to me. I make art because it opens the door to the deeper conversations about who you are, what you are into, what you love and why. A piece hanging on a wall, interesting packaging, a t-shirt with a relatable graphic— can connect with someone immediately. Art can unlock a feeling they already know, a conversation between friends, or just a moment of reflection with themselves, even if they never meet me. That still matters.

But right now I’m struggling with confidence about where I add value, who actually needs the skills and passion I have to offer, and how we find each other. What I’m currently doing keeps some momentum and gives small wins along the way—some of them big personal ones—but it feels like constant flailing. There’s no clear chapters where we look back as a team and say, this is what we set out to build, here’s how the path shifted, and here’s what we learned with intention.

I want that clarity. I want to come into something, hear the vision, pitch a plan that fits, work it, and later have a real conversation about whether we’re building what we thought we were building. Instead I keep signing up, getting encouraged that the ideas are good, and then watching nothing move in that direction. When we try to reflect it feels like we’re talking past each other, working from different pictures the whole time. It’s scary. And it shows up in my journal a lot.

What I’m Actually Looking For

I don’t need credit for my ideas or concepts. I just want proof that I can help think through complex challenges with others and come up with something that actually works. Right now the data I’m building mostly shows the opposite—debt, things losing money, projects that never quite become the thing. I’m getting better at skills: Illustrator, pitching ideas more clearly, setting up systems, bidding complicated work. But getting better at pitching things that don’t land doesn’t feel like progress.

The other night I was with a friend after a creative event where people were brainstorming what to do with empty spaces if money didn’t matter. I love that kind of thinking. But I’m getting bored of pure dreaming. I want to spend my working life building real things with real people, actionable next steps, and shared clarity. Work that feels important and fulfilling. It doesn’t have to be easy, but it needs to matter—mission-driven, with like-minded people, creative, building community through the lens of art and craft. Not a job that just pays the bills and leaves me empty or worse goes broke and closes.

This post isn’t me trying to solve it. It’s me saying the big feelings out loud. I know I’m not the only one navigating how to trust myself, how to find people who believe in a vision enough to offer real feedback, and how to build something together that actually exists. If you’re in that same place, you’re not alone. And if you’re someone who needs the skills and value I can bring—and I need what you have—I’d like to find you so we can try building something interesting.

Finding a Release Valve

In the meantime the energy is still backed up. I talked with my friend about needing some kind of release that isn’t unhealthy. Not becoming an alcoholic, not reckless motorcycle rides, not gambling the time away. Something that opens a valve—concerts, karaoke, a woodworking class at the Foss Museum, a hiking group, urban sketching meetups, history tours around town. 

First guess at a next step: a gym membership and getting back into CrossFit. That was a good chapter once. I’m curious again. The community might be exactly the kind of different and regular outlet I need right now.

Energy noticed.
Gut still consulted.
Valve cracked open.

Hell yeah.

— Dan

Urban Muse & Sultry Hues