I used to believe there was no such thing as a creative block. I thought what people called blockage was simply the absence of experience, the absence of the bruising contact with life that teaches you how to name what you feel. But lately, when I am asked to put something of myself into the world, I find myself staring at the page as though it were a mirror that refuses to recognize me. It is not that I lack experience. I have seen enough, endured enough, to testify to life itself. And yet, what rises in me is that merciless ghost—imposter syndrome.
I remember once wanting everything that now trembles at the door. Recognition, opportunity, a platform to speak. But now that it comes, I feel unready, unarmed. Then I understood: the problem is not the world, nor even my circumstances. The problem is intention. Without intention, perception hardens into the story—you mistake confusion for destiny. I’m an aspiring filmmaker and all round creative, I’m a tangible learner so I learn best by doing. Even though taking photos isn’t new to me, films or shorts in general take a little more man power to execute. Even though I’ve been on a fair amount of production sets I still felt inadequate or unequipped and soon I started to believe what I was telling myself to the point I sabotaged myself in positions I knew that not only belonged. Once I shifted my perspective and questioned my intentions things slowly began to fall into place for me, but it’s something I have to constantly work at.
Michael Beckwith said, “Without Intention you’re just being tossed around the world.” Our elders put it another way: faith without works is dead. Both were speaking to the same truth—life cannot be lived by default. Today, we see what becomes of people who live without intention. We see men in power dismantling truth itself, communities tossed by lies and violence and a nation that treats survival like a lottery ticket. To live without intention is to surrender your life to forces that were never designed for your freedom.
Intention is more than a plan. It is a wound learning to close, a design for one’s becoming. When a person rises, they do not stumble into it; they ask themselves, “What is my intention?” That question is the most essential, because to answer it is to make a demand on the universe, a demand on your own soul. You give your mind direction, you give your wounds permission to heal, you give your life a reason to move forward.
So ask:
Where are you now?
What’s your daily intention?
Where do you wanna end up?
The task is plain: operate the plan, heal the wound, become the self you have always been carrying. Intention transforms hesitation into decision. This is no small task. It turns the excuse of “Something’s in the way” into “I anticipate obstacles and plan around them.” It takes the fragile promise of maybe tomorrow and makes it flesh in this unpromised moment called now. To create with intention is not merely the purest form of creativity–it is the most radical form of resistance. For in a world that profits from your confusion, your silence and your despair, to create with intention is to declare you are still here, still human and still becoming.
BABL 