A personal story of burnout, lost creativity, and the spark that became Buen Ojo. A space for making, meaning, and becoming whole again.
For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me. If I just tried hard enough, I would succeed. If I worked hard enough, I would have enough to make myself happy. If I just kept pushing, someday there would be enough. Good and enough (whatever those are) always seemed to be just out of reach, waiting on the other side of an elusive finish line I could never seem to cross.
It’s taken me a while, but I finally realize I’ve had enough!
I’m not the problem. You’re not the problem. We’re all trying to survive in a system that isn’t really designed for us. It’s built to benefit a select few. Sure, the rest of us might get the scraps, but in chasing them, we give away pieces of ourselves.
We lose the things that make us human: authenticity, creativity, and connection. These parts of us don’t thrive in a world that encourages conformity, converts creativity into content*, and turns our desire for connection into a reason to consume. There will never be enough in a system that profits from convincing us we always need more. We’ll never be enough when we’re always one “simple trick” away from who we think we’re supposed to be.
*Yes, I know, I’m literally turning creativity into content right now. Maybe there’s a different way to do it. A slower, truer way.
We don’t lose our creative spark all at once. It fades slowly, often without us realizing it’s gone. Burnout and creativity are tightly tangled, especially when we turn creative energy into obligation. One day, I noticed the thing I used to turn to for energy and flow had become the thing I wrote on my to-do list… and then avoided.
Looking back, I can trace some of the places where the spark dimmed.
Many of us earn our living by helping others bring their ideas to life. It’s easy to confuse that kind of productivity with real creative energy. It’s not the same. When we’re always building dreams for others, it becomes easy to lose track of our own.
While we’re working to keep up (or just get by), we’re also being asked to buy more. Eventually, we all start to look the same. The same fast fashion. We continue to consume the same mass-produced items. More of the same leaves us hungry for more.
The thing is, the price we’re paying is far higher than a dollar fifty (or whatever they’re charging at the Dollar Tree now). We’re paying with our attention. With the planet. With parts of ourselves, we don’t even realize we are giving up. The parts that make us beautiful. That make the world beautiful.
I’m tired. Tired of:
But I’m not done.
I still have the spark of an idea for something better. Something good. I want to follow it. I think making things, on our terms, is a form of creative resistance.
What would the world look like if we consumed less and created more? What would our lives feel like if we gave ourselves a little more of what we truly need?
I believe we’d be pleased with what we’d see. We’d see there is so much good.
I don’t know what success means anymore, at least not in the way we’ve been taught to define it. Maybe it’s something closer to intentional living. Less about achieving, more about aligning. I have a hunch that it has something to do with living in alignment with what we value and feeling more alive because of it.
In Spanish, buen ojo means “good eye.” To me, it’s not just about taste or talent. It’s about noticing what’s real. Seeing the beauty in the ordinary. Trusting your own way of looking at the world.
Buen Ojo has been with me for years. It’s made of the values, hopes, and dreams I always return to. The good eye guides me; the desire to see the good, the belief that I’m responsible for contributing to that good, and the deep longing to do good for myself too.
Every time my life shifts, I find myself returning to this idea. It’s been following me for a long time. Now, I’m choosing to follow it back.
I don’t have a clear map, but I do have a compass. It keeps pointing me here. That’s enough to begin.
Buen Ojo isn’t just a brand. It’s my values in practice. It’s what it looks like when I try to live them out loud.
I hope it becomes more than just a creative project. I hope it’s the beginning of a life (and a business) that leaves room for being human. One that values rest, sustainability, and connection as much as, if not more than, output. Maybe that sounds naive, but I’d rather build something humane and hopeful than keep playing by rules that weren’t made for people like me.
If you’ve ever felt like you’ve lost a little part of yourself, you’re not alone. I feel that way too. The thing is, that part of us isn’t gone. We don’t need to go searching for ourselves. We’ve just been too busy, burnt out, or boxed in to notice it.
We don’t need to hack or hustle our way back to ourselves.
We just need to make space; for beauty, for play, for making things that don’t need to be perfect or profitable.
I’m starting small, with what I have now: a few print-your-own creative journals, some prompts, some questions, and a lot of curiosity. I don’t fully know what Buen Ojo is yet. Maybe it will become a brand. Maybe it’s just this weird little corner of the internet. But I do know what it feels like…
It feels like permission. Possibility. It feels like meaning through making, not just producing, but reconnecting. Like making meaning instead of just making content. It’s not always deep. It will probably be awkward and wonky, or just for fun. I guess that’s the point.
If you’re curious too, stick around. Let’s start small. Get messy. See what happens. Let’s make things that matter, even if they’re only for us.
If this resonated, and you want to see how these ideas unfold into creative practice, I wrote more about the philosophy behind Buen Ojo in [[Can Small Acts of Creativity Really Change Anything?]]. It’s less about my story and more about how creativity can reconnect us to meaning, beauty, and a slower, more honest way of being. A kind of creative resistance to the speed and sameness around us.
Perfectionism can paralyze creativity. This week, I confronted mine head-on with scissors, scraps, and my journal. I used junk journaling for creativity and to help let go of perfectionism.
Small creative acts might not change the world overnight, but they might change you. An exploration of creativity, resistance, and becoming.
What happens when creativity turns into a performance? This post explores the emotional cost of fast-paced creation, the hidden burnout it causes, and why slowing down might be the most radical creative act of all.
