THERE ARE NO ASSHOLES ON THE ROAD TO PERFECTION

I was an introverted teenager in Beirut, dreaming of escape. My dad was always traveling for work and my mom wasn’t happy about it. Meanwhile, I was stuck in what felt like a shit-hole town and just wanted out. My teachers were a bunch of tight asses and I had no respect for them. The only kids who were celebrated were the ones who were good at math.

I sucked at math.

But I loved a good story. It was how I got away from all these people who pissed me off. From the authority figures who didn't get me. So I wrote poetry, short stories, screenplays. I acted out movie scenes in my bedroom. I got lost in novels and computer adventure games. I created because I had to. Because I knew there was more.

No one gave a shit about creative writing at my school, so approval wasn’t something I had to worry about. I wasn’t writing for anyone. Stuck in Beirut, but the world was big inside my head. I disappeared into it. It was my refuge, my playground, my hiding place.

That hideout was a dirty, magical kingdom. A place where ideas ran wild, and the world was whatever I wanted it to be. But obscurity’s a funny thing. You step into it, and at first, it feels like a wide-open space, like you could be and do anything. Linger in it, though, and those real ugly fuckers show up. The monsters. They don’t come with teeth or claws, but they gnaw at your soul. I met a few of them. They fed me ideas, sure, but they wanted me to stay there. And once you're in, it’s hard to get out.

Only one person cared about my work—my history teacher. A couple of times, he made me read my stories aloud. The girl I had a crush on smiled. The rest of the kids went back to their calculators. Poor suckers, I thought. My writing wasn’t for them anyway.

I didn’t know then that I was hiding. I couldn’t connect with the kids anymore, but isolation had a certain appeal. It made me feel special. Me vs. the assholes.

Years passed. I figured I'd put my stories to good use, so I jumped into the film industry. As a screenwriter and director, you get to express yourself. They clap for you. They give you awards. That sounded good. Maybe my teachers and those kids didn’t give a damn back then, but the whole world would now.

This wasn't the classroom anymore. Now there were critics and film funds and producers and industry gatekeepers. A sea of creative piranhas. They all needed to eat, to feed. They all had their own ideas. Their own obscurities.

Suddenly, I wasn’t making shit for me anymore. Something shifted. The thing that once set me free—my creativity—was now something to be measured. Picked apart and consumed. Judged. But I wanted in, even though I hated the game. My art had been rebellious, free. Now, it was a transaction. A trick. A way to be liked by people I wouldn't even want to have a drink with.

The assholes vs me.

I tried to befriend the wrong people, prove my worth to the very authority I despised.

As a teenager, my creativity was an escape from authority.

Later, it became something I had to prove to authority.

Either way, I was screwed. Either way, it was Me Vs Me

Inside the sphere of judgement, there's no one to trust. Not even myself. No true allies. It's a lonely goddamned place.

Judgment is a vacuum. It sucks you dry. Shrinks your ideas down to something safe, something small enough to choke on.

But only if you let it. Only if you play by its rules. And every rule that’s ever been written was made by men already suffocating inside it. So what are you left with? Just a speck. A tiny, withered version of the thing you were meant to create.

If I make approval my master, I stay its prisoner. But the second I step into my own integrity, I walk free. I find the road. The rough and tumbling road. There are no assholes on the road to perfection. That's where I find the right people.

So here are five reminders to snap me back into myself when the creative blocks hit:

1. Remember where it started. I created because I had to. Not for applause. Not for recognition. Just because it was real. You meet a few ugly monsters along the way, but step through them and it’s an expansive world of light.

2. Trust the light inside. Creativity isn’t for judgment. It’s for doing. Go back to that purity.

3. Detach from vanity and expectation. No one’s approval will ever be enough. The only thing that matters is the work.

4. Don’t force community. Stop wasting energy on the wrong crowd. The right people find you.

5. Create from totality, not fear. If I’m making shit just to be seen, I’ve already lost. The work comes first.

No judgment. No comparison.

Just fearless creation.

And from this space, I create.