If you are a creator, sometimes the typical motivation of money, deadlines and productivity are not enough. There are days when it is hard to write the thousand words you set as your goal or make those ten phone calls to land a gig.

For the creator, an additional motivator should be the act of creating. This can feel selfish because we expect the artist wants to make her art. It’s true, she does WANT to create. Another truth is less apparent. She also wants people to be moved, inspired . . . perhaps transformed. A creator isn’t always trying to find fame, fortune and glory. Knowingly or not, he also wants to serve.

A point of clarification: we are all creators.

I’ve probably mentioned my grandparents owned a grocery store as I was growing up. Both my parents worked there, along with uncles, aunts, cousins and other members of my rural hometown in Kellyville, Oklahoma. At the front of this store sat a large, wooden display rack with magazines and comic books stacked together like fans in a sports arena. Before the display, on the flecked tile floor, usually sat a young boy leaning his back against the magazine rack as he worked his way through a hefty stack of comic books. This was me, and this was “my place” in the store. A fact many people affirmed.

It is still “my place” as it is one of my favorite childhood memories. Each weekday after the ring of the school bell, my older sister and I would walk four blocks to the grocery store. I would anxiously go over to the magazine rack and see if there were any new comics. Spiderman, X-Men, Superman, Batman, Cloak & Dagger, The Fantastic Four, The Incredible Hulk, The Green Lantern… these were the titles I peeled out of their file and placed into my cue. If none of the more exciting comics had new copies, I would either re-read my favorites or relegate myself to Richie Rich, Casper the Friendly Ghost or Archie comics. Minor consolation for my hungry imagination.

These stories of heroics performed by people gifted beyond their humanity were the fodder for backyard adventures and even a few hand-drawn comics of my own. That small patch of tiled floor in the middle of the small town grocery store fed my creativity for years. It was a source of inspiration.

Years later, well into my 30s, I don’t know that I have a specific source I can call “my place.” I enjoy a good movie, and many of my favorite comic heroes are now available on film. Still, they don’t feed me in the same way. It seems harder to find inspiration than it did as a child. I have to be more intentional to allow that wide-eyed wonder to stir within me again. It’s still there, but is like a cooled-off ember.  I feel it sometimes as I soak in an engaging TED talk or listen to Stephen Fry describe the decadence of our language. When I surround myself with entrepreneurs, aspiring filmmakers or artists, the ember can be poked by others’ stories and bristled back into a flame by the air of new ideas.

So, perhaps this is a good thing. Maybe I have lost the nostalgic notion of sitting and leaning back on a bookshelf, knowing it is there to prop me up. Instead, I carry “my place” inside me and know it can come alive at any time. It can be scary not to have a stack of new worlds sitting next to me with so much promise. But there is an exuberant sense of liberation in knowing new worlds can be birthed from within and shared with you. Hopefully this can be one of “your places” as well.

I hope it is.