Last winter, I sat in front of my DAW for five straight nights and didn’t write a single usable bar.
Not a melody. Not a chord. Just… digital silence and creative shame.
Which made no sense, because I had everything. Premium VSTs. Beautiful guitar tones. A cozy studio. Even time.
But nothing real was coming out.
And worse: Everything I tried to create sounded like it was trying too hard.
I began to question what the hell I was even doing anymore.
The Lie We’re All Taught About Creativity
There’s this idea we’ve all absorbed — quietly, unconsciously:
If you want to make great music, you have to try harder.
Try harder to be inspired. Try harder to push through writer’s block. Try harder to be productive, every day, like it’s a spreadsheet.
But trying wasn’t helping me. It was suffocating me.
I was showing up to the studio like I was clocking into a job. My plugins were open, but my spirit was closed.
The Moment That Shifted Everything
One night, instead of trying to force a song, I just sat there.
I stopped tweaking knobs. Stopped scrolling for “better” presets. Stopped thinking I needed to be someone to make something worthwhile.
And in that silence — something odd happened.
I remembered this melody from childhood. No words. No logic. Just… a hum I forgot I knew.
It was warm. Simple. Human.
I reached for the piano, played the intervals by feel, and something cracked open.
That moment became the chorus of a song that connected with more people than anything I’d released in years.
It didn’t come from effort. It came from surrender.
Why We Don’t Create Our Best Work When We Try To
The more I’ve talked to other songwriters and producers, the more I realize this:
We think our value comes from doing.
But music — real music — comes from being.
Here’s what I’ve learned since that night:
- Your DAW is not the source. You are.
- Your best tools are not plugins. They’re presence and emotional truth.
- You don’t need more gear. You need more listening.
The reason most creatives burn out isn’t from lack of ideas. It’s from fighting their own nature.
What Happens When You Become the Instrument
When you stop trying to make music and start becoming the kind of person who music flows through — everything changes.
- Your ideas become lighter, quicker, more honest.
- Your arrangements breathe.
- You start finishing songs not because you force them, but because you can’t help it.
This isn’t mysticism. It’s alignment.
You’re not creating from ego. You’re receiving from something deeper than you.
The less I tried to be impressive, the more I became expressive.
So What Can You Do Right Now?
If you’ve been stuck creatively — whether in music, writing, or anything expressive — here’s what I invite you to try:
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Stop forcing output. Give yourself space. Walk. Breathe. Let the silence work on you.
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Record everything that feels like something. A voice memo. A guitar lick. A lyric fragment. Don't judge.
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Rebuild your process around presence, not pressure. Design your studio like a temple, not an office.
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Remember that your life is the source material. Live better, feel deeper, and you’ll never run out of things to say.
A Final Note
I thought I lost my ability to make music.
What I lost was the illusion that I had to chase it.
Once I stopped grasping and started listening, I didn’t just create better songs — I found peace again. I reconnected with the part of me that used to hum made-up melodies on the way to school.
So if you’ve been stuck in the grind of trying to “make” music...
Try becoming the instrument instead.
Let go. Let it move through you.
And when it does — let the silence sing.