Creative me versus creative us
To create solo or collaboratively? As a creator, it’s our job to recognize where we thrive and feed it appropriately.
Imagine a compass.
West is Me. East is Us. Our creative lenses are the terrain upon which we watch it drunkenly teeter and bounce.
Some days you trek hard west, fully in Me territory. Writing draft after draft, unapologetically selfish with your hours. Other days you swing east—saying yes to a friend’s gig even when you’d rather be home.
Neither extreme is a win. And, since none of us can ask Salinger about, I feel confident in saying neither can last in perpetuity. But whether we trend towards (or prefer) creating solo or collaboratively, there’s always motion. And perhaps more importantly, subconscious choice.
These aren’t so much philosophical dilemmas so much as our existing patterns. But they add up, brick by brick, to a creative philosophy. Choices that form the sharpness, originality, and drive us to create in the first place.
And I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately.
Me versus Us: authenticity and creativity
The raw material of creativity always begins in Me. Every breakthrough starts in a cocoon, an internal place where we owe the world nothing.
For me, when I’m writing songs or hammering out a story, Me feels like the only sane choice. Shut the door, kill the noise, go deep. Creativity demands selfishness—or at least, my pattern says. But for someone else, the opposite can be true. The friction of collaboration, the spark of back and forth, the presence of a listener, these things can provide a sense of wholeness.
But what are the differences of Me versus Us, in a practical sense?
Me is solitude, selfishness, and singular focus. It’s the space where the spark first meets oxygen. And when we work solo, we get the best versions of:
Vulnerability. In Me, you strip away the noise and hear what your raw voice actually sounds like.
Edge. Me sharpens originality—the thing that makes your work feel alive instead of formulaic.
Risk. Alone, you’re more likely to chase a weird angle, wander off-map, or deliver surprise.
Conversely, sanity lives in Us. Validation lives there too—though neither of those are exclusively a good thing. But at its best, Us will always trump Me in the realms of:
Energy. Us is challenge and connection. And when an idea becomes a shared vision, that’s an energy that Me can’t match.
Friction. Other people push back, question, and refine your ideas into something stronger.
Meaning. Art doesn’t become unforgettable until it resonates with someone else. Us is where the work leaves your desk and enters the bloodstream.
The raw spark of Us will never reach the raw spark of Me. An edgy idea will all but certainly get rounded when it collides with Us. It’s the backdrop over which some of us try to stay locked in Me forever and others feel paralyzed unless they’re operating within the Us.
The real tension (read: creative blocks) comes when we resign ourselves to one or the other rather than learning when each one makes healthy sense for us. As a creator, it’s my job to recognize where I thrive and feed it appropriately.
The pressure to collaborate
Every time I watch an unforgettable show (right now it’s The Bear), I feel it. The pressure to collaborate. To say yes to or seek out the opportunities to brainstorm, jam, reciprocate.
But the majority of the time, it comes from the wrong place.
Fear that I can’t do it. A pressure to transactionalize my give with someone else’s take. A desire that’s nothing more than insecurity dressed up as noble logic. And the weight of it can flatten my work when I let it.
But the draw to work solo isn’t pure either. Yes, it can be about focus or discipline. But others it can be plain old avoidance of the mess and vulnerability that comes with letting others in. That draw can sharpen your edge—or leave you isolated with nothing but sharp edges.
Both sides carry risk. But both sides carry fuel. Figuring out which is which comes with being honest about the roots, which can be wholesome as much as unhealthy.
The two reasons we NEED Us
Let’s cut through the romance: most collaboration isn’t noble, it’s necessary. Strip it down and there are really only two reasons we actually need the Us.
Reason one: the workload is greater than the time.
Sometimes the task is just too big for one person. A novel, sure, you can wrestle that down alone. An album, likely true. But a TV season with ten episodes? No chance. Deadlines and scale will eat you alive. That’s when Us becomes survival—dividing the weight so it doesn’t crush you.
Reason two: the vision goes beyond your skills.
Other times, it’s not about hours, it’s about gaps. You can write the bass line but not play it. A director needs an actor, an actor typically needs another actor. There are just some works and mediums where alone we’re a fraction of a whole. A band isn’t just a preference—it’s physics.
Outside of those two? I urge anyone to think about the role of collaboration. Enriching and inspiring, sure, but not a strict necessary to create meaning, joy or beauty. And knowing this clearly matters. Because it allows us to ask: am I collaborating because I work best this way, or because I’m avoiding the hard, lonely work of Me?
The greatest reason to choose Us
Need is one thing. But the greatest reason to collaborate isn’t pressure, or validation, or even divide-and-conquer efficiency. It’s evolution.
When you work with someone else, we expand the map. Every collaborator carries different instincts, unique scars. And it’s fair to say that those imperfections can bring out versions of ourselves that might have otherwise stayed dormant.
But it’s a misconception to think collaboration accelerates our craft in ways solitude can’t. We don’t evolve the strictly because we create the bridge. It has to be the right bridge. That’s why the Beatles are the Beatles, The Sopranos is the The Sopranos.
All of which is to say, the multiplier effect of Us only happens if it makes us better for the next go-round.
Bringing the benefits of Us to Me (and vice-versa)
But given an understanding of what makes Me and Us great, we can open ourselves up to get the best of both worlds.
The gift of Me is that it resists that smoothing. Yet, when you let Us haunt the solitude, the echoes of challenge or a reader’s excitement can bend us for the better.
Try these moves to borrow from Us without inviting anyone into the room:
“Yes, and…” yourself. Classic improv—but done alone. Take the weird idea you just wrote down, then respond to it as if a collaborator were saying “yes, and…” Push it one degree further, then another. This simulates the momentum of a brainstorm.
Go further than feels natural. Have a chapter that’s hit a natural end point? Give it another two hundred words to see where it goes. And a second bridge or extend that final chorus. Suddenly, you’ve challenged what felt natural and created the opportunity for surprise (the currency of both delight and intrigue).
Time travel: Imagine time-traveling into your past. Opening your laptop, guitar case, or notebook, and immerse yourself in past thoughts and conversations. Let that perspective, encouragement, and pushback free to skew the work at hand.
On the flip side, if you want Us to thrive, bring that unpolished spark into the circle. Try these moves to bring the rawness of Me to the perspective of Us:
Bring the “first wrong draft.” Don’t show up only with polished ideas. Bring the one you scribbled at midnight. Lean in to what seems too strange or too sharp. The idea you’re most scared to say out loud is the one that gives the group its edge.
Hold a risk auction. Everyone pitches one risky idea, something personal, weird, or half-baked. Then the team votes (not on the best idea, but on the most alive). The winner gets a round of serious exploration and keeps the nutrients of risk and originality circulating in the bloodstream of Us.
Ask “What can only I see?” Before stepping into a room, answer that question in one sentence. Carry it like a talisman. Something that won’t dissolve, but that becomes your beacon within the collective.
These moves surprise because they blur the boundaries: you’re not choosing Me or Us, you’re letting them haunt each other. That’s where the creative electricity is.
Creativity thrives where we thrive
Creativity thrives in stillness—just as it thrives in collision. But it’s about where we thrive.
What feels sane isn’t universal—it’s personal. For some, solitude is oxygen. For others, it’s suffocation. And for most of us, the answer isn’t fixed—it shifts depending on the project, the season, even the day.
All we can do is stay aware of the momentum we’re building: the pull of Me sharpening your edge, the pull of Us widening your reach. And at all times, thinking of these choice for what they are: micro-decisions (not our identity).
Prompts to explore Me vs Us
If you want to use this rhythm instead of being ruled by it, start by asking yourself the right questions. These prompts are meant to help you notice your defaults, spot growth edges, and flip the process when needed.
Prompt: Identify where you thrive
When you begin a new project, do you instinctively close the door (Me) or invite someone in (Us)?
You are my interactive guide. Help me reflect on whether I thrive more in solo work (Me) or collaboration (Us) in my creative practice.
Please take me through this in steps:
1. Initial Instinct Check
Ask: “When you begin a new project, do you instinctively close the door (Me) or invite someone in (Us)?”
Encourage me to expand with a short reflection.
2. Recent Wins Review
Ask: “Think about your last three creative wins—were they born in solitude or collaboration?”
Help me map each win to either Me or Us.
3. Pattern Spotting
Based on my answers, summarize whether there’s a leaning toward Me, toward Us, or a hybrid. Highlight any tensions (e.g., loving solitude but thriving in collaboration).
4. Strength Amplification
Suggest how I can double down on where I thrive—either creating stronger boundaries for solo work, or building more intentional structures for collaboration.
5. Growth Edge
Suggest 1–2 small experiments for leaning into the other side (e.g., if I thrive solo, test out a micro-collaboration; if I thrive in collaboration, try a solo sprint).
Output format:
* Your instinct: [summary]
* Your wins: [mapping of 3 wins to Me/Us]
* Your pattern: [analysis]
* Your strength amplification: [advice]
* Your growth edge: [experiments]Prompt: Uncover areas for improvement and growth
Where in your process do you consistently stall—at the private draft stage, or at the public sharing stage?
You are my creative growth guide. Help me identify how I can improve and grow as a creator in relation to choosing when to work solo (Me) and when to collaborate (Us).
Take me through this reflection step by step:
1. Process Friction Check
Ask: “Where in your process do you consistently stall—at the private draft stage, or at the public sharing stage?”
Guide me to reflect on whether this stalling signals a need for more solitude, or for collaboration/feedback to move forward.
2. Feedback Resistance
Ask: “Whose feedback (or absence of it) do you resist most? What does that resistance reveal?”
Encourage me to name the people or groups whose voices I avoid, and what that suggests about trust, vulnerability, or independence.
3. Solo Strengths vs. Collaboration Catalysts
Based on my answers, help me map:
* What I gain from working alone.
* What I personally gain from collaborating.
* Where I may be under-utilizing one or the other.
4. Growth Prescription
Suggest 2–3 practical ways I can grow:
* One way to sharpen my solo practice.
* One way to invite collaboration in a healthier/more intentional way.
* One “stretch experiment” that pushes me into the less comfortable mode (if I lean solo, suggest a collaboration test; if I lean collaborative, suggest a solo test).Whenever you're ready, here’s how I can help you:
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