From an Alumna

Rarely is creativity a lightning bolt from the sky, but those flashes of pure magic do happen.

Creativity evolves over a lifetime. As a child, it’s chalk on a sidewalk. As a teen, it’s developing a signature move on the soccer field. In our twenties, it’s a song in response to heartbreak. What fueled my creativity at 20 looks nothing like what fuels it now.

Creativity is broad and includes everything from art in all its mediums to putting in a special touch at work. It’s patience. It’s play. It’s the act of getting lost on purpose. It’s about surrounding yourself with the right people and building an environment where you can pull something extraordinary into the light.

The truth I learned is that creativity is a muscle, not a miracle.

Yes, I have a degree in poetry and co-own an advertising agency with “Brilliant” in the name (it was there when I bought in, so I can’t take any credit). But I do not wake up every morning glowing with divine inspiration. Most days, creativity looks a lot more like: Show up, gather the team, listen, listen some more, try stuff, try again. The best creative work I’ve ever been part of was built collaboratively, with great minds working toward the same goal of making something incredible, together.

At UAA, my creative process usually started with an assignment. I’d stare at a blank page, convinced that real writers didn’t struggle to begin. Then a professor said, “Just put words on a page. Just start writing.”

Just start.

That single idea gave me the go. Most of the time, I began with something clunky, but I kept at it. That same mindset is what guides me now when I walk into a strategy session: Create an environment that is fun and prepared (always do your homework), get the right people in the room and begin. Somewhere in that pile of laughter and words, something always works. Sometimes, it really works.

I remember a recent project where a client came to us with a nearly impossible timeline and budget. We could have played it safe — recycled something proven. Instead, we locked ourselves in the conference room with a whiteboard, and by the end of the afternoon, we had an idea none of us would have found alone. Creativity wasn’t waiting for genius to strike. It was building the conditions for it to show up.

People assume advertising is about clever branding and slogans. Sometimes it is. But the work I’m proudest of starts with listening, not wordplay. Creativity, in that context, is less “Look at this cool idea,” and more “How do we say this in a way that is true and impossible to ignore?”

To every student still finding their footing, and every alumnus who made it through, hear this: You are creative.

You proved it when you asked a question no one else thought to ask. When you saw a problem differently, took the long way around, and arrived somewhere unexpected. Creativity lives in the detours — not in the straight line from A to B, but in the weird left turn that changes everything.

The question isn’t, “Am I creative?” The better question is, “Where am I creative, and how can I grow in it?”

For me, right now, that looks like building a business where brainstorming is judgment-free, where we treat constraints — tight budgets, impossible timelines — as an opportunity to be smarter and work harder.

Creativity isn’t reserved for artists and ad people. It’s in the nurse who calms a patient with exactly the right words. It’s in every alum who has looked at a situation and thought, “There has to be a better way,” and then took a step toward it.

From one Seawolf to another: Just start.

Try the thing. Say the idea. Start the project before you feel ready. Cross out what doesn’t work. Keep what does. Revise. That’s the creative process in motion.

And if you ever doubt that you belong in the “creative” category, remember: Creativity was never a lightning bolt reserved for the chosen few. It’s the steady, patient work of showing up.