Make Something Heavy

Creating for 24-hour cycles isn’t freedom, leverage, or legacy—it’s just renting out your time.

Creation isn’t just about output. It’s a process of becoming. The best work shapes the maker as much as the audience.

Creative people are restless souls, forever chasing the horizon until they’ve made something substantial. We spend our lives crafting weighted blankets for ourselves—something heavy enough to anchor our ambition and quiet our minds.

The modern makers’ machine does not want you to create heavy things. It runs on the internet—powered by social media, fueled by mass appeal, and addicted to speed. It thrives on spikes, scrolls, and screenshots. It resists weight and avoids friction. It does not care for patience, deliberation, or anything but production .

People ask, "What are you working on?" They’re really asking: What’s your endgame? (It’s one of my favorite questions, too.) My answer is simple, but not easy:

Make something heavy.

And then you feel it: a quiet, gnawing hollowness that, for all the making, nothing has truly been made. Why does it feel bad to stop posting after weeks of consistency? Because the force of your work instantly drops to zero. It was all motion, no mass—momentum without weight. 99% dopamine, near-zero serotonin, and no trace of oxytocin.

Light things shape culture, but rarely shape us.

AI now promises results without the reckoning, but frictionless creation leads to weightless rewards. No one dreams of merely pushing a button to generate their magnum opus. The struggle is what makes it count, what gives it weight.1

At any given time, you’re either pre–heavy thing or post–heavy thing . You’ve either made something weighty already, or you haven’t.