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1Debbie Millman | TED • Nov 2025
For the last 20 years, I've interviewed hundreds of people about their motivation to create, their ambition and what it feels like to be whole and at home in the world on my podcast, "Design Matters."
In one episode several years ago, I interviewed a famous painter about a recent exhibition, a show that had taken years to create. Given the magnitude of the accomplishment, I asked her how long the feeling of pride lasted after opening night. She looked at me, she smiled sheepishly and stated, "About 11 minutes."
I thought she was joking, but she wasn't. Since that interview, I've come to realize she's not the only one whose achievements feel ephemeral and fleeting. Not by a long shot.
Over the past four years, in addition to my interviews, I've conducted my own version of a Proustian questionnaire for PRINT magazine. Hundreds of creative people have answered the same 10 questions about their life and their work. Given the response I had with the famous painter, I included this question: How long does the feeling of pride and joy at accomplishing something last for you?
As I collected my responses to the questionnaire and reviewed all of my transcripts of my interviews and conversations, I saw how, up close, for so many people, the pride and joy of accomplishment dissipates almost as quickly as it manifests.
I heard it in the words of a poet who shared that the high of publishing a book lasted until she sent in her final manuscript. I heard it in the voice of a designer who admitted he felt restless the very night of an awards ceremony. And I heard it in the plaintiff confession of a musician who told me, "The only time I feel at peace is when I'm in the studio. Not on stage, not after. Only while I'm making."
Another confession. I felt this way my whole life. After publishing a book, after mounting an exhibition, after a TED Talk, after what should feel like I've reached the pinnacle, moments I've dreamed of for decades. The joy evaporates within days, sometimes hours, and once, terrifyingly, within minutes.
And then for so many people, what happens next? The quest to create, to make something bigger, more ambitious or more challenging begins again. I found this all utterly confounding, and I became consumed with the question of why? Why does the feeling of creative achievement slip away almost as soon as we grasp it? Why are we in such a rush to want something more? Is it ego, ambition, addiction to attainment?
We're living in a culture now obsessed with achievement, and we measure that success with metrics, likes, views, followers, awards, trophies, sales and we celebrate the hustle. We glorify the grind, and we equate visibility with value. Now after 20 years of interviewing more than 1,000 people, I've come to believe that something else is at play.
When I look at the creative people I admire most, I see people answering a calling. A calling that says create, shape, build, imagine, express. Not necessarily to be seen, but to be. What if the actual reward is not accomplishment but the act of creating? Think about it. The finished products and trappings of creative accomplishment are often seen as the goal. And if we haven't yet reached mastery, we're told we have to fake it until we make it. Pretend.
But I don't think people should have to fake anything. Instead, I'd rather make it until I make it. You see, I believe that the act of making is like oxygen. When the making stops, it becomes hard to breathe. Now I admit I still struggle with this. I crave recognition, I still measure myself by external markers of success, and I'm still racing towards multiple finish lines. But I'm learning, albeit slowly, that these moments will never, ever be enough. They can't be, because in the end, they represent a certain scarcity, while making is the actual abundance.
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