  My friend and client Mike Foster has a fascinating concept in his coaching and counseling business. He calls it The Primal Question.
 His basic argument is that every person is going through life trying to answer a single important question, such as “Am I enough?” or “Do I matter?” Your question will be different from mine. And most of our pain comes from experiences in which the answer seems to be “no.” 
 For example, if your primal question is “Am I enough?” and you have an encounter in which you feel inadequate, you’ll take this as proof that you are, indeed, not enough. 
 Mike goes on to teach that the only way to transform the suffering of The Primal Question is by dealing with your demons and turning your external-facing question into an internalized truth. Via the sustained work of personal transformation, “Am I enough?” becomes “I know that I am enough.” 
 We don’t have to wander through life pursuing experiences that tell us we are significant, and measuring our worth by what others think. We can know our worth at a soul level, and live from that place of knowing. 
 I think the same is true with art
 Every creator I know is trying to answer a question with their work. Often, it is the very thing that plagues them. Take the stories of Hemingway, for example, which all seem to nod to the potential pointlessness of life—the “nada,” as he called it. The question he asked was simple and haunting: “What does it all mean?”
 His answer, he once said, was courage under fire. That’s what it all means. Life is pain and confusion, but if a man (and it was often a man) can have his wits in the heat of battle, if he can possess grace under pressure, then he has made meaning out of the meaningless of it all. 
 Another example might be Emily Dickinson and her deep and some sometimes-sad poems. Her question seemed to be “Am I alone?” And of course, in a way, she was. But from the place of solitude came tremendous beauty. 
 So I wonder if the point of the creative question is to answer it at all. Perhaps it is to live instead in the longing it produces. And to enjoy what comes from that space in between what you wonder and what you want to know. 
 It reminds me of that Rilke quote:
 “Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”
 And so, I wonder: what’s your creative question? Reply here and share it with us.
 Longingly,
 Jeff

📚 Read: “Writing didn’t serve the purpose I wanted it to, which was to fix the fundamentally broken relationship between myself and other people.”
 🎧 Listen: Mike Foster on finding your primal question.
 👀 Watch: How music streaming transformed songwriting.
 👋 Join: Our free Circle space is a growing community of fellow creators who know what it’s like to do what you do. Come sit with us!
 ⚒️ Make: We’re looking to add some new voices for upcoming HC podcast episodes. If you’re willing to record a short audio on your phone, reply to Jeff’s tweet.

“How important is it to have a like-minded group of creators around you? And what do you do if they are not moving at the same pace as you? In what way do those relationships get reframed?” — Dubem
 When I first got connected to the whole “blogging scene” in Nashville, I was hungry for conversations with like-minded writers who had big ambitions—people like me. I loved driving halfway across the city to grab a cup of coffee and gab about literature and life with a fellow writer. 
 Then, one Saturday morning at a well-frequented Panera in the suburbs of my city, after one too many cups of caffeine and a couple hours of conversation, I blurted out to my friend, “Oh my god! We just spent two hours talking about writing when we could have spent two hours… well, writing!” We never met for coffee again.
 So, on one hand, I’d say it’s really important to be part of a crew of like-minded creators, people who “get” you. But this can also easily become an echo chamber of individuals who have, more or less, the same opinions, talents, and blindspots as you. And that won’t challenge you. 
 As I shared in a recent issue of the podcast, a life of creative work is one in which you are constantly joining and leaving scenes, outgrowing the old (or maybe just moving in a new direction), and then finding something new. 
 Creative work is rarely done in isolation, but we all require solitude to see what resonates with our souls. Personally, I like belonging to groups that allow me space to express myself in ways that feel true and unique but also challenge me to consider other perspectives. Put more practically, I prefer multidisciplinary groups to a group of writers who are just like me. 
 If you find yourself in a crowd of folks who never disagree with you or who don’t give you the space you need, it’s probably time to move on. 
 —Jeff

Jeff, whose primal question is, “Do you see me?”
 Chantel, whose primal question is, “Will you stay?”
 Matt, whose primal question is, "Am I happy being me?"