I want to live a “creative life.” I have no fucking clue what that means.

In her book We Need Your Art, Amie McNee talks about the practice of “coronating yourself as an artist.” She details the hesitation people feel claiming that title: the fear of presumption, of being judged, of not being legitimate enough. She emphasizes how important it is not to qualify it with phrases like “aspiring artist” or “well, I’m not making money off it.” As Brian Wecht of Ninja Sex Party told a fan at a recent LA Show, “You make music. You’re a musician.” 

I’ve never shied away from the title “artist.” It probably helps that my parents often introduced me to others with my moniker, “the artist of the family.” When I was a child, I used to draw pictures and sell them to my neighbors for a dollar. Most of my graduate studies were funded by cosplay commissions, custom bong paintings, and my Etsy store. Calling myself an artist didn’t feel epiphanic or grandiose; it was simply accurate. 

You might be surprised to learn, then, how incredibly nervous I was about launching this website. How many times I sat at this laptop, typed “squarespace” into the URL, only to postpone it another day. How, even now, I’m sitting in my favorite coffee shop, wondering if today will be the day I actually do it. 

You see, working in the gaming industry was a dream come true for me. My career trajectory has been beyond my wildest imaginations. I graduated college early, got a PhD, and found myself working at the coolest company on the planet. And in a few short years, I’ve worked my way from entry level researcher to the Head of Insights on one of our R&D titles. My job is incredible. I love it. I’m grateful for it. And I strive to never, ever take it for granted. 

But true as that all is: I was put on this earth to make art. And one day, I dream of a world where my days aren’t spent developing research roadmaps and debating audience personas. One day, I want to say goodbye to all of it, and embrace an unapologetically creative life. I know. I still feel butterflies when I dare to think it.

I’ve always had a plan, you know. Going to college was never a question. As soon as I decided to major in psychology, I added grad school to my five year plan. I secured a job at Riot Games before I graduated. And every time I grabbed hold of a rung on the corporate ladder, I had my eye on the next one. But here’s the scary truth: some day, long before I retire, I want to quit my job. I want to live a “creative life.” I have no fucking clue what that means. I just know I’m going to do it. I have to do it. 

That doesn’t mean I've stopped caring about work. I still love it. I still feel a deep sense of integrity in my craft. But I am giving myself permission to care less — care less than I used to, care less than my peers do, and care less than I do about my art. 

And this website is proof of that. Proof of where my priorities are. Proof of the unapologetic life I want for myself. 

So, yeah. This is scary. But it’s like I always say: in all the permutations of every possible universe, I am the only me that has ever been or ever will be. And it’s my existential imperative to live the most authentic version of my life as I can. 

Some other Lea can climb the corporate ladder. Me? I’m gonna do this. And I won’t be sorry — not even for a second. Because this? This half-baked, unplanned vision I've latched onto? 

It's worth chasing.