I’ve always been creative, but for years I treated it more like a curse than a superpower. Instead of embracing my brain’s inability to shut up, I spent too much time trying to fit into society’s neat little creative boxes. Spoiler: It didn’t work. Eventually, I realized I don’t need a “title” or a “discipline”—I just need to make stuff. Doodling, writing, staring into space, reading random Wikipedia articles—it all fuels the creative chaos. Without creativity, life would be vanilla ice cream. With it, we’ve got sprinkles, whipped cream, and 31 flavors to choose from.

I’ve never called myself an illustrator (we don’t talk about my editorial artist days at San Diego State), but once I started doodling on my iPad, it stuck. After getting over the weirdness of drawing on glass, I realized I wasn’t confined to a single style or subject. My inspiration? Humanity in all its quirky glory. Two old guys having lunch at their usual spot. A little girl doing homework with her feet swinging. A jazz musician lost in the groove, cigarette dangling from his lips. Or someone bundled up so tightly in the cold that only their eyes peek out. Life is weird, wonderful, and begging to be drawn.