A Creek's Guidance on Doing for the Joy of Simply Doing

These photos are from a creek not far from where I live. I stand beside it. I notice the water. It moves—sometimes swift, sometimes slow, curling over stones, gathering in deep pools, spilling in little cascades. It is moving, it is flowing, but it is not going anywhere in particular.

The creek flows for the flowing. The creek stops when it stops. It isn't about being good at flowing or productive; it flows to flow as much as it needs to go. Then stops.

An applause would be silly, or recognition… 'Here is an award for flowing'—how odd. The river is simply flowing, going, flowing to flow, go, flow.

The bank is sprinkled with wild bouquets, bloomed for their own joy. They didn't wait for an audience; they didn't hold back or let themselves lack; they popped when it was time to pop this colour out.

Oh, how tangled I find myself in useful, profitable, or improvement—my disillusionment in the joy that is joyous to enjoy. Forget what I will create; let the joy be my only fate; there is no need to be good, no recognition I need. I will try to let all that go and simply be with this creative seed.

There is something deeply freeing about doing something just because it calls to you. Picking up a paintbrush and swirling colour onto paper with no concern for the outcome. Dancing in the kitchen with no steps to follow. Singing even if no one hears, or not caring if they do. Writing words that may never be read.

I remember a scene in the movie Bridesmaids where the character Annie Walker, played by Kristen Wiig, bakes a single cupcake and decorates it beautifully before eating it. This moment perfectly captures the sentiment that sometimes we do things just for ourselves.

When we return to the simple joy of doing, we return to something essential—our own aliveness. We reconnect with the childlike wonder that once allowed us to build sandcastles just to watch the waves wash them away, to scribble outside the lines, and to hum a tune just because it felt good in our chests.

In the weight of expectations—your own or the world's—let's pause for a moment and let go of the absurd.

Let's step outside, find a tree, a river, a bird in flight, and watch how they move without hesitation, without justification.

Let them remind us that some of the most beautiful things in life are done simply for the joy of doing.

It is hard to believe, but we do not need a destination to be whole.

You do not need an outcome to make something worthwhile.

You are allowed to create, to play, to move just because it brings you joy.

Joy for the joy of doing is always more than enough.