It isn’t that you’re “not creative.” It’s that your creativity has been buried under numbness, perfectionism, and noise.

🧘‍♀️Learn more about Soma+IQ
↪️https://stan.store/SomaIQ

The world tells you art is for the chosen few. But as Rick Rubin says, art is simply a journal entry in time, while Gabor Maté shows us, addiction and suppression are what block the flow. When you clear the backlog, creativity is your natural state.
•••

In this episode you’ll learn:

• * Why blocked creativity is really a sign of emotional constriction. * How sensitivity is the gateway to true artistic expression.
• * The hidden connection between creativity, addiction, and nervous system overload.
• * Why numbness is an “active process” that drains your energy.
• * How play, improv, and “sucking on purpose” break perfectionism.
• * The real link between being, becoming, and belonging in your creative journey.

•••

👉 If this landed, share it with someone who’s convinced they’re “not creative.”

The modern world is awash in anxiety, depression, and chronic loneliness. These conditions are not aberrations of character, but predictable consequences of an environment increasingly at odds with human needs. At its core, the crisis is not about chemical imbalances or personal shortcomings. It is about connection, or rather, the profound lack of it.

A recent discussion on the Soma+IQ podcast, hosted by Adam Carbary with founder Steven Jaggers, surfaces a central idea: healing is less about self-improvement and more about repairing the bonds that tether us to our bodies, our communities, and one another.

Consider the cultural backdrop. Many of us cannot name our neighbors. Our social interactions unfold more on screens than across kitchen tables. The daily exchange of hugs and eye contact, basic nutrients for the nervous system, has been replaced with likes, comments, and fleeting digital affirmations. It is no wonder the body reacts with symptoms we label as illness.

We are living in an abnormal environment, and our stress is a normal response.

Jaggers and Carbary propose a reordering of priorities. Instead of chasing “trauma release” or the endless project of self-fixing, the work should begin with connection. When individuals link head, heart, and gut into a coherent whole, the system organizes itself. Pain diminishes. Relationships deepen. Communities strengthen. Healing, in this framework, is not the prize at the finish line; it is the natural consequence of being genuinely connected.

The nervous system operates like the mycelial networks that allow forests to communicate. Breath becomes the mediator of that network. By drawing attention back from the whir of thoughts into the chest and diaphragm, people restore the physiological conditions for curiosity and presence. This matters because curiosity, as the hosts argue, is the gateway to connection. It is impossible to remain both tightly contracted in stress and open to wonder at the same time.

If children embody relentless curiosity, adults often surrender it in the name of stability. Work, bills, and societal expectations calcify into boxes: the settled career, the settled relationship, the settled beliefs. But settlement comes at a cost. It forecloses growth, silences imagination, and diminishes the ability to truly know oneself, let alone another person.

The alternative is harder but richer: to keep asking questions, to let people and beliefs remain verbs instead of nouns, and to bear the discomfort of revising one’s worldview.

Loneliness, too, is reframed not as pathology but as signal. It is supposed to hurt; the pain is evolutionary design, compelling us back into relationship. Yet not all relationships resolve loneliness. Without connection to the self, even a crowded room can feel empty. The first step, then, is inward, integrating one’s own history, weaving one’s own story into coherence, before extending outward.

Ultimately, the conversation circles back to beauty, defined not as an object but as the recognition of relationships between things: tree to soil, breath to body, neighbor to neighbor. Beauty lies in the web, not the individual strand.

The editorial lesson is stark but hopeful. Healing is not the goal; connection is. Our health, mental, physical, and civic, depends less on innovation than on remembering what we have forgotten: that we are social creatures wired for reciprocity, presence, and touch. If modern life feels unlivable, it is because it asks us to live against our own nature.

The way forward begins simply: a deeper breath, an honest conversation, a hand extended not through a screen but across a table.