YouTube, in its current state, is both a beautiful marvel and a horrendous car accident you can’t look away from. I have such a deep love/hate relationship with the platform, further fuelled by my recent decision to take on content creation full-time.
On one hand, the content quality rivals television and is such a joy to watch. Now more than ever, story-telling, cinematography, and creativity is at the center of all videos and the level of execution you can expect is insanity. However, once you step into the rat race and make the decision to play the game (rather than just spectate)—suddenly that quality becomes what keeps you up at night (quite literally).
What used to be a platform with such low barrier to entry now feels like an impossible task, at least to the level in which people expect their content to be delivered. To succeed on the platform you have two options—do it better than everyone else, or do it differently. Both of which come with immense pressure.
I’ve been feeling that pressure in a heavy way lately. I know it has a lot to do with channel growth now being directly related to the life I’m able to live. And although I have no shortage of projects to work on and amazing brands to partner with, there’s this self-imposed anxiety that I just can’t seem to shake. I feel a level of creativity that’s both greater than I‘ve ever felt before, and more threatening than it’s ever been.
What’s on the line is my ability to keep burnout at bay. I thought working a 9-5 while also creating content on the side was all-consuming but with taking it full-time, that wave has turned into a tsunami. It’s true what they say about trading a full-time job for entrepreneurship—you really do go from working 9-5 to 24/7.
What makes content creation in general hard to set boundaries for is the integration it has to have with your life. In all hours of the day I find myself thinking about how I could turn that current moment into a content opportunity. You can always be filming. Always be creating. The line between life and work is not just blurry, it’s translucent.
There’s also the consideration of where the line is between your ‘flow state’ and just pure madness. I often find myself questioning whether I’ve cracked the code for transitioning into a flow state or have just learned to force myself to keep pushing through. At the end of a 16 hour day, am I still doing this at will? Or has it turned into obsession and anxiety altogether?
Despite all of this, YouTube is still (and will remain to be) the one creative outlet that fulfills me more than anything. It feeds my passion and ambition and has pushed me out of my comfort zone more than any other venture has. I’m incredibly thankful for all that it’s brought me and all that’s yet to come. I do think I’m at a critical moment where I need to establish clearer boundaries between life and work now that my creative passion is also my career.
The biggest reason it’s taken me so long to pursue this full-time (besides fear of failure) is because I didn’t want to get to a point where I no longer find joy in creation. Creative burnout seems to be a normal occurrence in most creators’ lives—cycling between being creatively energized and the state of exhaustion and paralyzation. How can we rework this cyclical rat race to be something that has longevity and can sustain us? That’s something I’ve yet to discover but would like to put more energy into analyzing.
This isn’t to deter you from entering the arena—I would never want to do that. However, there needs to be more transparency from the industry (and the people within it) around burnout and mental health. Imagine being 14 and walking into this beautiful space unknowingly, only for it to create trauma you have yet to experience. Let’s not pretend this industry is all glory and success. Here’s to shining a light on the blood, sweat, and tears.
