Does Your Mind See the Creativity Hidden in Weirdness?
This week, I had an interesting life lesson that I wanted to share, which aligns with the theme of Higher Narrative. I had several mindset shifts, but life taught me once again that this is a never-ending journey that unfolds in layers.
Do I want to live the life or do I want to write about it?
Last year, early February (almost 10 months ago), I enrolled in a creative writing course. And just last week, 9 months after the course ended, I watched a teaser for a Netflix series that reminded me a little too much of the story I had submitted for one of the assignments. Later, I’ll explain why this isn’t some magical synchronicity but more likely a case of “creative inspiration.”
But first, let me set the stage a little. This isn’t just about me; it’s about a trap we all fall into sometimes. I’ll use my own story to illustrate.
The World of Maths and Social Sciences
I grew up reading far too many novels, trying to make sense of the people around me. Although Orhan Pamuk’s writing is challenging, it deeply moves me, and I’ve found much solace in his books. He often writes historical and sociological novels exploring the tension between East and West, a topic that resonates with anyone Turkish.
When I was 24, I went to the UK to study sociology, driven by a need to understand what felt wrong in Turkish culture. While there are aspects of it I love, I never fully identified with being Turkish. I quit my job in software and data analysis to embark on a deeply personal journey rather than an academic one. In my first semester, I took two modules that now feel symbolic: Introduction to Modernity and Sociology of the Body, Pain, and Emotions. My goal was to become a novelist like Orhan Pamuk. Being the only Turkish writer to win a Nobel Prize, his voice holds a unique and lasting significance in the cultural narrative.
I still support how seriously we take ourselves when we’re younger, even when we’re taking ourselves too seriously :)
Coming from an engineering background, life had always felt like maths: structured, with clear answers. But sociology was different. Many things could be true at once, and there were no definite conclusions. My thesis received a B with the comment, “A highly interesting thesis with extensive research and original ideas, but lacking a clear conclusion and slightly unacademic.” Writing that thesis was a big struggle. I realized then: either you live a life or you write about it. I chose embodiment over writing and returned to professional life.
For 14 years, I didn’t publicly write anything about the things I would like to write about. My thesis explored the contradictions of Turkish rakı culture, symbolizing the tension between Ottoman restrictions on alcohol and modern Turks using it as a symbol of progressiveness. That exploration resolved my internal conflict: it wasn’t about whether I was Turkish or not. It was about being true to my nature and growing from my personal values rather than cultural roots.
Mental Barriers and Missed Opportunities
Years later, through the creative writing course, I revisited the question: could I become a creative writer? My conclusion was discouraging: I felt I wasn’t imaginative enough for fiction and lacked the patience and discipline to be a writer. I kept not writing for another 9 months until I launched Higher Narrative. Technically, this project has been in the making for 14 years, with countless ideas living in my head.
What helped me overcome my mental barrier? A small, unexpected moment. I created a series of abstract calligraphy pieces called Searching Back for My Imagination. Without any claim to being a painter, I brought one of the pieces to a Secret Santa gift exchange. To my surprise, it became the hit of the exchange, sparking a friendly contest over who would end up with it. That experience showed me that it’s not always about technique; it’s about the energy we put into things. Like yoga, where awareness matters more than the poses themselves. Encouraged, I built the Higher Narrative website in a day, abandoning my perfectionism, and launched it without overthinking.
The Netflix Case
During the creative writing course, I submitted a short story called Purple Suite. The assignment was to write a 500-word piece using the keywords “knife” and “hotel.” My story was set in a fictional retreat clinic where guests addressed physical issues rooted in emotional causes. The protagonist, a woman with liver problems, discovers her condition stems from unresolved parental patterns and ADHD. As the story unfolds, the love lives of the main characters, both the guest and the clinician treating her, are gradually unraveled, suggesting all problems in life is somehow related to our ability to connect with others. I even mentioned the idea of expanding it into a series of seven suites, each tied to a different color. The inspiration came from the Turkish song Renkli Rüyalar Oteli (“Hotel of Colorful Dreams”).
Ten months later, I saw the singer of that song in a Netflix series teaser. The plot? A clinic where people with love troubles delve into their psychological baggage. What struck me wasn’t just the premise but the fast-paced style of dialogue, which mirrored the rhythm and tone of my story in how it explored the psychological roots of the characters’ issues.
Thought Over Form
For Purple Suite, I thought this was just my weird imagination again, it would sound irrelevant to people, and nobody reads books anymore anyway. So I didn’t extend the idea into a series of short stories as I had initially planned. What I couldn’t see at the time was that, despite my lack of knowledge in screenplay writing, it could have made an excellent Netflix series; especially with its cast featuring some of the most famous actors and actresses from Turkey.
Bam! One more time again, you don’t know what you don’t know.
It never occurred to me that I could turn this into a play, a film, or a series. I limited myself to the form of short stories. If I had thought, “This could be an excellent series, but I don’t know how to write one,” the conversation would have shifted. Instead, I simply didn’t see the opportunity because I was boxed in by my own thinking. I dismissed the idea as just another quirky notion, assuming it was too strange to matter. The possibility of other forms didn’t occur to me; partly because I wasn’t trained in them and didn’t have a circle of writers or artists to challenge me.
This experience reminded me why creating space to think beyond our natural assumptions should be a constant, ongoing effort. Where does creativity go when it’s not about solving problems, but about seizing unseen possibilities? Perhaps it flows into the next iteration of ourselves.
Embracing the Next Version of Ourselves
This brings me back to Rick Rubin’s words in The Creative Act:
“Consider how many innovations that might have changed the world have been lost because someone was so focused on their goal, they missed the revelation right in front of them.”
Sometimes, who we think we should be keeps us from discovering who we are. And when we hold ourselves back, we deprive others of the gifts we could share. What if we allowed ourselves to unfold naturally, peeling back the layers to find what lies beneath?