Maybe You’re not the Genius

Maybe you’re not the genius - and that’s a good thing.

In ancient Greece, when a poet wrote something beautiful, they didn’t take the credit. They would say it came from a daimon - a kind of spirit or force that whispered the words to them.

The Romans called this a genius - not a person, but a presence. Something outside the self, that might visit you if the conditions were right.

This idea lasted for centuries. Creative brilliance wasn’t something you were - it was something that moved through you.

You didn’t own it. You just showed up for it.

But somewhere around the Renaissance, that changed.

Rational humanism elevated the individual above all.
No more daimon. No more muse.
Suddenly, you had to be the genius.

And with that came a new pressure: to be exceptional, original, brilliant - all by yourself.

It’s a heavy weight.

Author Elizabeth Gilbert spoke about this in her TED talk. She said this shift distorted creativity. It made artists feel like they had to wrestle greatness out of themselves, instead of making space for it to come.

When we believe we are our ideas, any failure becomes a personal flaw.

But when we see creativity as something that moves through us - not from us - it changes everything.

It invites humility. Discipline. Even a kind of reverence.
And maybe most importantly, it invites collaboration.

Even Steve Jobs had a team of world-class designers and engineers.

Einstein worked out his theories in correspondence with peers - and built on the thinking of those who came before him.

Every masterpiece we praise was shaped by invisible networks of support, conversation, and influence.

Creativity isn’t solo. It’s ecological.

Great work doesn’t appear in a vacuum. It emerges from fertile ground: ideas passed between people. Conversations that shift perspective. Feedback that sharpens the edge.

In today’s world of personal brands and pressure to be “the next big thing,” we still glorify originality - but we forget to honour the system it came from.

We talk about genius as though it’s a lightning strike. But more often, it’s a slow build. A flicker passed from one person to another until something catches fire.

So what if we stopped asking, “Can I come up with something great?”
And instead asked, “How can I stay open?”
To collaboration. To mystery. To a process that doesn’t begin or end with us.

You don’t have to carry the entire creative burden alone.

You just have to show up.
Do your part.
And hold the door open for something greater to arrive.

(Image reference: ‘Kiss of the Muse’ by Paul Cezanne)