When Creators Have to Become “Creators”

While writing this blog, my granddaughter was standing in my studio wearing purple headphones with evidence of popped bubbles in her hair, poking at sensory sand, rearranging my props, and generally reminding me that life doesn’t pause just because I’m trying to launch a candle company.

The funny thing is moments like that are exactly why Seasonal Echoes exists in the first place.

Not the sensory sand specifically, although that may become a core memory for both of us.

The moments.

The ordinary little moments that somehow become the stories we carry with us years later.

I thought the hard part would be learning waxes, wicks, fragrance oils, photography, packaging, website design, and shipping regulations.

I was wrong.

The hardest part has been realizing that if I want people to discover Seasonal Echoes, they also have to discover me.

Not in an influencer sort of way.

In a “hello, I made this thing and I hope it matters to someone” sort of way.

As a natural lurker, that has been unexpectedly uncomfortable.

I’ve spent years happily observing from the sidelines. Then I started building a candle company and suddenly found myself posting reels, writing blogs, sharing stories, and asking strangers on the internet whether a gray cord or a white cord better captures the feeling of frozen huckleberries.

Somewhere along the way I realized I wasn’t just becoming a candlemaker.

I was becoming a creator.

And that was surprising because I’ve always considered myself creative.

I went to school for design and production art. I’ve spent years making things, imagining things, and building things. Creativity was never the problem.

The reality is that somewhere between careers, mortgages, family, payroll deadlines, and all the responsibilities that come with being an adult, creativity often became something I squeezed into the margins.

It never left. It just got quieter.

Seasonal Echoes has been my way of turning the volume back up.

The challenge wasn’t creativity.

The challenge was visibility.

The internet’s version of a creator often seems to involve being on camera, posting constantly, following trends, and somehow convincing an algorithm to pay attention to you.

That’s where the fear starts creeping in.

The fear of judgment.

The fear of putting something out there and hearing nothing back.

The fear of posting and getting two views.

The fear of wondering whether anyone is even seeing what you’re creating.

And then there’s the algorithm.

If you’ve spent any amount of time around small business owners, artists, makers, or candlemakers, you’ve heard the conversation. Post at the right time. Use the right audio. Make reels. Follow the trends. Feed the algorithm.

I’ll admit it - I think about it too.

My Instagram algorithm has no idea what to do with me.

One minute I’m studying candle photography, the next I’m watching grizzly bears in Montana or sea turtles making their way into the Gulf on a Texas beach, following a distillery in Arizona, or saving a landscape photo because it reminds me of a place I loved.

Somewhere in the middle of all that is Seasonal Echoes.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m not actually trying to beat the algorithm.

I’m trying to find my people.

The people who still have a song that instantly takes them somewhere.

The people who understand how a scent can unlock a memory they forgot they were carrying.

The people who laugh at stories about granddaughters, bubble guns, and wooden bears getting into trouble in a candle studio.

The people who understand why a photograph of a Montana mountain or a quiet road can make someone unexpectedly emotional.

If they buy a candle someday, that’s wonderful.

But if all we do is share a story, a memory, or a laugh along the way, that’s pretty wonderful too.

The funny thing is, I’m actually very peopley.

Once I know you.

Once we’ve talked about music, family, places we’ve loved, or memories tied to a particular scent.

Once you’ve stopped feeling like a number on a screen and started feeling like a person.

That’s where I come alive.

Maybe that’s what I’ve been learning through this process. Maybe social media isn’t asking me to become someone I’m not. Maybe it’s simply giving me a way to share those stories and allow future Echo Keepers to get to know me before we ever meet.

Because behind every scent, every playlist, every coaster design, and every collection is a person who remembers the places, songs, and moments that inspired them.

Seasonal Echoes was never built around candles alone.

It was built around stories.

The stories behind a place.

The stories behind a song.

The stories behind a memory.

And maybe sharing those stories is the bridge between the creator I already am and the “creator” I thought I needed to become.

Because Seasonal Echoes was never meant to be about collecting followers.

It was meant to be about collecting moments.