Existentialism You Are the Author of Your Creative Life
The first of the three philosophical ideas that changed my creative process is existentialism. This concept, championed by thinkers like Sartre and Camus, stresses that we are the authors of our own meaning. In the creative process, this has huge implications. As a rapper, a producer, or a hybrid of both, you will often be told what your work should sound like or whom it should serve. Existentialism reminds us that our music philosophy has no meaning until we give it one. This liberation can be uncomfortable but it is the most honest form of creation. Your art is valid because you made it, not because it meets a checklist. That same principle shapes how you develop your sound as an artist from the inside out, not the outside in.
For me, this meant letting go of people and relationships I didn’t truly resonate with. It meant sitting in the discomfort of not knowing if my choices would work commercially but trusting that the creative process itself was my reward. Whether I was creating beats or writing verses, existential thinking taught me that ownership of your music begins with ownership of your choices. When no one else believes in the path you’re carving, this mindset is the fire that keeps your vision alive.
At its heart, existentialism is a philosophical idea that teaches us that we are the authors of our own lives. There’s no cosmic rulebook dictating what a creative life should look like. For rappers, producers, and hybrid artists, this idea is more than theoretical it’s urgent. You may not have the biggest following or industry co-signs. Existentialism reminds us that this moment matters. It’s yours. Not tomorrow not when you blow up. Right now.
In my experience, existentialism liberated me from waiting for permission. I stopped chasing the wind and started seeking out meaning. Meaning doesn’t have to be grand sometimes it’s making a 40-second beat because that loop healed something in me. Or rapping two verses not because they’ll chart, but because they told the truth. When you internalize this, you realize: your catalog is your fingerprint. Even obscurity is sacred, because it means you’re free to define success on your own terms something many mainstream artists lose when the machine takes over.
Embracing Uncertainty Through Pragmatism
The second of the philosophical ideas that changed my creative process comes from the school of pragmatism. This American-born philosophy, pushed forward by William James and John Dewey. It teaches that truth is what works. In other words, what matters in your creative process is not whether it sounds good to everyone. But whether it truthfully moves the needle for your artistic goals. This is particularly freeing for anyone stuck in perfectionism or comparison. It invites you to test your ideas before you release them. While trusting your decision that move you intentionally in the direction of growth and increase.
When I stopped choosing to focus on making a perfect mix or delivering the most profound bars and instead focused on consistent creation and improvement, things changed. I learned to measure progress through results rather than opinions. Even perceived failures and fallouts taught me what not to repeat and recognizing thinking traps and creative blocks became just as important as fixing the music itself. The creative process stopped being about one masterpiece and became a series of valuable experiments. Pragmatism is what keeps your music in motion rather than trapped in your hard drive forever.
Here’s how pragmatism showed up in my real workflow and how it might show up in yours. I used to spend weeks on a single verse. Obsessing over the words. Rewriting the 16 for the fourteenth time. Wondering if the delivery was record-ready before anyone had even heard it. That wasn’t perfectionism. That’s creative paralysis dressed up as diligence. Pragmatism broke that cycle by giving me a simple question to replace all that noise. Does this move me closer to my actual goal?
For a producer trying to license beats, the goal is volume and quality over time not one flawless track. For a rapper building an audience, the goal is consistent releases that compound trust not one verse that stops everyone in their tracks. Pragmatism reframes what good means based on your specific situation, your specific season.
Three pragmatic shifts that changed my output. Test before you perfect. Share rough versions with a small circle before you invest 40 more hours. Real feedback is more valuable than imagined praise. Measure progress honestly. Not views, not likes internal growth metrics. Are your compositions more intentional than six months ago? Are you finishing more tracks? Are you getting faster without getting sloppier? That’s data. Let the experiment teach you. Not every beat needs to be a single. Not every verse needs to be a statement. Some work exists to develop your craft. Releasing it even quietly is part of the pragmatic process. The song you released to 40 people that taught you about your own voice is not a failure. It’s research.
William James said the truth of an idea is found in its consequences. For independent artists, that means: stop hoarding your music in pursuit of perfect, and start testing your ideas in the world. That’s where you find out what’s actually true about your work.
Absurdism and the Power of Creating Anyway
The final of the three philosophical ideas that changed my creative process is absurdism. This idea, associated with Albert Camus, explores the conflict between our desire for meaning and the chaos of the world. In creative work, this shows up when you pour months into a song that gets less than 42 views. When you compare your 10-hour production day to a 15-second viral clip someone else made in five minutes. Absurdism says create anyway. It’s the same energy that gets you back in the studio after leadership pressure boils over into anger you return not because conditions are perfect, but because creating is who you are. Lean into the joy of making something in a world that doesn’t promise fairness.
Once I gained a fuller understanding of these philosophical ideas. I stopped looking for any rationale to justify my creative expression or process. I started to share more. I got better, faster. I wrote hooks knowing they might be heard by 100 or 100,000 people. The result a sort of freedom. Absurdism doesn’t tell you to give up. It tells you to let go of the illusion that success will ever feel predictable or fair. It brings peace to the creative process because it removes the pressure of certainty.
And in that space beyond expectation, beyond fairness you’ll find a type of artistic clarity that isn’t dependent on outcomes. You create for the act of creation. That’s where some of the best art comes from.
Apply These 3 Philosophical Ideas to Your Music Practice Right Now
Philosophy without application is just interesting conversation. So here’s how to take existentialism, pragmatism, and absurdism off the page and into your actual creative and business life —tarting this week.
Existentialism is a way you can define your creative terms. Sit down and write three sentences. What does success mean to you not to your favorite artist, not to your family, not to the algorithm? What does a meaningful creative session look and feel like for you? What would you still make if no one ever heard it? These aren’t rhetorical questions. They’re the foundation of every business and creative decision you’ll make for the next five years. Independent artists who haven’t answered them end up chasing everybody else’s definition of winning. You can’t build ownership without first knowing what you actually own.
Run your first creative experiment this week. Pick one idea you’ve been overthinking. It could be a beat concept, a hook you’ve been sitting on, a content idea you keep postponing. Give it two focused hours not two weeks. Finish it, release it to a small audience, and observe the response. Not to chase validation, but to learn something true. What did it feel like to finish it? What did the listener reflect back to you? What would you do differently? That experiment is your classroom. Pragmatism says your next great creative decision lives inside that feedback not inside your head.
Absurdism allows you to make something with zero expectation today. This is the most freeing practice I know. Set a timer for 30 minutes. Open your DAW or your notebook. Make something a loop, a verse, a full idea with the explicit agreement that it may never be heard by anyone. No upload. No share. Just make it.
You’ll be surprised what comes out when you remove the audience entirely. Some of my most honest work happened when I stopped performing for an imaginary crowd and just made something true. Absurdism gives you permission to do this regularly. It’s not wasted time. It’s how you maintain the fire when the business of music starts to feel heavy. These three practices won’t fix your career overnight. But over 90 days, they’ll change the texture of your creative life in ways that are hard to explain until you feel them.
Frequently Asked Questions
Can philosophical ideas actually improve your music output?
Yes, but not in the way most people expect. Philosophy doesn’t teach you new techniques. It removes the mental and emotional obstacles that were slowing you down. Existentialism helps you stop waiting for permission. Pragmatism breaks perfectionist paralysis. Absurdism frees you from outcome anxiety. When those blocks are gone, your natural creative ability flows without the friction that was always there but rarely named.
What's the difference between pragmatism and just lowering your standards?
Pragmatism is often misread this way and it’s worth clarifying. Lowering your standards means accepting less than your ability. Pragmatism means aligning your effort with your actual goal for a specific project, then measuring honestly whether you’re moving toward it. A high standard and a pragmatic process aren’t in conflict in fact, pragmatism is how high-output creators stay sharp over a decade without burning out.
How do you stay motivated when your music gets little to no response?
This is exactly what absurdism addresses. The honest answer is that external response is an unreliable motivator it will always disappoint you eventually, even at high levels. The sustainable motivator is the meaning you generate from the act of creating itself. The artists who last aren’t the ones who got the most validation early. They’re the ones who found a reason to create that didn’t depend on the crowd showing up.
Final Thoughts Philosophical Ideas Aren’t Just for Thinkers
When we talk about philosophical ideas that changed my creative process, we’re not just engaging in intellectual exercises. These ideas ground us when our motivation is fragile, when our projects flop, and when our path feels misunderstood. Philosophy helps us craft not just music, but meaning. When you apply existential ownership, pragmatic experimentation, and absurdist perseverance to your work as a rapper, producer, or hybrid artist you are no longer just making music. You are establishing your worldview.
So much of music today is shaped by trends and tech. But the creative process is ancient. And it’s still powered by deep questions, bold decisions, and the willingness to wrestle with the unknown. These three philosophical ideas didn’t just change how I create they changed who I am while creating.
If this post resonated these ideas don’t have to stay theoretical.
The Goal Mastery Framework was built specifically for independent rappers and producers who are ready to stop creating in chaos and start building a creative practice that’s intentional, sustainable, and yours. It’s not a motivation course. It’s a system rooted in the same belief that structure and philosophy aren’t opposites. Structure is the philosophical act of transforming your creative life from dreams into reality.
If you’re not at the system stage yet and need to reset first, the Emergency Rapper & Producer Survival Kit is the place to start. It gives you immediate clarity when everything feels scattered.
→ Grab the Goal Mastery Framework → Download the Emergency Kit
Justin David
