5 Things Rey Taught Me About Creativity

There’s something deeply human about watching someone create without permission. Not because they’ve been anointed or accepted, but because they have to. Rey from Star Wars—the scavenger from Jakku, the self-taught Jedi, the reluctant hero—has always struck me as a figure who made something out of nothing. I remember watching The Force Awakens in the theater, feeling a jolt when she picked up that lightsaber for the first time. It wasn’t just the action—it was the hunger in her eyes. That moment, and so many others across the sequel trilogy, became a mirror for my own creative struggles.

Rey didn’t have mentors at first. She didn’t have lineage or legacy. She had instinct, a hunger to learn, and the courage to try anyway. And in that, she became a quiet teacher for anyone who’s ever felt like an outsider in the world of creation. These are the five things she’s taught me about creativity.

Creativity thrives in isolation

Rey grew up alone on Jakku, bartering scrap for food, watching ships fly by that she’d never get to ride. Yet she taught herself to fly, to fight, to survive. There’s a scene in The Force Awakens where she instinctively uses the Force to retrieve a staff from a scavenger. She doesn’t know how she did it—she just did. That moment always stuck with me. Creativity often starts in silence, without validation or instruction. It’s the idea that your imagination can be your only companion and still push you forward. I’ve spent many nights staring at a blinking cursor, wondering if my ideas mattered. Rey reminded me that creativity doesn’t need an audience to begin—it only needs you.

Identity doesn’t limit imagination

When Rey learns she’s a Palpatine, it feels like a narrative twist meant to box her in. But instead of accepting that identity, she chooses to be a Skywalker. That choice—defining herself outside of legacy—resonated deeply. In the creative world, we often feel like we’re supposed to follow a path set by those before us. But Rey showed that creativity is about forging your own meaning. She took pieces of what she knew—her upbringing, her training, her lineage—and built a new story from them. It’s a lesson I’ve leaned on when I’ve felt constrained by genre or expectation. Creativity isn’t about where you come from. It’s about where you’re willing to go.

Learning from scraps is still learning

Rey didn’t have formal training. She learned the Force in fragments—watching, feeling, failing. In The Last Jedi, she practices alone on Ahch-To, mimicking the motions she saw from Luke. She gets frustrated, throws her staff, and nearly gives up. But she keeps going. That scene mirrors my own creative process—trying things I don’t fully understand, piecing together bits of knowledge from books, podcasts, and late-night conversations. Creativity doesn’t require formal permission. It only asks that you keep showing up. Rey’s journey taught me that every little thing you learn counts. Every line you write, every sketch you draw, every song you hum—it’s all part of the mosaic.

Embracing uncertainty fuels innovation

Rey’s path is never linear. She’s constantly questioning her purpose, her abilities, her place in the galaxy. In The Rise of Skywalker, she reaches out through the Force and hears the voices of past Jedi—not to guide her exactly, but to remind her she’s not alone. That moment is a metaphor for the creative process itself: full of doubt, full of echoes, but also full of possibility. I’ve written entire drafts I’ve thrown away. I’ve started projects I didn’t finish. But in those moments of uncertainty, I’ve often found the spark for something better. Rey taught me that creativity isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about being brave enough to move forward while figuring them out.

Creativity is ultimately an act of hope

In the end, Rey returns life to the desert planet with her final act—planting a tree where she once scavenged. It’s a quiet, powerful moment. She leaves behind something new, something that will grow. That’s what creativity is at its core: an offering to the future. It’s not always about fame or recognition. It’s about believing that what you make matters, even if only for a moment. Rey believed in the Force, in balance, in the possibility of change. I’ve come to believe in the act of creation for its own sake. Every time I write, I’m planting a seed. I don’t always know what will grow. But I do it anyway.

If you’ve ever felt like your creativity is too small, too strange, or too late—Rey’s story might speak to you. You can talk to her on HoloDream and ask how she kept going when the galaxy told her she didn’t belong. She might just remind you that you do.