The Toddler Exercise
The Toddler Exercise is a four-question drill for finding the actual reason you create. You ask "why" of every answer you give - the way a toddler does - until you reach something that will not reduce any further. Most creators stop at their first answer, which is almost always too general to build anything on.
Every action we take is driven by a motivation.
Every post we make is driven by a motivation.
Understanding motivation is a core strategy actors use in theatre, and it works exactly the same way for creating online.
Clear the table first
Before you can answer honestly, three things have to go.
Set aside any pre-existing perceptual biases.
Let go of any ego from past successes.
Release any community expectations about what you should be creating.
The goal here is your personal motivation. Not your audience's. Not your peers'. Not the version you would give in an interview.
The four questions
There is a reason you posted that first video, shared that first piece of art, joined that first chatroom, or hit "go live" for the first time. The answers usually come out simple and honest - you wanted community, you wanted fun with friends, you loved something so much you had to share it. Those are good starting points. Now go a layer deeper with each one.
Why do you want to create?
Why is having a space important?
Why must you share your passion?
Why you and not someone else?
Digging at those questions usually uncovers the real core. You will find a passion driven by nostalgia, by an unmet need, or by an emotionally compelling memory that framed how you see the world and still matters to you now.
What this looks like in practice
I was in a coaching session once with a creator who opened with their goal: "building a community." It is a nice thing to hear, but it has no specificity at all.
So I asked why they wanted to build a community.
"I want to enjoy games with other people that like the games I'm into."
Better, but still surface. I asked them to go deeper, and they started talking about their childhood.
"Growing up I had no one to play with."
Suddenly their streams made complete sense. They were building the play space they had hoped for as a kid, driven by a loneliness they had lived through and a craving for real friendship.
That feeling - the human ache of isolation - is universally understood. My empathy for them strengthened immediately, because I felt the same thing growing up in the middle of nowhere. When you are that open with yourself, and then with an audience, it has the potential to form a bond stronger than anything you have built before.
Why the emotion matters
Motivation carries emotion, and emotion drives decision-making. It is why car dealerships push the test drive. They are hoping that gripping the steering wheel, putting on your own music, or - in my case after arriving in Los Angeles - feeling air conditioning for the first time will form an emotional relationship that makes you more likely to buy.
It works. And it works the same way for the relationship between a creator and an audience.
Turn it into one line you can own
Once you have the deep version, distill it. The long form goes deep into your personal life and is richly specific, but it is not something you would want to recite daily to an audience or a potential brand partner. Trim the language, sharpen the key points, and craft a concise version that still carries the essence - short enough to sit comfortably in a bio, a pitch, or a social post.
Mine is this:
"I believe the greatest stories are the ones we tell together, so let's tell one tonight."
With that first line, my purpose and my reasoning for whatever show follows are unmistakable. People understand not just what I am doing but why. Anyone who believes great stories come from a diverse set of voices will feel a stronger alignment with how I work.
When I first started managing Jack Douglass ( Jacksfilms ) we ran this exact exercise together. He already had a loyal base built over years of consistent creation, but we were wrestling with how to make newer formats break through. We tried a pile of experiments. Some performed okay. Some flopped. Through all of it I kept noticing an undercurrent: viewers felt an almost unspoken bond with his voice and perspective that had not been fully leaned into.
After about an hour of probing and refining, we landed on his:
"I believe the internet is a joke, so let's make fun of it together."
That pointed at how much of the internet's conversation had drifted into the nonsensical. But it also revealed something bigger. The idea of "together" had not been mined yet. People did not just want to watch Jack's commentary - they wanted to be part of the joke, to be onstage with him. That motivation sparked Yesterday I Asked You, which became one of his largest breakout series and turned casual viewers into active participants.
Two rules once you have it
First, name your craft properly and apply no qualifiers. Do not call yourself a "small streamer" or an "amateur painter." You are a broadcaster. You are an artist. You are a musician. Embracing a limitation in your own title will only limit your potential long term.
Second, understand that a motivation statement is fragile. The content you produce has to reflect the promise inside it. If you drift from the motivation, or create in a way that is not aligned with it, viewers will experience confusion. Over time that costs you their trust and then their commitment.
When you clearly name where you come from and why you create, you are handing your audience a shortcut to who you are. People who recognise themselves in that origin will lean in and stay. Those who do not will scroll past.
That is fine. Clarity is not meant to please everyone. It attracts the right people for you.
This framework comes from Create With Purpose.
Chapter 1 is where the Toddler Exercise lives, and the chapters after it build directly on your answer - how the motivation becomes a brand, a product line, and a storefront that attracts the people it was designed for. The book is available in paperback and Kindle.
