Debbie Millman

Since that interview, I've come to realize she's not the only one whose achievements feel ephemeral and fleeting, not by a long shot.

Over the past four years, in addition to my interviews, I've conducted my own version of a Proustian questionnaire for print magazine.

Hundreds of creative people have answered the same 10 questions about their life and their work.

Given the response I had with the famous painter, I included this question.

How long does the feeling of pride and joy at accomplishing something last for you?

As I collected my responses to the questionnaire and reviewed all of my transcripts of my interviews and conversations, I saw how up close, for so many people, the pride and joy of accomplishment dissipates almost as quickly as it manifests.

I heard it in the words of a poet who shared that the high of publishing a book lasted until she sent in her final manuscript.

I heard it in the voice of a designer who admitted he felt restless the very night of an awards ceremony.

And I heard it in the plaintive confession of a musician who told me, the only time I feel at peace

is when I'm in the studio, not on stage, not after, only while I'm making.

Another confession.

I've felt this way my whole life, after publishing a book,

after mounting an exhibition, after a TED Talk, after what should feel like I've reached the pinnacle, moments I've dreamed of for decades, the joy evaporates within days, sometimes hours, and once terrifyingly, within minutes.

And then, for so many people, what happens next?

The quest to create?

to make something bigger, more ambitious, or more challenging begins again.

I found this all utterly confounding, and I became consumed with the question of why.

Why does the feeling of creative achievement slip away almost as soon as we grasp it?

Why are we in such a rush to want something more?

Is it ego?