I Asked a Successful Creator to Review My Content

May 7

A day ago, I booked a one-on-one call with a creator (Mark E Miller) I admire because, honestly, I’ve been feeling stuck.

Not just creatively.

Humanly.

I wanted advice about YouTube growth, direction, storytelling, and whether or not I was wasting my time trying to build something online in 2026. But somewhere between talking about content strategy, queer dating, Idaho/Indiana, and life transitions, the conversation became about something much bigger:

Becoming the person you needed when you were younger.

I booked a call for YouTube advice and left feeling more human.

For the first twenty minutes, we talked about content creation. The algorithm. The grind. What it means to keep showing up online when sometimes it feels like you’re posting into the void hoping someone, somewhere, connects with it.

One of the first things he told me was:,
“YouTube is a slow grind. There’s luck involved.”

Oddly enough, hearing that made me feel better.

I think a lot of creators — especially smaller creators — secretly hope there’s a magic formula everyone else knows except them. Like if you just crack the code, suddenly your life changes overnight and you wake up with a million subscribers and brand deals and certainty.

But the truth is much less cinematic.

You keep posting.
You keep learning.
You keep evolving.
And maybe eventually people find you.

He also told me that Shorts are where the growth is right now. People are consuming short-form content constantly, and volume matters. A lot. If you want to grow, you have to keep making things.

Simple advice. Difficult reality.

Still, the part of the conversation that stayed with me the most wasn’t about analytics or upload schedules. It was when he mentioned liking my adventure-style vlog content, especially a video I made about visiting Easton Mountain.

He said something along the lines of:
“Seeing life through other people’s eyes is some of the best content out there.”

That hit me harder than I expected.

Growing up closeted, YouTube wasn’t just entertainment for me. It was possibility. It was escape. It was seeing people living lives bigger, freer, stranger, happier, and more authentic than the one I thought I was allowed to have.

And I realized during our conversation that maybe that’s the kind of creator I want to become.

Not the loudest creator.
Not the richest creator.
Not even necessarily the biggest creator.

Just someone my 18-year-old self would’ve watched.

The closeted kid dreaming about travel, adventure, storytelling, and a life that felt expansive instead of small.

That realization honestly meant more to me than any growth advice.

Eventually our conversation shifted away from YouTube and toward queer life and dating. We talked about what it’s like trying to build community in places that can sometimes feel like queer deserts — Idaho, Indiana, small towns, isolated spaces where you often have to work harder to find connection. I pondered being in Massachusetts, a liberal gay place, if it’s just me.

I talked about how I’ve been putting myself out there more recently:
gay dodgeball,
queer dances,
men’s meetups,
therapy,
trying to say yes to all life has to offer instead of hiding from it.

And for the first time in a while, I actually stopped minimizing that effort.

I’m trying.

That counts for something.

After the call, I realized I’ve spent so much time focusing on where I’m not yet that I haven’t fully appreciated how much courage it’s taken to become who I already am.

I’m building things.
I’m creating consistently.
I’m showing up.
I’m meeting people.
I’m trying to love better.
I’m trying to be softer with myself.

That matters.

There was also something weirdly comforting about the rhythm of the conversation itself. Before we even got into “the advice,” we just chatted about my day. At the end, we talked about what I was doing afterward. Small human moments.

But I think that’s part of why the conversation stayed with me.

It didn’t feel transactional.
It felt human.

Like two queer guys trying to figure life out while also trying to build meaningful lives online.

Toward the end of the session, we both jokingly repeated:
“We’re here and we’re queer.”

And we laughed.

It was silly. Warm. Honest.

The kind of moment that reminds you that connection doesn’t always have to be profound to matter.

Before the session, I felt anxious. I had a long day and didn’t know what to expect. I think part of me was secretly hoping for the perfect formula for becoming more successful on social media.

Instead, I got something better.

A reminder that I have to be in love with the process as much as the result.
That connection matters.
That putting yourself out there is already brave.

And maybe most importantly:
that I’m still becoming.

Right now, I’m in my cocoon phase.

Not fully where I want to be yet, but no longer the version of myself that was too afraid to try.

For the first time in a while, I stopped feeling late to my own life.