I am here, now

With nothing much to share. Maybe.

I am at the beginning of convincing my Monday mornings to be writing time. Forming new habits can be itchy and messy and require more than a little wrangling, but I am trying, always, to be true to my intentions.

So I am here, now, cursor blinking in front of me, and nothing much to share.

Bet you are glad you opened this email, huh?

It is not that I have nothing much to share, actually, it is that I am yet to coax lose that little thread that will help the words and thoughts unravel into something worth sharing with you. Because as much as I know and trust you to hold my wild heart safe, there is always a little voice at the back of my head feeling like I am being performative, looking for attention.

Do you know that voice, too?

The one that says that maybe you should just stay small and quiet, because honestly, who really wants to hear your nonsense? The one that tells us not to stick out too much, not to be too noticeable, because it is not safe. It is not proper. It is not… whatever.

Do you know the one?

That same voice that stops us being the creative we want to be, that our wild hearts keep urging us to be (even when we can’t hear their voice over our own fears), regardless of the medium we use to express ourselves.

Those thoughts, that voice (or chorus of voices) is hard to detach from, to get the super-sticky spider-web tendrils off your fingers without panicking, or just resigning to be bound.

Some days I am better at it than others, but mostly I am human - complex and complicated, convoluted and deeply uncool, but trying to learn about my most authentic self nonetheless. 

I have noticed though (and the noticing is the big thing, always), that these thoughts are a little more loud, a little more insistent, a lot more sticky, when I have done a hard thing. When I am a little tender. When I have stretched and extended myself in some way, and been vulnerable enough to do so, trusting that my idea or my intention or my heart is speaking wisely in its encouragement, but also knowing the external reaction to the same is completely out of my control. 

For someone who has held white-knuckle to everything within and without my control my entire life in order to make sense of chaos and the full body assault that simply existing sometimes feels, it is not, well, easy.

It is not easy to show up and try when you can’t control the outcome. We are not taught to be safe in that from a young age, I mean you only got the gold stars if you deserved them, sometimes you apparently deserved dismissal or ridicule (also, you never deserved either of those). So as adults, especially well practised adults (not old, we are always young), oof, it is a hoot isn’t it.

Anyway, I showed up, I shared with my close artist community about a new offer that has been on my heart for a good while but that I kept putting in a box for when I am more (more what? More capable? More learned? More expert? Much more muchier? Who knows?), and I was met with kindness and curiosity and a lot of compassion.

And so I did the hard thing and I am continuing to do all the hard things, and trying to remember to breathe, and also finding those little bits of light like glinting sun off a sequin that is just enough encouragement to keep going.

I know that these thoughts and feelings are behind all (or most?) of us that are being creative.

Those who are showing up to put pencil to paper or pigment to panel or whatever your tools might be - words, brush marks, song, all of it. Sharing your creativity is a deeply vulnerable act. With practice (like everything) some aspects of it get easier, but there is always that little flutter deep in the belly (where the belly butterflies live, natch). Sometimes it is excitement, sometimes fear, sometimes doubt, sometimes anticipation, sometimes all of the above and more with a little sprinkle of anxiety-producing-uncertainty for good measure.

Feeling safe is the key (probably the key to everything).

Having a space and a community that you can share with in a way that feels safe, even if vulnerable. A place where there are no trolls (fairy tale trolls excepted, I think they are mostly unworthy of malign, hehe), and no judgement, just safety and acceptance.

That is what I feel here with you, and it is also what I am committed to build for the artists who learn with me. We are building a beautifully rebellious, radically self compassionate, curious, connected and reciprocity filled community, and I am here for all of it.

All the feelings, big, small, twisty, spikey, luscious, and everything in between.

I think connection is the thing. Through connection we are seen. Seen for all our beautifully messy humanity. I value that connection, here with you, so very much. I know I am seen. And I see you.

So I guess I didn’t have nothing to say at all. I just had to find a way to be vulnerable and safe enough to say it. Thank you for that. Know that I am here for you as well.

We are all doing hard things all the time - consider me your creative-wild-fairy-mother and let me sprinkle you with celebration dust for showing up for your creativity and yourself.

Have you done a creative hard thing recently? You don’t have to tell me what it is, unless you want to (I am here for it!) - just reply “me” and let me see and celebrate you.