Sometimes, I get stuck in the middle.

Between what I think something should be and what it is.

I’m under construction when I want to be finished.

Right now, I am stuck on what I want this blog to be.

Last week, I got excited by the idea of sharing audio.

I planned to experiment with recording something today.

I blocked it out on my calendar.

But it is not happening.

The internet is out.

It is hot.

I can’t focus in this loud cafe.

I have a lot of ideas, but I’m too scrambled to commit to one.

My desire to go with the flow is colliding messily with the reality that…it’s not flowing.

I feel frustrated. Annoyed. Disappointed.

Stewing in these emotions is not why I created this blog.

But being real and sharing my creative process is.

And right now, the realest thing I can say is that I am in it.

My new life here, this week in particular, has been a triumphant explosion of creativity.

I am learning a lot about myself and why I am here.

But right now, it’s not converting into something digested and polished.

It’s a lot of ingredients, spread out all over the counter.

It’s thirteen open tabs, still loading.

It’s 23 lines of text scraping for meaning.

It’s deciding I’m done, with no completion to rest in.

Setting down the pen, closing the laptop, sighing deeply, and moving on.

Trusting that soon, it will feel like flowing again.

But knowing that feeling isn’t on the other side of more grinding.

I’m just running from feeling like I’m failing,

not toward satisfaction.

I’m not bounding forward with the wind at my back and joy in my heart.

And so, with love, and respect for my stuck in the middle-ness,

I say ‘goodbye for now’ and let it be.

Normally, I like to have my blog mostly written before the day I post it. 

Today, I started with nothing. 

Normally, I identify as a life coach.

Today, I was a singer.

I made a mistake with my time zone conversion and wasn’t there for one of my precious clients.

This is a sin I used to find unforgivable. The temptation to beat myself up is still there. I take these commitments extremely seriously.

But the Universe had other plans. I agreed to sing with my neighbor at a morning gig, thinking I’d be back in time, but I had one less hour than I thought.

In the extra hour that came from my mistake, magic came out of us. 

When I got here a few weeks ago, I planned to REALLY FOCUS on coaching. This is where I’ve focused my career efforts for the last 6 years. It’s a well-worn road.

But the Universe had other plans. While I was moving in, my next-door neighbor poked his head out and introduced himself. He’s a guitarist who gigs all over town almost every day. And actually, we’d jammed together once before. (I had also made the mistake of announcing to the Universe I was finally going to learn guitar. Okay, message received.)

Music was my first passion. Since before I could talk, I loved to sing, but I had deep, internalized shame about performing. So I buried it and was too afraid to do it in public.

Until 2019, when I was 29.

As an art therapist and a creative life coach, I’d been helping other people overcome their fears and take creative risks for years. 

I couldn’t look myself in the face and keep running from my own insides.

So I worked up the courage to perform at my first open mic. I was terrified. I was sick to my stomach for weeks and would nervously practice to nail every word. 

Because making a mistake on stage felt…unforgivable. 

I got up there and made a big, obvious mistake. I forgot the chorus to a song I’d sung hundreds of times. Exactly what I was afraid of.

But I survived. 

Today, five years later, because of that brave girl who faced her BIG fear, I get up on stage and make mistakes three times a week. And I’ve taken the very scary step of announcing to the Universe that now, I want to get paid for it. 

If you are brave enough to know what you want, and you’re brave enough to say it, magic happens. You just have to let go of what you think it’s supposed to look like and be willing to receive it. 

As I settle into my new life, the challenges of getting here feel further away. Of course, there are new challenges, but my rabbit Gnocchi and I are stabilizing. From that budding stability, creativity is starting to flow again. Well, drip. Then trickle. THEN flow. 

I’ve always been a creative person. Making art, singing, dancing, painting, writing, whatever I could get my hands on. 

But even though artistic expression is my native language, I still go through periods where my tongue is tied. My pipes are clogged. I’m wrapped up in fear and doubt and other things are higher on the priority list.

Each time I come back and start flowing again, it feels like coming home. I’m sitting on the floor like I did as a kid, with my smelly markers, humming and doodling and wiggling my toes. 

Sometimes, I lose sight of this girl. But when I remember, she reminds me that she isn’t just a child I have to appease from time to time. 

Play is a way of being. It’s what makes life…alive. Like surfing a wave of inspiration, I’m moving  and grooving and things and people are just coming to me. I’m laughing. I’m having fun. And I’m at peace.

You can’t surf the wave forever, all waves crash. But you can develop your ability to access it, especially if you’ve forgotten your inner artist for a long time and life is feeling like a drag. This is for you if you’re overwhelmed, heavy and depleted. 

This is when it’s time to remember. It is essential to reconnect. Now. Not once you get to the bottom of your to-do list. Because the list never ends. 

So right now, wherever you’re reading this, imagine yourself putting on your FUN GOGGLES. Make them as outrageously silly and vibrantly colorful as you wish. And let yourself see the world through them. 

Ask them to help you see the fun, the absurd, the silly. Don’t make it another task for you to manage. Ask them for help, ask to RECEIVE inspiration. 

All you have to do is be willing to see it. Don’t let your naggy, critical mind talk you out of nurturing the little seeds. Maybe you notice a flower petal on the ground. Pick it up. Maybe you catch yourself in the mirror. Stick your tongue out. Do something dumb like it’s the most important thing in the world. 

Give every seed room to grow. Because every plant, every tree, every human being, starts as a seed. It just needs protection, care, and time.

I was planning a blog post about a time this week when I had to set down my expectations and get out of my own way…but something else came out instead, so I had to set down my expectations and get out of my own way. How appropriate. I ended up writing what I needed in that moment: something to help me get in the mood to create when I’m feeling uninspired or resistant. And so, here is my prayer to creativity. I hope it blesses you with a SPARK!

wherever i come from,

willing or…less,

an idea on my soul,

or nothing, just yet.

may the gods crowd around me

and fill up my chest.

may my heart be wide open

to inspiration’s breath.

let my mind be a servant

to gather, then rest,

to surrender its fears

and its thoughts of what’s “best.”

i’m lighting a candle

and making the bed,

so something more precious

can lay down instead.

i’m scattering petals,

a rainbow of colors,

so creativity knows

it belongs in these covers.

i’m singing sweet songs

to entice all the lovers.

to show them it’s safe,

i brought plenty of rubbers.

this is a place 

to be wild and free,

for everything silly 

and sacred to meet.

closing my eyes,

i bough to the tree.

i’m ready to give life

to what’s coming through me.

I had a dream the other night where some lines of a poem came through. One of the characters said them to me right before I woke up. This happens sometimes and it’s very exciting. It feels like someone or something is speaking to you through your own subconscious. 

I try to be available to receive inspiration as often as I can. I use meditation, visualization, writing and talking to people to keep myself clear and open. I believe we can all use these tools to plug into the Universe.

But sometimes, life piles up and my pipe gets clogged. I sit down to write and everything feels lame and overthought. Or I lay down to meditate and my brain keeps pulling me out.

I’m currently on the East coast where I grew up, visiting people and places from my past. This triggers ALLL these old versions of myself, and A LOT of interference. I’m trying to keep my channel clear and stay present, but I’m experiencing an avalanche of old thoughts and feelings threatening to bury me. It’s been really frustrating, and sad. 

Before this trip, I felt so strong. I had tasted the next version of myself coming down the pipeline. She felt SO GOOD. Clear, grounded, and easily in flow. Now, it feels like I’m falling back into old patterns and losing touch with the person I’m becoming.

In retrospect, these moments of regression always precede a big leap forward. I know it. I’ve seen it a million times, in myself and others. It’s almost as if they were the necessary pulling back of the slingshot before we launch forward. Still, it is hard to weather these feelings as they are happening. I keep meditating, I keep visualizing, I keep writing and talking, and it’s still hard.

Sometimes, that’s all you can do. To just allow it to be hard and stop trying to force yourself to feel different.

And so I tell myself, as if I’m that new version of myself from the future, “It’s okay. I love you. I’m coming.”

I’ve been reflecting on how I dampen my own creative spark - how I inflict the same wounds that were inflicted on me when I expressed myself growing up. Whether through criticism, perfectionism, shame, or invalidation, I’m blocking my life force and hurting my spirit. It adds up. It sits in my heart and strangles my joy. Even when I’m telling others how important it is to support their creativity, and KNOWING IT, later, I still turn around and disrespect my own. WHAT THE FUCK?! This poem is an exploration of that heartbreak, and more importantly, a vow to meet myself differently.

Tender seed 

bursting forth.

My heart 

asking timidly

for permission to fly.

So many times

I’ve taken a hammer

and smashed you to pieces

before someone else could.

Bravely, you healed,

and waited,

beating quietly 

behind the door.

Taking orders

to swallow and ignore 

impulses

pulsing through you.

I can feel the bruised places

where you hid

under my skin

while I shouted,

No. 

Not here, 

not now, 

not like that.

You don’t belong.

But that’s my shame, not yours.

Acting on ancient orders

willed down through DNA.

Be small.

Shut up.

Obey.

I don’t want that anymore.

I want your raging river.

I want you spilling out over the banks,

slamming against rocks,

splashing and playing

with every creature that calls you home.

I love you deep.

I love you shallow.

I love you still, sorrowful, quiet.

I love you strong, willful, thundering.

Whatever

is the truth.

Thank you

for staying alive.

Now is your time.

I will be your biggest fan,

instead of head of the committee

of reasons why not.

I will put you on my shoulders 

instead of standing on your grave.

I will use my legs and hands

to bring us closer.

I will use my tongue and skin

to taste warmth.

I serve your army of love. 

A soldier of delight, 

marching toward wholeness,

jumping with joy,

dancing like a dolphin in your veins,

smiling at you, belly up,

from the inside.

You’re the leader now,

not a pet I let out

once a day to take a shit.

Take your place as Lion,

King of the Wild.

Fiery.

Unchained.

Loud.

I wonder what today will be.

~ a total blank slate ~

anticipatory, unknowing

Who am I today?

Who am I here?

I hope, I feel

I am excited.

~ an adventure ~

I wonder what I will decide.

being as present as possible so I can absorb as much as possible

I can’t take it all in.

~ bubbling ~

Something has opened.

~ explore ~

What’s possible in this body?

I had a major creative block when it came time to write this week. I post on Wednesdays. It is Friday. Wednesday evening, at the end of a long day, I sat down to churn something out. It did not churn. I felt completely disconnected from my creativity. I forced myself to sit at the computer, typing up choppy strands that didn’t add up, frustration and angst mounting. While I ground my gears fruitlessly, I was boiling beets I had just bought for a much needed healthy meal. Before I knew it, something smelled weird. I kept grinding. Eventually, the smell worsened and I forced myself up. All the water had evaporated and the pot sat on the stove heating four scorched beets in a cloud of black foam.

I wasn’t in the headspace. I wasn’t in the bodyspace. I had waited until the last minute and then the last minute came and I couldn’t. I was really sad. I was really angry. I had nothing left in the tank. Not only had I not made enough space to write something, I hadn’t made enough space for myself in general. I felt myself running on empty as I dragged myself through my commitments and hoped for the best. But it came back to bite me, as it always does. And my apartment smelled like burnt beets for 48 hours to remind me.

Thankfully, I had yesterday off. I got a massage. It changed my life. I felt completely reborn and committed to preserving the S P A C I O U S N E S S I had just recovered. Today, a new moon, I effortlessly found myself creating a blackout poem from old morning pages. This is how I want it to feel. But in order for it to feel effortless, the work I have to put in is holding space. Noticing when I need it, and making it happen. Saying a clear, firm and loving “No.” when the grinder wants to keep grinding. “I know you don’t want to, but it’s time to stop. Your beets are burning.”