The flood of new ideas

I have a lot of pots on the creative stove right now. A new podcast, a new book, transitioning Flexible Office into a more accessible monthly subscription with two extra hours of co-working a week (we start April 17, stay tuned), a few self published zine ideas, a dream of a flower farm, an artist residency, and a small press.

My little home projects continue to keep me company amongst the work week and the bathroom will be purple by Wednesday afternoon. My ideas and projects zoom around my head, sometimes I can catch them and sometimes I can't .

I do my leg lifts with Stella three times a week and I see my therapist every other week. I went to my local Target yesterday to get plastic tubs to put the last two moving boxes of clutter in them. BOOKS in my exes handwriting haunts me while I judge the amount of blank greeting cards I own without sending them to the people I love. I haven’t done three full morning pages in weeks.

I have a lot of pots on the creative stove right now and a few unfinished quilts. I haven’t danced, really really danced, in months. I am not sure that I miss it but I feel a guilt for calling myself a dancer or a quilter when my practice isn’t consistent.

I am doing a private daily ritual with another person and it is illuminating the places that feel stuck. The places I am sick and tired of being sick and tired of. I am tired of overspending, I am tired of my debting, and I am tired of being scared about money. While some seasons feel more peaceful, the flood of new ideas requires a patience while the launching of the thing isn’t quite ready.

I noticed in my month off social media the ideation phase of my practice felt so serene, I had less money then and yet I still found myself with so much more trust. Left without the reminders that everyone else is always launching, always sharing, always has something to sell. I found myself peaceful with my pace.

With the quiet aloneness of my work I feel in one hand the serenity of creation, and in the other the urgency of needing to get the work out of me. I am grateful that some of what I am working on has dates of their emergence, but the much remains unknown - and this makes it harder for me to push through.

With the flood of ideas I find myself grateful to god for giving them to me. I am grateful to myself for listening for them. They come through in putting pen to paper, in long drives through the peninsula, in the wandering of time.

With the little patience I muster I tell myself - when you create the containers the material rushes out of you. When I create the containers I have vessels for curiosity and generosity. I can’t wait to share all of the things with you. The shape of what I make thrives inside of new forms, new timelines, new pathways.

It seems now, the only thing to do to move the work forward, is to write.
To trust the liminal space
To enjoy what cannot be shown

May the quiet of creation be enough