Expressing What Is
Notes on "nothing inspiring"
Sometimes I sit down to write and find there’s no discernible thread from where to start. Tuesday arrives and inspiration is elusive; the constellation of ideas, insights, and images has not yet coalesced in the container of my body and mind. This usually happens when I am tired, when I am worn down, fatigued, and the antidote that comes up, then, is usually a generous pause, a day to do something else, and rest.
When this thought space of there’s nothing to write about emerges, I am learning to let go, unclench my eager hands, I let my mind rest. Compassion steps in, and logic, and says, you are feeling tired, yeah — that makes sense. I know enough at this stage not to force it. I pull down a book from the shelf; Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones writes to write I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know until something new emerges.
I liken this moment of “no inspiration” to times when the kitchen feels empty, absent, a perception that the produce and pantry are dwindling low — how opening the refrigerator becomes a repeated portal for hope, hope that staring into the fridge hard and long enough will eventually conjure a feast, that the scraps of dried out dill will into fresh lettuce, or even better, a plank of salmon or ice cream, only to find that reality is it’s a week’s worth of tired herbal confetti, an invitation to visit the grocery store. We are all tired here, I think. I accept the current reality, let go of the bleak one that says this is not enough, there is nothing here and turn towards creativity to craft something of meaning. I revive the dill, cook it in oil, give it new life, pour it over eggs.
Like life, like the tired corners of our minds, our homes, our pantries, there is often something there waiting to be found, revived, transformed, played with, created, give space, and expressed. Creativity, when paired with moments of pausing to revive, when paired with not-forcing, can give us a wider lens through which to expand.
There are so many stories that come up as obstacles in our paths of expressing our creative lives. Perfectionism tells us what we have to say is not good enough, never will be, it has already been expressed, that someone else will do it instead. Scarcity says there is never enough talent or time. Wonder, on the other hand, pulls down optimism like a book from the shelf and leafs through the pages for glimmers of possibility. Creativity comes in, opens things up, thinks broadly and expansively, reaches for the tools in the toolkit, and approaching problems in life through a bountiful lens.
In these moments of I feel uninspired, there is nothing here on hand, I try to let it go. Grasping for an idea puts our creativity in a stressed out state. The body is clenched, the hands are closed. When we can pause and relax we can access our creative flow. Inspiration will come through, eventually.
This morning, I opened up the fridge. I took out a stick of butter, a square of pastry dough from the day before. I take out peaches, frozen, picked from a friend’s tree down the street, and cook them down in browned butter. The peaches fail. The first batch of the bake fails, or rather they don’t meet my expectation. So I turn the oven up. I am learning, I tell myself, and it’s true, and I feel it. To live and experience and write and reflect and learn from those reflections turns our lives into an iterative process. Failure becomes a kind of composting. Failure can be the end of the road or a continuation. Failure can be information. Failure can be ripe for new seeds to grow if that’s how we choose to perceive it. We can choose to stop and collapse, or we can choose to pause, rest, get creative, and keep going.
Later in the day, I walk around the block. I notice the squash growing, the figs ripening, the way the purslane peeks between the slate steps out back. There is so much here. A cloud passes by and I think to draw its shape. I open the door in the morning and pretend it’s a portal to another dimension and I step through. We’re adults, and we need to play, too. This is part of rest. With time and softening, and allowing our minds to wander, inspiration arrives on its own.
What opens up to us when we root into what is present with us now? What asks quietly and with insistence to be expressed? What opens up to us if we play with possibilities, desires, and imagination? Where can you soften? What happens if you rest?
On the nights, mornings, or days where your creative energy is low, practice acceptance — do something different, let yourself slow down, and trust the receptive parts of your creative life. The purpose is not to be perfect, but to be a channel for your ideas, your insights. Your body and mind and what you are noticing is a river, a conduit. If you let your creativity be a natural expression of your life as it is without perfecting or demanding anything, what would you express, create, or say?
Some prompts and practices to try this week:
Set a timer for ten minutes. Write a list of all of your current creative blocks or expressive the fears that come up and be with them. Notice them. Approach this with curiosity, and breathe. Access any parts of you that feel spacious, resourced, capable and then make another list of any balms, antidotes, or potentials that could support you in tending to the flow of your creative life.
Write a list of what helps you feel refreshed, revived, resourced. Keep it out in the open, stick it to the fridge, or somewhere that you frequent, as a reminder of the things you care about. Set the environment so it’s one that’s tuned in to what you really care about — set visual clues of what you’re aligning with.
Sit for a minute, five, ten, etc and do nothing. Stare into the sky, stare into something you’re cooking, at a color you’re intrigued by, something you’re passing on the street and let yourself exist. Do less. Rest.
this week,
Reading | Death in Her Hands by Ottessa Moshfegh and this reminder on expression from from
and this newsletters from Moonbeaming — I love newsletters!!Cooking | za’atar lemon potatoes with an abundance of garlic, browned butter cardamom peaches into pastries, red sauce for pasta with tomatoes from the yard.
Walking | around and around, and mostly to the park to watch the sun dip low.
experiences
August 24 Suminagashi Basics (Brooklyn)
August 31 Pamphlet Stitch Bookbinding (Brooklyn) sold out
All journaling class recordings in the experience library are on sale through next Thursday — no code needed.
Book a 1:1 session with me for creative support. Interested in creative experiences for your space or your team? Let’s connect.
To everyone who came by the Odette Press booth this weekend, thank you! It was great to meet you.