We all have a lifeline. For some, it’s still undiscovered; for others, it’s the part of your identity embroidered on your soul. In a way, these 12 weeks are a kind of lifeline‑investigation period.
For some people, social interaction is essential to their thriving. For others, it’s their work identity. For many, it’s grounding rituals like prayer, meditation, or being in nature. Personally, I don’t know how to exist without creating — and while creativity takes different forms for me throughout the year, it remains the one true constant in my identity outside of being a mother, daughter, or friend.
What I’ve learned is that creativity isn’t always pen and paper, paint, or musical chords. Often, it’s more finite — creating a program at work, thinking through logistics and personalities, building a system. Every year I feel completely creatively full when I’m planning my annual conference — a dance between contracts signed, meals selected, content drafted, run‑of‑show tightened. In that case, my medium is budgets on an Excel spreadsheet and a million moving parts I have to conduct into place like Mickey Mouse in Fantasia.
To me, creativity is when something inside you — a dream, a thought, a plan — finds its way out of you and into the world. The true art is becoming so familiar with the feeling creation stirs in you that your thoughts and desires naturally seek that release. To live creatively is to give yourself the freedom to think, feel, and wish in color — to let your inner world spill outward in whatever form it chooses.
Dear reader(s) — take a moment to remember what it felt like to slip into a deep state of childhood imagination. That effortless surrender of reality, that quiet peace that came from building entire worlds out of Lego or running a fully functioning household in the space between the pine trees in your backyard. The heart is the same, you see. As a child, maybe you didn’t think of creativity as requiring bravery, because surrendering to that part of your being felt natural. I understand that relinquishing control can feel scary — and I also understand that during this 12‑week journey, that’s exactly what I’m asking of you.
If creativity feels unnatural, or if putting down your emotional or intellectual guard feels overwhelming, start small. Let yourself follow the tiniest spark — a sentence, a color, a memory, a song. You don’t have to build a world out of pine trees on day one. You just have to loosen your grip enough for something inside you to move. That’s it. That’s the whole ask.
This week, let yourself try. Let yourself play. Let yourself remember the version of you who created without hesitation, without judgment, without needing permission. That part of you is still here, waiting for a little light and a little room. It’s the 1…2… of it. 1…2… create.
