03/19/2020
Hello, my dear friends and colleagues -
I hope this finds all of you safe, well, and reasonably stocked up on toilet paper.
I’ve rewritten this newsletter about thirty times since last week when the world was still familiar and recognizable. Originally, I was bursting to share some good news and announce the big reveal of the newly revamped Creativity Guide.
Like most creative ventures, it had taken some time, some experimenting, and lots of listening to discover who The Creativity Guide is for and what exactly it wants to be. My team - shout out to Siena and Noah! - and I have been working hard to figure this out.
I’m confident that we did, too. Then we worked harder to get it up and ready.
We were super excited to share it with you.
And then we all woke up to a world transformed and breathtakingly alien.
In the midst of so many overwhelming concerns and genuine worries about the health and safety of our loved ones and our communities, I thought, “Well, don’t bother? This is not meant to be. Better get to the grocery store and buy all the pasta (and chips) I can while I can and then lock the door and start the Netflix binge until . . . May or June.”
Part of me still feels that way.
But, I’m trying to find my bravery, when all I want to do is hide under the bed. I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking back to the beginning of the AIDS epidemic when I was a young man. So much of that time was spent trying to figure out how a future was possible for men like me, if it was even possible to believe that a future actually was possible.
There are so many echoes and resonances from that time in our present destabilizing moment. Even the language of “testing positive” has returned with its keen cleaving edge. The head-spinning sensation of a world being remade almost hourly and the inability to simply keep up with it feels familiar and exhausting.
Yet we got through it.
Somehow, in ways heroic and unheroic, private and public, we found our way.
Yes, we were changed - even if we didn’t quite know how - and forever changed.
What got us through - what saved our lives - was creativity and community.
How we engaged with our fear and what felt like powerlessness, how we engaged with our love and anger and grief and confusion, all grew out of creativity and further summoned vast reservoirs of creativity that have endured.
In turn, those expressions of that creativity created community.
They told the story that all great stories tell: “You are not alone. Something is possible.”
I’m reminded of the Talmudic story that every blade of grass has its own angel standing beside it whispering, "Grow!"
Maybe it's corny or inadequate to our present circumstance but, the older I get, I sincerely believe this to be true.
That angel is your creativity.
And there are signs all over that a fleet of hovering angels are hard at work even as I write. (I, for one, am eternally grateful to the genius who figured out that videos of penguins on the loose in public places were the exact bit of affirmation we need right now. )
Because creativity can seem so mysterious - it often just seems to come and go - people don’t trust it.
Or trust themselves with it.
Or believe they even have it.
Creativity seems to be something for other people.
Something for another time.
Whether it’s with my clients, or during podcast discussions, or through my mentoring at the New Museum, it’s become my great passion and privilege to guide people to truly understand this just isn’t true.
Creativity is innate.
Creativity is yours to use now. Stop waiting.
Maybe you have an idea that’s been aching to hatch. Or you’re tired of doubting your creative process. Or you feel cut off from your creative spirit. Maybe you’ve hit an impasse on a project and can’t move forward. Or you’re reconsidering your professional goals, unsure of the creative terrain before you.
Or maybe you just have some time on your hands and no more closets to clean.
Or you’re feeling lonesome, with something you’ve always wanted to say but haven’t.
If that sounds like you, or someone you know, I’m here for you. I’m ready to provide you with a listening ear, compassionate feedback, gentle accountability, and expert guidance to help you get your work done.
Looking out my window, I can see the harbingers of spring, those hardy snowdrops, hellebores, heather, and crocuses. With great effort, each flower had elbowed its way out of the soil to share its particular beauty after months of hidden work underground.
It was such a relief - however momentary - to breathe, to see them, something alive and beautiful - no matter how fragile - doing their darnedest to grow and blossom, each hearing the angel who stands nearby whispering, whispering . . .
Do you wish you had someone who could provide you with a listening ear, compassionate feedback, and expert guidance to help you get your work done?
