Your creativity is a force of care
On showing up, rules, and zhuzhing...
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Over the next five days, I am going to be reigniting my writing practice by writing in the mornings, and I am inviting you along.
These will be Gentle Musings in the truest sense: questioning, dreaming, and trying to carve out a life that feels honest and impactful. I am writing for a boost and a softening.Over the next five days, I am going to be reigniting my writing practice by writing in the mornings, and I am inviting you along.
If you also are looking to refresh a daily practice or rhythm, I’d love for this to be the sign for you. And if you don’t enjoy writing, then my hope is that you enjoy reading these more blog-ish gestures with morning tea or coffee, or when you need an afternoon break (or distraction!).
This is an invitation to revisit a small practice that sustains you and reminds you of what matters. Nothing about it has to be spectacular or ambitious.
If you would like to read yesterday’s entry, head here.
If you enjoy reading this—whenever you come across it—please pass it on to a friend, share a screenshot on social media, or drop a comment letting me know. It means so much, thank you.
The first rule of writing is to never start from a blank page, a difficult task when every page happens to be blank.
Similar to painting, it’s supportive to make a first stroke for the sake of it, and consider quickness! Just get it down! Don’t think too much! When I was younger, my mom told me to walk with a purpose, be on a mission, but don’t be urgent. It’s like that.
A blank mind isn’t so helpful either. It can’t be too full, or you won’t be able to hear your own thoughts, but it can’t be stagnant either (it can also be either—making propositions is another rule).
An idea helps, and they thrive when held loosely, even if they are vivid and vibrating with life (they’re natural shapeshifters).
The first gesture of composing is an act of courage and trust; there’s a whole spiritual practice just in showing up. You are showing up alongside millions of other people from all ages and languages and histories and abilities, all trying to catch and shape something on the page in that shared moment of aloneness.
When you’re willing to put your thoughts on the table—no matter how clunky or surprisingly poetic their form—you’re already rolling! Keep your hand moving, that’s what they say!
I edit as I write, always circling back to tweak a thought or a sentence once I know what I’m trying to say. Writers with fancy accolades advise against editing while writing, so I’ve come to call it zhuzhing. As in all things in life, I try my best and zhuzh as I go.
Then you want to scoop up all of the rules that you’ve collected.
You know, the ones from your crabby teacher who, for some reason, signed on to work with children and made a point to criticize their art; the rules from your inner critic, a rapid amalgamation of disapproval that tries to keep you safe in backwards ways. The rules from that one book that you had to read in English Comp eons ago. The rules from society at large around success, productivity, discipline… Even the rules that enhance your creative capacity, hold them to the light and see which are useful in this moment.
Scoop up the rules that I just offered to you. Your mind is welcome to be in whatever state it is in—writing will meet you where you are. Your propositions can be weak or no where to be found—writing will meet you where you are. Your structure can be lost at sea with no hopes of returning—writing will meet you where you are. You don’t have to ‘know your voice’ or believe in yourself or trust yourself or really even like yourself at all—writing is still there to meet you.
Kiki Smith described that when she takes care of her artistic practice, it always takes care of her. Your creativity is a force of care.
I believe that our deepest levels of compassion for the world are felt and mobilized through our innate creativity.
I believe—no, I know from witnessing and experiencing this countless times: cultivating and supporting creative expression in oneself and in others catalyzes the evolution of consciousness. It brings us back to our bodies and our hearts. It brings us back into community and belonging. This simple, complicated, lifelong practice of writing illuminates and heals more that I can ever hope to understand.
This morning, as I sat down to write (on a blank page…with a full mind), I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t know if I had anything to say or why I was ‘spending’ time this way. I didn’t want my writing to feel like a performance, and I didn’t know how to approach it without expectations.
I showed up, made some gestures, and something happened and you can decide how you feel about it. Either way, I hope that this short writing offers you a loving nudge to try the same in your own way:
show up for what you need to
audaciously make a mark
see what happens
zhuzh as needed
scoop up the rules and see what applies
let yourself feel held by the care that your creativity is waiting to extend to you
Watch how it ripples into your day, into your interactions, and how much returns back to you when you orient toward creative expression as a collective lifeline. And then keep going.
Until tomorrow xo
Maggy
PS: are you trying to write more too? As a paid subscriber, you are invited to join for our monthly journaling circle on Sundays at 11am EST.
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