The day was long.

I am freakin’ tired.

There are so many other things I could be doing, but I am hungry.

I thirst for something…other. 

Do you know what I mean?

I bet you do.

Life is weird, fast, and hectic these days, filled with a steady stream of tasks and to-dos, punctuated with so many things to worry about and agonize over—yet we are starving for creativity.

For art. For fire. For beauty. For meaning. We are downright ravenous for truth.

We wait, like a cheetah in tall grass stalking its prey, for precious moments of stillness when we let go—and unfurl.

Feeling the worlds of our imaginations unfold, like spring vines climbing through cracked sidewalks. Oh, those innocent buds bursting, leaves exposing plush, colorful centers that are visited by hummingbirds.

I long for this. I long to bite into creativity like a strawberry that drenches my chin in sweet, sticky juice and wonder.

Perhaps, like me, you are also tired. It’s hard to shake the dampening weight of all the other things we could or “should” be doing, yes.

But you know what?

This. Writing and feeling — this is what I need to be doing. And I know it.

I wonder what you need to be doing to feed your soul and warm your feet by the fires of your creativity again.

To feel the bellow deep in your belly as something mysterious shakes loose.

Maybe it feels like great sex and inexplicable joy and eating dark chocolate under moonlight that drips silver fingers across your naked body.

Maybe it feels simple and solid, like home. Or luxurious, like the soft glow of honey and laughter.

As I buzz and frolic to the flowers woven in these words, their fragrance intoxicates me.

Oh, I am drunk from this wonder!

I need this more than anything.

I begin to unwind. My exhales get longer, lower, deeper. The stress from the day, the year—yeah, it’s still there, but it’s smaller.

I melt into the moment. A creative moment.

A moment that punctures right through the heaviness and sadness and weight of those pesky “shoulds” like a fresh burst of citrus at 6 a.m.

Here, I remember that anything can be art. Even the sadness and heaviness and fear mixed in with blushing hues of joy and anticipation.

Anything can be art. And it doesn’t have to look polished or perfect. It doesn’t have to be “good”—whatever that even means.

Can we not give a damn about that for right now?

There’s so much nectar in the process — the vulnerability, insight, and delicious release— when we allow ourselves to let go.

It’s where pain becomes poetry; sorrow becomes sweetness; curiosity becomes the winding roads of a fascinating story; fear becomes an adventure.

It all flows.

Out of our eyes and hearts and soul and sweat, mistakes, sadness, hope, and regrets.

Do you feel it?

The candlelight on my desk flickers. I shiver. The salt of my tears tastes like gratitude, confusion, and tenderness; they speak of how hard it is to be human.

And yet, in this moment—a creative moment—I find my power to move through it all: the responsibility, the things I’m scared of, the things I’m not sure I can do.

As the words gush from my fingertips, it is enlivening.

In the raw and expansive space, I find my power—I find my Self once again.

Join me, wild and weary one.

I hope you take one minute to create something today.

To give yourself permission to be messy and imperfect and—dare I say it — eff the rules to simply see what happens.

To move past the critical voices.

To move beyond the fear that stifles, the idea that our worth is bound up with being productive or perfect.

But I hope it’s more than that. I hope you go deeper, wider, and wilder.

I hope you roar and whisper.

I hope you feel something deep inside burn hot and electric, slicing right through the doubts…and maybe even replacing them with laughter and magic.

This stuff is powerful, folks! When we don’t use our creativity, guess what? It’s still potent. It turns against us like a pack of wolves biting hard in the rainbow colors of self-doubt and the intensity of our imaginations painting pictures of 11,000 scenarios of what we fear most.

But in truth, if these wolves weren’t so damn ravenous, they would happily howl at the moon from a cliff beside the sea.

Let us feed our creativity, as it feeds us.

And I know, the excuses are valid. Life is busy and hard. But if we don’t find the time to create, we wither.

You know the feeling. It’s like we are growing smaller, becoming a teeny-tiny section of who we are meant to be. Of all that we have the capacity to feel and experience.

So find time. Make time. Make sweet love to the time you find.

Feel life itself dancing through you in a sorbet sunrise, feel life itself kiss you with a warm breeze on a sh*tty day, feel life itself in a salty tear splashing down your cheeks.

So much happens. All in a moment. A creative moment.

Because time is different here, in this wide-open space.

Where things end and begin, converging into each other.

Like waters crashing from a thousand seas.

Each a slightly different hue of blue.

Mixing and melting and leading somewhere…