Field notes from the ballroom

Hello Reader,

I had an epiphany this weekend: I’ll never get it all done.

There will never come a time when I'm scot-free, task-less. That imagined state is like Narnia. It doesn't exist.

I've been wrestling with this lately as my book, Welcome to the Creative Club – part memoir, part manifesto, part gentle rebellion – makes its way into the world. It's the first time I've truly stood for my work like this, a vulnerability that summons creativity vampires.

What's blocking my creative flow? An addiction to the to-do list that raises its hand to creativity like a traffic cop. That zero-inbox impulse. Not wanting one notification next to an app. The seductive pull to get it all done. The tug of my business on one end and my creative ventures on the other.

An old belief persists: When I get it all done, then I will be free to rest, lounge, create, chill, and breathe. As if that feeling is only accessible on the other side of my completed to-do list (or the closet).

I know it's a lie. But Reader, it sticks to me like a new puppy.

It would have been 'easier' not to sit down and write, even for just 30 minutes. Closing loops and that productivity high (look, Ma, I'm doing it) are seductive.

But so is the desire to share, make, and express. My inner artist needs to overrule the disciplinarian within. She's often distracted, connecting dots or daydreaming, while the drill sergeant is on it.

I need to learn to do less and create more amid life’s hair-swept whirlwind.

If I don't make time to create, I'm over-indexing on productivity and dopamine hits, but they're empty calories. It's eating a Kit Kat, not a nutrient-rich meal. The sugar rush crashes, leaving me on the shore, bikini in a twist.

This noxious idea is sticky: if I don't push and force, things won't get done. So I exhaust myself pushing against when I could choose to lean back and receive (sigh).

My body tells a different story. When I meditate, rest, or journal, I feel myself. It says, Girl, you need to slow it down. This is how I catch myself, become aware of autopilot, and get to shift gears. But awareness without action is like steamy texts with no dates. I need to act on the insight, the felt sense of needing to slow down to a trot.

I was splayed on the sand yesterday after pushing myself too hard, trying to check more boxes than I had the energy for. When that happens, I give myself grace and realign. I'm moving differently today, prioritizing writing, even without the big swath of time I usually love for creating.

Waiting for the right time is a creativity blocker.

I’ve become reacquainted with other most-wanted creativity killers:

• Expecting masterpieces to emerge immediately
• Feeling the pressure to perform as my audience grows
• Self-doubt creeping in when I'm about to hit enter
• Hoping to reach a fixed place where everything flows effortlessly, Bridgeton ball style, forever eva

When I recognize these limiting stories and choose differently, I discover new parts of my art, my work, my business, and myself.

We're fluid, expansive beings in a constantly changing world. This makes life exciting, as we bite our nails wondering what will happen next.

I accept that once I master the choreography, sashaying between creating for others and for myself, I'll need to learn new moves (enter Doechii's anxiety dance). I’ll be in the studio again with bruised knees and beads of sweat on my temples. I want to enjoy the practice because it's 99% process.

As author Merlin Sheldrake says, “all life-forms are in fact processes not things. The 'you' of five years ago was made from different stuff than the 'you' of today. Nature is an event that never stops.”

I want to look back on my life like an episode of Dancing with the Stars and watch as I moved from mambo to hip hop.

This perspective helps when I'm doing things for the first time, which feels vulnerable: speaking on podcasts, recording an audiobook and a spoken word album, getting reviews for my book, and generally being more visible.

Remembering I'm creating to share my experience, express myself, find meaning in this spinning rock, make an impact, connect with people, and invite them into not only my world but to co-create a new one is rocket fuel.

Intention matters. It keeps us going in a dense fog, guided by the light of our North Star. It also helps us withstand inevitable criticism.

Self-doubt can stop us in our tracks. I love how Mike White handled critics of White Lotus season 3:

“There was complaining about how there's no plot and that part I find weird, because it never had [a plot]. Part of me is just like, bro, this is the vibe. I'm world-building. If you don't want to go to bed with me, get out of my bed. I'm edging you! Enjoy the edging. Don't be a bossy bottom.”

Hearing his intention brought me deeper into his world. Changed how I viewed the season. Every episode kept me on edge, tension mounting, despite not much happening. White orchestrated our experience and brought us into his bed.

The meta lesson: stop what stops us from creating and sharing. Continue to be experimental and raw and real. Stay true to your voice. Allow what needs to be expressed without censoring, over-editing, polishing, muting, or perfecting.

Trust your intention and your audience. Your people will get it or at least stay for the ride through the experiments and stumbles, the copper and the gold.

So, if you're making new moves, picking scabs, or hesitating to move further onto the dance floor, strobe lights revealing acne scars, here's my hand. We can whirl together.

Remember: It will never all get done. And that’s exactly why we need to create in the messy middle, with the notifications pinging and the laundry unfolded. With trembling fingers as we hit enter, with exposed shoulders, nervous laughter, and a shit ton of joy.

This is living the creative life.

Keep creating,