Field notes from the future

Hello Reader,

What stops us from evolving into our next creative venture? Maybe the question is, what blocks us from becoming the version of ourselves who creates something new?

We’re constantly changing. Our cells regenerate on average every 7-10 years. A photo of myself in high school, teased AquaNet bangs, safety pins in my jeans, and plastic pink hoop earrings, shows me that.

Yet, at some point, the ability to ride with change and uncertainty diminishes. Maybe because the spaces between first times widen. At least, it did for me, for a while.

After the shine faded from my cushy agency creative role, I felt stuck. I had wanted this for a long time, then I got it, and it rocked until, after over a decade, it grew stale. Mold formed on its edges, eating away at what used to nourish me.

I knew what was expected. I was comfortable. Some days, it still gave me that buzz, but the idea of what I might create next was poking me in the ribs at night. I had no idea what it could be. But I had an urge, an inkling, my heart and gut yanking my sleeve (come on, already).

My mind wanted certainty before I jumped. What would I build? What do I even have to say? What really matters to me? I had no idea, so I stayed put, feet firmly on the hardwood agency floor, hand holding a latte, eyes scanning a new brief.

Reader, I wish I could tell you ONE simple thing kung-fu sliced through the cement block my feet were trapped in. Instead, a series of events, mindset shifts, and actions helped me creatively evolve:

• Starting coaching courses while still at the agency. This created space to dream and imagine. I asked myself powerful questions like: If I really went for it, where would I be in a year from now? I can’t remember the last time I’d done that – I’d been too busy.
• A life-shaking event. My mother passed away suddenly in 2021, and it shook me to my core. It grabbed me by the shoulders, hair flapping, and reminded me that I have this one life and a hidden expiration date.
• Having a financial cushion. A pillow that would ease my fall after the jump.
• I stopped waiting to figure it out and ‘know’ what I would create. I knew my next chapter would involve coaching and creativity, but how they’d come together, or if they even would, and how I’d apply my creativity in a new way, was a big question mark.

Shortly after my mom died, I quit my job and launched Kollektiv Studio. I stepped into uncertainty. I had no idea when my next paycheck would arrive at my doorstep or how this business would develop (I remember jonesing for clarity).

Work was far from steady. I found myself traipsing through peaks and valleys wearing a fuzzy Patagonia jacket and a NY Yankees cap, clutching a bottle of electrolytes, the sun branding me with freckles, and fearing the vulture’s song.

But I kept going because it made me feel alive.

I learned that entrepreneurship was more than building a business, it was a gym where I strengthened my capacity to be in uncertainty. Ultimately, it invited me to redefine my relationship with life.

I could be teeth-chattering scared of not knowing what might happen next, or find the unknown hair-raisingly thrilling.

Uncertainty is the realm of infinite possibilities.

Anything could happen.

Huzzah (or fuck no).

And I’ll be forever in this gym.

It’s not a one and done, but a practice.

Here’s what I noticed: After a few years, I started to trust more than I worried. I didn’t need life-shattering events to shake me awake and give me the courage to do THE thing.

I moved into new expressions of my work more easily, from picking the skin on my left thumb for days, to one restless night.

So when the call came to write my book in 2024, I hesitated for 24 hours instead of wringing my hands for weeks before saying ‘hell yeah’. If not now, when? Evidence I had built my capacity to be in uncertainty *kisses biceps*.

I had no idea what I would write about. But I did it anyway. And, just like everything else, the ideas emerged when I let go and trusted myself, life, and my creativity. But not before.

If we wait to know before we create, we’ll be waiting indefinitely. Because often, the way appears when you start exploring and experimenting and saying HELL YES to what makes your body vibrate like you’re standing next to a speaker at a Kendrick Lamar concert.

After I said yes to the book, I creatively evolved, realizing I didn’t only have to channel my creativity into commerce, I could also channel it into making art to create connection. MIND-BLOWN.

I don’t know why I didn’t allow myself to consider that before. Maybe this realization was part of my creative process, one that goes beyond what we make and do, but who we are and how we’re in relationship with life.

Creativity requires not knowing. We don’t know what we’ll make when we sit down to create it. We create because we’re moved, drawn, seduced into making. We’re pulled toward our next creative move when we get quiet and brave enough to listen.

Following the pull of what we desire, even when it’s hazy, can feel terrifying and thrilling. What if we put something meaningful into the world, and people think it's shit? But what if it moves someone?

Naming the fear takes the charge out of it. So what? Did we make something true and real? How did it feel to create it? And it’s highly improbable that everyone will think it’s shit. That’s just our inner saboteur trying to keep us safe.

But we’re powerful creatives, we’ve got this. The fulfillment of making and sharing the thing will rub balm on the sting of critics. As will the people who are moved by your work.

When I got a two-star review for my book, I checked out Rick Rubin and Miranda July’s one-star reviews, some scathing and scalding, and I realized that’s the entry fee to the arena. The place where we vulnerably share our work because it matters. Because it's what shapes the world, like Play-Doh.

We’re going to die. So who cares? We might as well not only create, but keep moving into the new and next as it beckons with its pointy red nail index finger and pouts with full, shiny lips.

Creative evolutions are deeply satisfying because, like the universe, we are constantly expanding, and called to create the next versions of ourselves and our work throughout our lives.

We block our growth when we resist change, allowing fear of the unknown and failure to overshadow awe, curiosity, and joy. That’s how we get stuck, caught between who we were and who we’re becoming, what we did before (often successfully, that’s why we stay put), and what we could create next.

If it feels like you’re lifting your Adidas out of mud and molasses, sticky strands in the air, create space to journal, stare at passing clouds, take walks, whatever feels like being on a hot date with yourself, and see what comes up when you consider what’s pulling you like a hungry Rottweiler on a leash.

Our next creative evolution rarely comes with a flashing neon sign. It slips notes under your door at 3 AM. It leaves breadcrumbs in unexpected places. It speaks in a language only your gut understands. It's disguised as whispers, as risks, as that strange pull toward something that doesn't make sense yet.

Trust it anyway.

Keep creating,