![]() Every year, I try to spend a significant amount of time in December pondering what I want my next calendar year to look like. I've always been a person to dream, set goals, and plan, but for some reason this year, long before I turned the calendar page to December, I've spent a significant amount of time thinking about 2025. I suppose I have an urgency to my days and years I didn't have before stupid cancer. I know this is partly because my job demands it, but I think I also live with the sense that no "new year" is a given and I want to be as intentional as I possibly can with the days I am given. I work in a business where discouragement and rejection are a part of the weekly, if not daily, conversation. Creatives, in general, face a certain level of despair on a regular basis, but for those of us whose creative work is also part of our vocation, I feel like it's even more of a beast. There are loud voices in our heads telling us our work is worthless, but they are not impossible to silence. Over the years, I've found ways to wage war against the beast of discouragement and those loud inner voices. The battles I have won have led to the completion of some projects I am fiercely proud of, but not because they've won awards or reached millions of people. Not because they're amazing. Mostly I'm proud of them because they were finished. I also have a list of projects that remain unfinished, too. Some of those things still need time to simmer. Some need to be crossed off the list. A couple I've identified as needing to take top priority in 2025 and I can't wait to get started. And finish. While I love tackling my own creative projects, I have also found immense joy in helping others realize their potential and achieve their own accomplishments. I've walked songwriters through the process of writing and recording an album. I've coached authors from wrestling an idea to the ground to shaping it into a manuscript, and eventually we've celebrated the release of their book. I've helped creative organizations formulate their mission statements and clarify their vision. Every step in these processes has been an act of living out my personal mission statement of doing creative work that inspires and equips others to do their creative work. As I approach 2025, I am narrowing my focus a bit, choosing to dive deep into fewer creative projects that I want to see cross the finish line before December 31st, 2025. I am also making room to come alongside four other creatives who want to see their creative projects cross the finish line in 2025. If you are interested in this opportunity, feel free to reach out to me. After communicating about your idea and how I might be able to help you, if we think we're a good fit, then let's do this thing and make 2025 a year of finishing. Yes, there is a cost involved. Why? Well, for a few reasons. Some of the most valuable experiences I've had that got me across a finish line are experiences that cost me something. The cost results in a determination on your part to get things done. To steward your time well. To be accountable. To meet expectations. This relationship we'll enter isn't for everyone. It really is only for people who want to work hard, who want feedback, and who want a kick in the rear sometimes. It's for people who want to end 2025 with a project completed, a book in their hands, a recording unleashed, or your unique creative vision realized. For more info on how I can come alongside you in 2025, email me at [email protected]. I'd love to help if I can.
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Here they are - 5 more principles that are proving to keep me focused, determined, and hopeful on this crazy creative journey. I hope they help you stay the course, too!
6. Structure my days to intentionally pursue my life's mission. To fulfill my mission to do creative work that inspires and equips others to do their creative work, I must be working regularly, diligently, sacrificially, and responsibly. I will redeem the hours I have been given by God and steward them well. I will keep regular work hours while allowing ample time and space to rest and recharge. 7. Value people matter more than projects. Creating in community is a worthwhile endeavor, and while it might be difficult at times, it is of utmost importance to value the individuals and relationships more than the art I am attempting to create. Collaboration is a beautiful thing and I will recognize the sacred space in which we are working and seek to honor the process of creation, which will keep my focus on progress, relationally and artistically, instead of focussing on the potential of a finished product. 8. Prepare for the marathon, not the sprint. There is no substitute for perseverance. Because many opportunities are granted to the person who is the last to leave the room, I will not quit when I am weary, complain when I am rejected, or seek an easier path when the road gets hard. I will pace myself mentally, emotionally, and physically to endure the days, months, and years it takes to do what I love. 9. Champion others. The mere act of celebrating the creative efforts of others puts me on the offensive in my battle against the jealousy that can so often plague me. Another person's success was not meant for me; they have simply walked their own path toward accomplishment. Knowing what it takes to achieve anything in the arts, I will recognize other artists' abilities, efforts, results, and rewards. 10. Remain a perpetual student of my craft. I will never outgrow the need to learn more about how to do the art I love. In order to grow and prosper, I must regularly receive input from those who have knowledge or experience I do not, and whose perspective might be different from mine. To stop pursuing growth will only cause atrophy in my creative muscles. By continuing to seek knowledge and wisdom related to my art, I will undoubtedly see progress, and I will embrace that progress with joy and satisfaction regardless of any recognition for my efforts. ![]() Here we go! The first five commandments for how to live a Hopeful Creative Life! I hope they provide some principles for you to consider as you seek to purposefully live out the creative life you've been called to pursue. As I mentioned previously, some of these are more directly related to simply being a human, but I've found them to be so closely connected to my creative life that it only makes sense to have them on this list. More coming tomorrow!
![]() One of the most beautiful and most difficult things about living a Hopeful Creative life, is the emotional roller coaster on which we find ourselves pretty much every day. In the quest to be sensitive to the world around us, we can feel the weight of those emotions in ways that can cripple us creatively and relationally. I suppose it is the blessing and the curse of being who we are. I remember when I was initially diagnosed, and in the months thereafter, feeling as if every emotion in me was heightened. Like I had a hypersensitivity to everything and everyone around me. I've heard others say the same thing after they received life-altering news. For the most part, I was profoundly grateful for my new perspective, but for someone who already feels things deeply, it was a lot. In some ways, this brought a level of creative productivity that I hadn't experienced in a while. I wrote more than I ever had. I was flooded with new ideas and dreams. It was actually very inspiring. I know, weird. This season also ushered in depths of sadness, discouragement, and fear I hadn't experienced before. Not surprising, I suppose, but the circumstances that brought on these emotions weren't all related to cancer. I found myself grieving things and fearful of situations regarding family, friends, my work, and other various aspects of life, to the extent that I often found myself sitting in my office or at my kitchen counter telling God, "Uh, you'd better do something here, 'cause I'm not good right now." I need to interject here and acknowledge the fact that what my body was going through, and continues to go through, due to surgeries, treatments, and long term medications, can undoubtedly be blamed for some of what was happening to me. The sucky thing about cancer treatment is that while yes, it can kill the cancer cells, it also kills a whole lot of good things, too. Navigating the choices you are given in regards to treatment is a journey all its own, and I will never question anyone's choice to do whatever treatment they decide to do or not do. So yes, I know the sheer fact the I was physically a mess led to some very messy emotional moments. I've thought a lot about how to maintain the level of sensitivity and creative energy I want and need to have in order to stay true to what I believe is my mission in life - to do creative work that inspires and equips others to do their creative work. I am as equally left and right brained as a person can be, so while I crave inspiration and the freedom to create when that inspiration strikes, I also crave structure and a disciplined approach to doing the work I love. I've spent quite a bit of time coming up with a list of guiding principles to help me live the kind of life, a Hopeful Creative life, I desire. Over the next couple of days, I'm going to share that list with you. You might be a bit surprised at some of the principles on my list and think they don't directly relate to creativity. However, what I have found in my quest to live the Hopeful Creative life, is that my main focus needs to be on the kind of human I want to be, because if I don't get that right, the rest doesn't matter. But, as I get my head and heart in the right space, the potential for my creative life to grow and prosper increases exponentially. Also, because I am a person of great faith, that one thing shapes my approach to my days more than anything else. You might not share that faith, but I think you'll still find some things on my list to help you do what you love to do. So, I hope you'll come back more this week to see what's keeping me going creatively these days. It's a list that has provided a much needed framework for me to function, body and soul, in this crazy world. Until then... With hope, G ![]() I was sitting with friends the other day telling them about some tough things that have been occupying far too much of my brain space these days. We're talking all-consuming, can't shake 'em, sucking-the-life-out-of-me thoughts. I loathe the fact that this happens occasionally, but it's true. One of them asked me what I do when that happens. The answer came easy. I get busy making something. I'm not talking about the kind of busy that basically means ignoring something that needs to be dealt with. Trust me, as a fixer and someone who would choose to nip any kind of issue in the bud immediately, I would prefer to not let things simmer. But when that isn't an option, I'm as susceptible as anyone when it comes to a fast spiral into a deep, dark place. No, what I'm referring to is the kind of busy that forces your brain to go from thinking on things that are negative, dark, and defeating, and fixing your mind on things that are good - full of light and life. Over the past few years, I've come to see life as a constant grieving. It just is what it is. We are in a constant state of change. Letting go. Adjusting and adapting. If I sound like a Debby Downer, I don't mean to. The truth is, most of life requires a dying of some sort. Seeds fall to the ground and die. And then something grows. I wrote a song a couple of years ago and that started with this lyric: "I hope heaven has a cornfield in October, reminding me as autumn fades away, that even though it takes a little dying, life will come again on harvest day." I've thought about that lyric a lot the past few days as I've driven the country roads of Nebraska and seen farmers harvest their crops. Things die, we gather what remains, we move on making use of what we have gathered, and then the land begins to heal for a new season. I've tried to look at my creative life the same way. Life dishes out circumstance after circumstance and I either celebrate or grieve what has happened. The celebrating comes easy, doesn't it? Those are the best of days. But, I am also learning to see the very good things that come from the grieving moments too. When something dies, I can gather what is left, use it to make something, and at some point, I feel the healing begin. Grieve, create, heal. Grieve, create, heal. Over and over, this process has been life-giving to my soul on more days than I can remember. And once again, gratitude overflows. Maybe today a day for you to grieve. But, maybe today is a day for you to make something out of whatever you have left around you. Maybe today you sit down and write, or pull out your canvas and paints, or bake something that gives sustenance to your body and soul. To force your brain to think on things that are good, true, and lovely. I'm quite certain that if you can find a way to do whatever creative thing it is that you do, you will soon see the healing begin. ![]() One of the most important lessons I've been learning the past few years is to somehow find the balance between grit and grace. To know when I need to push myself to put my head down and keep doing the work, and when I need to allow myself time to rest, breathe, recharge, and just be. This has not come easy for me. And like I said, I'm still learning. I am by nature a doer. A fixer. Productivity matters to me. I want to know that progress is being made. To know there is a finish line and that I am doing everything I can to cross it. But too often, the act of doing has been the thing that has trumped all other things. And it is exhausting. For the past few years, I have been forced into a state of not doing for weeks at a time. Stupid cancer. While it was an adjustment - that's putting it mildly - stillness became my friend and I grew to love my time of quiet and reflection. Those moments when I had no expectation of myself except to simply exist and soak in whatever sights and sounds and emotions were enveloping me. Mostly for the sake of healing. The past year, I have been adjusting to my new normal, physically. My body doesn't do what I want it to or feel like I hoped it would feel, and it is unbelievably frustrating. For someone who has relied on grit to get herself through difficult moments, I've had to rely more on grace, letting myself off the hook, and allow the stillness to do its work in my life. I am also learning there are other areas of my life facing the grit vs grace dilemma, including my creativity. There are days, even seasons, when inspiration is hard to find. Times when I find myself in despair thinking I have nothing to offer the world. Moments when frustration and jealously block every creative thought I have because I'm too consumed with the success of others. In those moments, I find I have a choice to make. It isn't a choice of right and wrong. It involves doing the important work of self-examination and deciding whether or not I need to approach the situation with grit or grace. It requires asking myself if I should pour another cup of coffee, sit my butt in my office chair, and work until my fingers bleed, or, do I make the decision to go see a movie, treat myself to dinner out, call and catch up with a friend, or take a nap. Only I know which choice will help get me to the other side of the funk I'm in. I can certainly invite input from a friend in helping me figure out which choice to make, but ultimately, the choice is mine. I am trying to opt for letting grace be the trump card more often. To sit in stillness and give myself space to breathe in peace, let saner thoughts prevail, and allow new ideas find their way into my brain. For a doer like me, even this resting takes some effort. I think it will get easier with time, and because I have been forced to experience the benefits of rest in the past, I am confident I will experience the same in the days ahead. I hope you can as well. ![]() Since 1999, the middle part of August has always meant something very special to me - the beginning of a new school year. We started homeschooling our oldest that first year, unsure of so many things, but very sure of one thing - we wanted our kids to love learning. I was a person who loved school. My husband, not so much, so we were attempting to make the best decision for our kids coming from two very different perspectives. We weren't pro-homeschooling. We were pro-learning, and decided teaching our kids at home would be a good place to start, then we'd take things year by year and figure it out as we went along. Eventually, public school became the place for all our kids, and one by one they graduated high school and made their way to college. Last April, our youngest child graduated from Grand Canyon University, and I am facing my first August in 25 years without a child heading off to school. It's kinda hit me hard. More change. More grieving a season I will never get back. If I let myself, I can wallow in the memories far too long, allow the regrets to eat at me, and long for days gone by. Those were precious years. But this is a new season. There are new opportunities. My kids are diving deep into their own professions, working their way through the highs and lows of adulthood. I am so proud of each one of them. Also, my son and his wife are teachers, so in some ways, the school year will continue to mark certain aspects of our family time. Every year as August approaches, I purchase the same candle - a Spiced Pumpkin Yankee Candle - and save it to light on the first day of school. Rituals are important to me. I like marking moments with something simple that brings me joy, and every year, that candle has ushered in a new season of learning. Growing. Making memories. I bought that same candle the other day. Couldn't help myself. I might not be sending a kid off to school, but I do want to welcome a new season. This time, it's a season to be more focused on creative efforts that have begged for my attention and haven't gotten it. A season to be brave, vulnerable, generous, and consistent with my work, in a way that invites others to do the same. The phrase "hopeful creative" became a part of my vocabulary after I was diagnosed with cancer almost four years ago. On my worst days, I clung to the belief that even in the moments when I felt empty, beat up, or buried in the rubble of discouragement, if I could muster up enough strength to do something creative, hope would show up. On days when I felt good, hope would lead, gently guiding me to my writing room or my kitchen - my two favorite spots to create - so I could get to work, doing what I love to do. In both cases, I felt the nudge to create out of my experience and giftedness something that would offer hope to others. I began to see hope and creativity walking hand in hand, like two friends who occasionally walk side by side, but who also have moments when one has to carry the other. And sometimes, one drags the other along, either kicking and screaming, or barely alive. Whatever it looks like, hope and creativity seem to be inseparable for me. And this is where you come in. I've been working through the details of The Hopeful Creative for quite a while now. In a few days, I'll be starting a new phase of this little adventure and I would love for you to join me. The Hopeful Creative online community is all about making art in pursuit of hope, from a place of hope, for the purpose of giving hope to others. It's about the moments when hope and creativity walk closely together, and the moments when one carries or drags the other along. It's a place to be inspired and equipped to do the creative thing that's deep inside of you. It's a place where that creative thing you do can be reawakened or refreshed or repurposed. It's a place to discover you're not alone in your up-and-down creative journey. A place to be assured that yes, there are other people whose ideas keep them up at night. People whose wells seem to have run dry. People who can't find a consistent routine even if their life depends on it. For now, this will be a place where twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays, I post something about living the hopeful creative life. It might be a blog, a link to a resource I've found helpful, or I might just share some work of art that has inspired me. My desire is for all of us to experience creativity in community - something that I've found to bring great hope and joy to my life over the years. If you think this post isn't for you, let me gently remind you that EVERYONE is a creative. We just all have different ways of expressing that creativity. So you just might belong here more than you realize. :) If you want to join me, just click the button below and you can sign up. There's no fee. No expectations. No rules. Just a notice from me to drop in a couple times a week and be encouraged to stay the course, creatively! I'll be lighting a certain candle to usher in this new season and I sure hope you'll join me! ![]() Recently, a certain question has been popping up frequently as I've sat with other people around my age and engaged in conversation about a variety of subjects common to our phase of life. I am grateful to have several people in my life who are willing to sit for long periods of time, chatting about the everyday stuff of life, and the deep, soul-stirring highs and lows of friendship, marriage, parenting, health, work, creativity, and faith. I am an introvert at heart and find these conversations to be the life-giving sustenance I need in order to live out my often-required extroverted activities. The words are often uttered with a tone of confusion, grief, or frustration, after the person saying them has shared some kind of disappointment they are experiencing. I've had friends pose this question while battling professional discouragement, and others who've barely been able to squeak out the syllables as they weep over a child who is, either by their own doing or by the hurtful hand of others, in deep pain. I remember asking the question myself, many times, looking in the mirror during the darkest days of my cancer treatments, staring at a face I barely recognized. I've whispered them as a prayer while sitting on my deck asking God why a relationship seem to be crumbling. And countless times, I've mumbled them through tears after beating myself up over my own failures as a wife, mom, and friend. The question doesn't come early in conversation. It usually comes after several emotions have been laid bare on the table - sadness and anger being the primary ones to precede the asking. It often comes after a long pause. It comes with a hint of giving up. As if there is nothing else to say, but to look around and ask, "How did I get here?" I have found two things to be true about the moments following the asking of the question. First, it really isn't a question people want answered. Because at whatever point you are at when the question is asked, you don't necessarily want to recount the possible pathways of circumstances or choices that actually led to where you are. And second, I don't have an answer for the question. At least not one that directly satisfies the person asking or comes close to understanding the complexity of a question like that. While it might not feel like it at the time, there is a beautiful thing that seems to be happening when a person reaches the point where they actually say, "How did I get here?" I think it feels like a moment of surrender. Like you realize you're lost and finally ask someone for directions. As if you've reached the end of your own understanding and ultimately come to the conclusion that you are at a complete loss as to what to do next. That doesn't sound beautiful, you say? Maybe not at first, but I do think it can be a first step in becoming beautiful. If you take the necessary next steps. I don't understand the mind of God. I don't know why He makes the choices He does and allows us to make the choices we make. I don't know why He has allowed pain and suffering and loss. I don't know why I look at so many things in my life and think, "Well that didn't turn out like I thought it would." I don't know why people I love are facing the stuff of life that feels like a constant breaking. I don't know why some people have great success in their profession and others don't, even though they've both worked incredibly hard at what they do. I don't know why some doors open and others don't. And I don't know why we get to places where we look around and ask the question, "How did I get here?" But here's what I do know - God does. God knows and sees all the paths we did and didn't take. He sees the decisions made and the opportunities missed. He sees how all the roads have twisted and turned and crossed to intersect with other people who are on their own journeys that are seen and known by Him. I am blown away by that truth. Not only does He know what got us to where we are, He knows where we're going. Every single step. Every bumpy road we'll walk. He knows every destination we'll reach. He even knows the next time we might ask the question, "How did I get here?" I don't know how that works, but somehow I believe it to be true. Again, I don't understand the mind of God. But I think I do know His heart. And I think his heart is more concerned with the question that should follow "How did I get here?" That question is, "Where do I go now?" It's not that I don't think we should learn from our past. Of course we should. Lessons learned are the guideposts for decisions yet to be made. But wallowing in the stuff we can't change, the baggage of pain and anger, and the frustration over where we thought we'd be as opposed to where we are, won't get us a step further toward the beautiful life God has for us. He wants to answer our questions. Especially if they lead us closer to Him. I wonder if one day I'll stand before Him and ask the question, "How did I get here?" Not in search of a gospel-y kind of answer. More like wanting to hear Him tell me about all the stuff I didn't see happening around me. The moments He corrected, covered, rescued, provided, and refined me in ways I didn't even recognize. The moments I threw up my hands and asked, "Where do I go now?" I kinda think He'll tell me He was really happy when I finally asked THAT question, because I believe He wants to tell me. Show me. Lead me. I just don't ask often enough. I think the quicker we move from asking "How did I get here?" to "Where do I go now?" the happier we'll be. More content. More trusting. More at peace. And that sounds pretty good to me. ![]() I walked in a parade last weekend. To be honest, the magnitude of that experience was almost lost on me until my daughter-in-law pointed it out. "That's amazing!" she said. "You walked in a parade!" "I did," I said. "And you're right, it is amazing." In light of where I've spent my last three summers, the fact that I was able to walk in a parade is a blessing I do not take for granted. One Sunday morning a few weeks ago, I stood on my deck overlooking my favorite view, and realized this is the first summer in four years that I haven't been anticipating or recovering from a surgery, or in the hospital fighting infection. To be honest, I had a little PTSD when spring rolled around this year. Memories of what summers have looked like had left me leery of what the months ahead might hold. But this summer, I made it to August relatively unscathed. Gratitude abounds. I celebrated another birthday yesterday. The magnitude of THAT statement is NOT lost on me. I am here. And I feel pretty darn good. Not great, but pretty darn good. I'll take it. My family is in a sweet season of joy, which has come after a what felt like a long season of sadness. Mountain after mountain. Grief upon grief. I often tell people cancer was the easier part of the past few years. It certainly wasn't easy, but many days, there was deeper pain to wade through. Still, we made it. I'm sure there are bound to be troubled waters ahead for all of us at some point, but hopefully we've learned how to navigate the storms a little better. Gratitude abounds. It feels like there isn't enough time to accomplish all the creative work stirring in my soul these days. I wish for longer days and nights for my brain to sift through, focus on, and unleash the work I long to put out into the world. Some of that work has been graciously dropped in my lap - a gift I don't deserve. Some of it has been simmering for years. Some of it has been refined by fire I have cursed and from which I have begged to be rescued. All of it is somehow welcomed with an open heart, thankful I get to steward the creative work with which I have been entrusted. My body doesn't always cooperate with my desire to do everything I want to do, but it seems to be holding up if I treat it kindly. My soul has battled discouragement, abandonment, and insecurity like never before. And yet, every day, I seem to wake up with a hope that moves me to create - a hope that can only be given by a Creator. Gratitude abounds. At the beginning of 2024, I chose the word PEACE as my word for the year. I had many reasons for choosing it, and as usually happens with my "word for the year" it has proven to be a recurring theme for my days. It isn't that I always experience peace like I want to, but I find myself being able to rest in it more than ever, and asking for it more quickly than I have before. Rather than rushing to fix, fight, or fume over something, I am trying to seek peace, offer peace, and trust in the One who gives peace. The moments I fail weigh heavily on me, but in His kindness He has given it when I least deserve it. Gratitude abounds. So here's to another year of waking up to possibilities, to taking on the days and nights I am given with renewed hope, and to faithfully doing the work I feel called and compelled to do. Gratitude abounds. ![]() I'm currently sitting at a hotel in Providence, Rhode Island. Here for a weekend to celebrate the wedding of a dear family friend, I snuck into a sunlit, atrium-style banquet room in search of a few quiet moments alone. I tried two other spots in the hotel, but there was no quiet to be found. Suffice it to say, few things annoy me more than unsupervised youth sports teams in a hotel. Enough said. The past few weeks I have been in a frenetic season of tackling projects which have raised my personal bar creatively, inspired my heart to believe in the impossible, and crushed my spirit in ways I didn't see coming. Such is the life of a professional creative. The highs and lows of the business I work in are what keep me going back in the writing room day after day, and simultaneously what cause me to quit my job at least once a week. This road is not for the faint of heart. A few weeks ago I led a group of creatives through a 30 Days of Hopeful Creativity online adventure. The plan was to gather people together who share a desire to make art in pursuit of hope, from a place of hope, for the purpose of giving hope to others. I love creatives and one of the things I think I've been put on this earth to do is to encourage them to keep chasing whatever creative dreams they have, regardless of result or reward. I would like to tell you that to encourage others was my sole reason for taking people on this 30-day adventure, but selfishly, I also wanted a reason to put my "pen to the page", day after day, every day for 30 days. I needed the personal accountability and I also thought it might be a start of another creative project I've been wanting to tackle. So off we went. I met some lovely people, hopefully encouraged them to keep doing what they do, and I met my personal goal of writing something every day. I'm happy to say that as I look to the next few months, my calendar looks to be filled with doing more of what I love. For the first time in my adult life, I wake up every morning and get to walk into my office / writing room and work on creative projects I am passionate about. I am 56 years old, friends, and this is the first time I've been able to make this creative life work, full time. It ain't all roses and butterflies, though. A lot of it is hours of slogging through muddy waters of administrative crap, fighting off dragons of discouragement and defeat, and being confronted by my personal demons and downfalls. But there are also moments of unexplainable inspiration, the sweetest fellowship of collaboration, and the occasional celebratory mountaintop experience. Some days I face everything I've listed here in a 24-hour span. It is the wildest of rides. The personal sacrifices one makes to live this professional creative life are significant. And I'm not just talking about my own. My family has lived it too. We've walked the road of financial sacrifice, the expense of time and energy, and possibly the most costly sacrifice, the emotional toll the successes and failures have taken on me personally, which have unavoidably marked my family in ways I both regret and hope they are lessons from which we all learn. Before you think I'm being overdramatic, let me say this: I am well aware that what I've just described to you in this paragraph is a cake walk compared to the sufferings and sacrifices some people have to face every single day, either in their profession, or just in their everyday lives. Which is exactly my point. Please read on... My gratitude meter looks a whole lot different now than it did a few years ago. Cancer will do that to a person. Any deeply difficult experience will do that to you if you let it. You find yourself with a perspective you never wanted, but it's one you wouldn't trade for anything in the world, because you now have a choice that is crystal clear. Yes, I do believe it's a choice to remain grateful. To choose it every stinkin' day. To say to myself, "Today, you get to do what you love. You get to walk into a room and make stuff up. ('Cause that's what writers do.) You get to find a way to confront obstacles, battle enemies, attempt to discover new ways to claw your way out of a deep, dark, pit, and create art that you hope and pray will one day make a difference. Maybe not for millions of people. Maybe not for hundreds of people. Maybe not for ten people. Maybe for only one person. But today, you get to do that, Gina, and that's a good day, no matter how you look at it. So press on and do your thing." I have had to give myself that little pep talk more days than I care to admit. But I do it because when I tell myself to keep going, my hope is renewed. I regain my footing. I see my purpose. Hopeful Creative isn't simply a blog title or fluffy slogan I thought up. It is a perspective I have fought for. It is a badge I have earned and wear proudly. It is a weapon I want to give others, knowing they'll need it to fight the dragons I know well. Because if we don't have hope, what do we have, really? The alternative - despair - makes for a pretty lonely existence. So here's to tomorrows. Here's to possibilities. Here's to jumping into the deep end and learning to swim. Here's to butts in chairs doing the work. Here's to believing art matters. Here's to creating with hope. P.S. Hopeful Creative will be ramping up a bit in the next few weeks/months. I'm excited to share it with you. Stay tuned... |
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