You never know where one little email will take you.
The front of the barn close up, with bright sun from above, the words The Auld Barn in big white lettering.
Hi Lovely! Mari here.
In January I sat down and wrote a vulnerable little note to my team member Britt. The subject line was: “Will you be my coach?”
I’d been dabbling with mixed media poems made out of my son’s childhood scribbles. I had a vague idea that these poems could be a collection, but I needed help… a lot of help. And I was nervous.
Would Britt want to wade into this strange little project with me?
Would it feel weird to go from co-workers to coach and coachee?
Mostly, where would these conversations lead me? What would happen if I invited someone else into this process?
Reader, she said yes. And it was better than I could have ever imagined.
I love supporting writers work through their creative questions, but having a space where I got to be helped in that was so nourishing. Britt told me what stood out in my work, what my poems made her think and feel. She helped me find themes in ones I’d written and start new ones. I felt so seen.
At one of our final sessions Britt asked me:
If there were no limits or barriers, what would your creative heart ask for?
I immediately told her, with many hand gestures, that I wanted to find a huge warehouse that could be all mine. It would have folding tables and pottery wheels and a very loud Bluetooth speaker and giant canvases and paints. I’d go to my warehouse and create, produce, and revel in mess and chaos.
I didn’t like picking up bits of cut up words from the carpet under the dining room table, or opening the door to my office to find crumpled up wads of paper, glue sticks, scissors, and collage detritus. I was annoyed that my creativity felt constrained and messy.
Of course I knew the warehouse wasn’t possible.
But then Britt asked me to think of small, doable ways to feed that desire.
I decided I could at least look. Was there a nearby unfinished basement or attic that someone was renting? Maybe a closet in a small business that no one would miss? I asked in my town’s Facebook group. Lots of people had ideas that were way, way outside my budget.
But then, just like that, I found the one. There is a local couple who owns a barn where they do woodworking and laser engravings. I got in my car and went. It was as rustic and perfect as I imagined — a large work table in the middle, cabinets of projects on the go, art for sale… I could feel it.
They happily agreed to rent me a corner on a week-by-week basis.
The next time I went, I set up my folding table and brought over all my creative paraphernalia and got to work. It wasn’t the giant warehouse in my mind, but it was a lot closer than my home office.
Best of all, I got to say, on a regular basis, “I’m heading to my studio.” I hope we all get to say this at some point in our lives!
The collection is now wrapping up with 30 poems I’m proud of. I’m giving myself some space before I come back to see what shape the collection needs. Thanks to coaching, I have a deep sense of what is possible for this project.
Reader, what’s your version of that barn? Here are three questions.
If there were no constraints or blocks, what would be the most delicious, life-giving gift you could give your creativity?
What dream is so big you’re maybe nervous to admit it to yourself?
Whose help would you love along the way?
And then… What’s the smallest step you could take towards that this week?
I’m learning that just sitting with our questions and desires can be powerful. It’s a way to remember that vast bigness lives inside us all. And, it can be the canvas on which we find our small, doable next steps.
I’m stepping back into my coach role here to say — I’d love to work with you on questions like this!
So would Britt, or the other brilliant coaches here at Firefly. Each of us has our own style.
Author and motivational coach Hiral Nagda wrote:
“The expansiveness and infinite essence of the real you is enough to embrace the entire cosmos.”
I think we could all use a little more cosmos in our lives, right? And small steps to claim it. Let’s be together in all that.
In it with you,
P.S. Here’s the barn!