What happened after I sent my last newsletter.
The front desk at the studio with two glass vases with flowers, a candle, and a mouse card holder with a paper word saying “Joy”.
A couple weeks ago, I wrote a newsletter about discipline.
Here it is in a nutshell: I think that we put too much focus on discipline and not enough on nourishment in our creative lives. You can read the whole thing here if you’re interested. But this email is about what came next.
I got an email almost right away from a man I’d never met.
Sorry Chris. I think your take on discipline is not realistic. The flow is elusive - if you’re not disciplined and show up, the flow goes right on by. Great artists, painters, dancers and musicians show up every day and do the tough stuff whether they feel like it or not. That’s just the way it is.
{Ethics note: I’m sharing this with his permission.}
I felt a prickle of defensiveness run up my neck… quickly followed by curiosity.
I had to admit, while I bristle at phrases like, “That’s just the way it is”, he wasn’t wrong about discipline. And I’m not against the rigor he’s describing. I love rigor. And I hate the idea that my approach might seem flaky and insubstantial. “Shoot,” I thought, “If I agree with him, have I been walking one big contradiction?”
Then I read it again and saw that word: Great. “Great artists.” I also noticed in his email address that he’s at the university. Of course. The tension loosened and I wrote him right back.
I told him that I’m not actually interested in “perfection”. I'm interested in helping to cultivate healthy, sustainable creative experiences that can happen alongside our busy lives. I’m interested in helping people write 15% more, and then, if they want, 15% more than that. And I know that easing the pressure we put on ourselves is a massive piece of moving towards those beautiful, generative 15%’s.
It’s confusing, because of course we all want to be great. And of course, that desire isn’t bad. But we often forget to think through what “great” actually means to us, right now, in this moment, this real life.
A lot of people come to us with massive goals.
I want to write a bestseller, I want to write for two hours a day, I want to finish this draft by month’s end. Of course! Drastic change is seductive. That’s why makeover shows get so many views. I’m not immune to it, I would love for five beautiful men to burst through my door, renovate my house and fill my cabinet with lipstick that obliterates my self-doubt. But in the normal world, that’s just not how change works.
When I see those goals, I don’t discourage them, but I don’t feed them either. For many of us, those holy grail goals are what finally open the door to the secret creative gardens in our hearts. But once we’re in there and we’re writing and smelling flowers and experiencing our voices and letting fears fly away with the pollen, the massive goals loosen their grip.
So, as we travel into this late summer, I want to invite you to think through what greatness means for you, in your daily life right now, in your body, in your current constellation of responsibilities and inspiration.
It might mean getting one super sincere handwritten letter in the mail to someone you love.
It might mean starting a brand new project even though you have no idea where it will go.
It might mean signing up for that workshop that scares you.
It might mean sharing something you wrote with one trusted friend.
It might mean actually going to one of those open mic nights you keep looking at and then distracting yourself from.
It might mean taking a step back from writing guilt-free so that you can focus in the other things that are urgent in your life.
And, it might mean showing up every day whether you feel like it or not, just like the email said. That’s a choice you have. But it’s not the only choice.
In the meantime, I will always be here to champion small goals — the way they build new foundations for us to stand on and to foster our sense of what’s possible. The way they let us change our whole lives, one small, do-able step at a time.
Okay, you.
It’s such a joy to get to write these. Thank you for letting me be part of your own steps forward. May they always be just the right ones for you.
In it with you,
