My Girl’s a Creative, Ya’ll.
I used to work at a hospital that was an hour away from home. Well, forty-five minutes if I drove a bit boldly. Most people pitied my commute when I told them about it, but I often replied, “Eh, I can’t complain!” If anything, the worst part was trying not to hit bicyclists on a two-lane road. Otherwise, kind of enjoyed the commute. For one, it spanned the entire length of Napa Valley. Second, I carpooled with my best friend.
It was on these commutes that we became close. As we drove the ultra-scenic road, passing winery after winery filled with vacationers, connoisseurs, and retirees, while trying not to hit any of the wine-buzzed tourists on bicycles, we would talk. The kind of talks that you would have late at night in the dark at a sleepover. About anything and everything. The kind that feels like time travel. Then we’d do the same thing on the way home, with some complaints about our shift sprinkled in. Otherwise, like I said, I couldn’t complain.
During our carpool commute one day, my best friend was updating me about her latest organizational project that she and her boyfriend at the time (now hubby & baby’s dada) were implementing in their apartment and the new budget she formulated in pursuit of an upcoming trip. My updates were about the latest journal I bought (yet again), writing projects, and potential ideas for future books. The topics we could cover were vast. The range, impressive. Being the incredibly supportive person that she is, she hyped up all my ideas and praised me for being “such a creative person.” “Girl, so are you!” I replied as I slowed the car, waiting for a chance to go around a bicyclist. This usually annoyed me, but it gave me an excuse to pause the conversation and think.
I never really used that word to describe myself before. Yes, I love arts and crafts, and enjoy making things for fun. The craft store, Michaels, is one of my happy places. Sometimes, I just go to walk around and peruse the possibility of infinite projects in the aisles. I just figured it was fun stuff I did to pass the time. But I suppose it is something that brings me joy. There is something to be said about what you choose to do when you have nothing else to do. It was pretty touching that my best friend saw me as someone who creates. I felt seen. And I wanted to show her that I truly saw it within her, too.
“You’re good at drawing! I’ve seen it!” Drawing didn’t seem to ring a bell. “You did such a great job painting those pumpkins!” That was just a seasonal project. I kept bringing up arts and crafts projects we’ve done together over the years, but none of them called to her as a creative medium.
In “The Creative Act” by Rick Rubin, there is a chapter entitled Sangha, which is the name for a community of Buddhist practitioners. Rubin uses this term to deliver the message that “Creativity is contagious.” It fuels creativity to be around creativity. Since I was young, I enjoyed being surrounded by art and artists. Museums, book stores, murals, and live concerts. Being around them, I could practically feel that artistic “flow” that I would read or hear other creatives talk about. To be in that flow-state is to be able to sit alone with yourself in a state of peace and make something from that silence, which is otherwise impossible for many people. I see why Rubin named his chapter after a group of Buddhist monks.
Rubin also writes, “It’s nourishing to be in a community of people who are enthusiastic about art, who you can have long discussions with, and with whom you can trade feedback on the work.” Throughout my twenties, though I couldn’t put words to it at the time, I craved these creative circles. However, between working the night shift and commuting two hours a day, I didn’t have much time to find my creative community. But I tried. I went on a solo trip to Greece to meet up with other creative women I had never met before, which was where I realized my passion for writing. I started a small blog. I signed up for online writing courses, both free and definitely not free. I joined writers groups on Facebook, followed writers on social media, and read more books than I ever have in my life, just so I could be exposed to the writing of others. All of these experiences helped me learn about who I am as a creative and writer, and I’m so grateful for them. However, if we’re going by Rick Rubin’s words, I can’t exactly say that these things made me feel nourished. You know what always did? Those drives with my best friend.
“How am I creative?” she asked me as I finally drove past the bicyclist. Still unable to put my finger on it, I tried to find the answer together. “What do you think your outlet is? I’m always itching to write, or thinking about writing, or gathering the courage to write. It’s just my default setting. If I’m not doing anything, writing is what I want to do. What’s that for you?” She paused. Then sighed. “Girl, all I like to do on my downtime is get my life together by organizing our home, making budgets, and planning for future events or trips.”
It’s true. You should see it. The way she whips out a planner, budget tracker, or something as simple as a legal pad and makes sense of what, to me, seems like a tangled mess of details and information. When I tried to plan my thirtieth birthday party, I was in unorganized shambles, crying over my boba, venting to her. Then she pulled out that legal pad. As I rambled on and on about what I envisioned for my party but couldn’t bring to fruition, she listened. Calmly, she put things in columns, sections, and lists, not realizing that she was drawing the map that would lead to my birthday wish coming true. We had a bouquet bar. It was fantastic.
The things she could do with a sheet of paper, colored pens, and some highlighters would amaze you. You know you’re in for it when she pulls out her laptop and opens an Excel sheet. It seems second nature to her. She loses herself in it. She creates order from chaos. She creates paths toward possibilities where there were previously only obstacles. She creates peace from the thousand-piece puzzles that come with life by putting them where they can best serve. She creates. And it brings her peace. It may not be painting, drawing, writing, or a traditional art, but to use your instincts, feelings, and flow to bring to existence something that wasn’t there before? That is undoubtedly a form of creativity. Also, she can absolutely crush a LEGO build. My girl’s a creative, ya’ll.
In the nourishing community Rick Rubin wrote about, the people are, one, “enthusiastic about art…” When I first called her to say I was struggling with planning my birthday party, I could practically hear one foot out the door with that legal pad ready to come help me. She was so happy to do so. Enthusiasm? Check.
Two, “...who you can have long discussions with…” Well, Mr. Rubin, long talks are where this all started. Check.
And three, “...with whom you can trade feedback on the work.” Interesting. She doesn’t write, and I promise you I don’t organize or plan things in the skilled way she does. Aside from the fact that we’re constantly in awe of what one another accomplishes, we may not be able to give one another constructive criticism on the results of our creativity. She doesn’t proofread my pieces, and I would never touch the organizational balance she’s achieved. However, we do share feedback on the work that we do. “How’s your writing?” “How’s your itinerary turning out for SoCal?” “I’d be happy to read your poem on the flight to Hawaii!” “This closet layout you drew is IMMACULATE. Walk me through it.” “How do you choose your topics?” “How the hell do you budget?” We are interested and involved in one another’s process, creating accountability and a safe space to analyze every step we take. Feedback? Check. This community is nourishing as hell. Plus, I know how to budget now.
“It doesn’t matter if their art form is the same as or different from yours.” From Rick Rubin’s book to my heart. Taking inventory of my closest circles, I have a larger creative community than I thought. My husband finds joy in tinkering with tools and making things in the garage. Creative. My mom loves to garden. Creative. My dad, who takes on different hobbies in different eras, has a knack for figuring out the best gear for his latest interest. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. Creative. The busy parent whose days are full of make-it-work moments? Creative. First-time home owners moving into their first house and deciding how to make it theirs? Creative. The nurses I work with who are constantly reassessing, reprioritizing, and pivoting to ensure the best for their patients and the team? Creative. Even that bicyclist who looked at the road and planned his ideal ride up the road, while not getting hit by cars? Creative. This community? Nourishing as hell.
“Girl. You’re creative. You create. ALL of that counts.” I said emphatically as I watched the bicyclist disappear in my rearview mirror. “I guess making sense of the stress does bring me calmness and joy.” Honestly? It brings me calmness and joy. In life, she takes an intimidating mound of puzzle pieces and creates a pathway into the future that brings such peace that it should be framed and hung. Like artwork. In actually, it’s a calendar. But it makes me feel things. Therefore, it’s art. That kind of creativity is a blessing both to her and everyone lucky enough to be in her creative circle.
The range of creativity is so vast that just about everyone is creative in one way or another. Even if it isn’t through a traditional medium, creativity is an outlet for joy, self-assurance, coping, inner peace, growth, and emotions. I believe that any activity in which a person is pushed to look within themselves in the pursuit of bringing something to existence outside of themselves is creativity. With that, I can only imagine how massive the creative community truly is. I used to crave a creative community so much that I went to the other side of the world to find one. And though I made some magical bonds, I’ve had that community all along. They say big things come in small packages. Well, a big part of my creative community fit into one person, in one car, on one-hour drives, driving up one scenic road.
