Change ... for the Good of It All

The only constant thing in a Creative Life is change.

In any life, really. It just feels like those walking a particularly rocky, uncertain path riiight along the cliffside of uncertainty and exhilaration, tiny fragments of our sanity tumbling down to the raging azure waters below; yeah that’s a special kind of hellish constant change saved for the ones striving to climb towards some kind of “success” in our art.

And like clockwork, the ephemeral notion of what our path ‘should’ look like is often a façade; instead pitfalls, snakes, oasis’, and a myriad of other surprises waiting for us along the way.

I recently asked a friend how she was doing. Seemed like an innocent enough pleasantry. It’d been a minute since we’d connected in a professional sense and her response, “My life is full of constant change.” immediately glowed on my computer screen. Calling me to laugh, commiserate, and ultimately, write this. Because the level of truth in that simple phrase was so universal; of course I had to dissect it.

We’re Creatives in the industry. Eeking out a living by cobbling together all the things we love to do that make life, well, worth it! The joy is, supposedly, in the doing of—the writing, the editing, the interviews and script analyzing et cetera et cetera. Each piece leading to a different opportunity, bit of insight, or spark of inspiration.

It literally never ends.

Some might see it as exhausting. A constant hustle. Which, sure, it can feel like at times. But it’s also okay to settle into the certainty of the concept that while we keep moving forward, there will always be detours and stops signs and unexpected green lights. If we’re open to it, approach the change with calm intention, there’s usually a silver lining. Seeing the good in things leads to more good things. See how that works? Now apply liberally.

Consider: if we’re doing the creative work solely for a perceived outcome—fame, money, status—we’re missing a whole lot along the way. We’re missing the point; actually.

Last year was a …“phase,” we’ll call it. I think, I can bravely articulate out loud now three months on the other side of it all, it was the closest I’ve ever come to quitting writing.

I know. Shhh. Don’t tell my bosses.

It was not a great place to be in. A hollow place. The decision didn’t feel aligned. And I never did pull the trigger. I passively made other plan Bs.

I was also so fucking miserable.

Then I became the cliché.

While I was busy making plans that twisted my stomach and kept me in bed past my alarm in the morning, Life happened. The Life I thought wasn’t meant for me, after all. My own, tiny little miracle occurred instead that, one day, I might be brave enough to share about as well.

It was an external force that pulled me back into the Creative Life, and while, yes, I was ecstatically happy and walked around in a fog of total, utter, disbelief for weeks—it was also an uncomfortable bucket of ice-cold water drenching my soul.

It was a change I’d been hoping for so desperately for so long, and while I threw myself into it with everything I had, I realized something else: Life keeps going. The next change will come, and you have to keep pivoting no matter if you get everything you’ve ever wanted or failed utterly.

So, what do you do?

During one of our walking therapy sessions—not actual therapy, but what best friends do for each other just by being there and listening—I heard the way she spoke about her retirement job plans. Yes, getting another job after retiring from her career. Something ‘for fun’ that would give her joy and keep her busy after the kids are gone. She also spoke about other possible things I could do. You know, other than the whole writing/editing thing I’d devoted myself to for the last 25 years. And the most important thing I got out of that conversation was that no matter what, my spirited friend would fully invest herself in whatever job she had. She’d make it work, and she’d enjoy it!

That’s a talent, I think. A gift, actually. That no matter what, you could be happy where you are.

It’s not to say I’ve never been happy where I am. Because here, where I’m sitting at my desk right now watching the pine trees wave outside my bay window, the dog curled up in the bed beside my chair, and a homemade lavender latte steaming in my favourite mug from an artist on Vancouver Island waiting for my typing pause; well, here—and everything and everyone that goes with this—is pretty damn good.

But where I am when it comes to my writing? That’s perhaps another story. A constantly evolving one between joy and fear and satisfaction and loathing. It helps to define the outcome of the writing, and then let it go.

Seems counter-intuitive, yeah?

That’s the practice part of the ‘writing practice.’  We can and should set goals if we ever intend to share our stories with an audience. But then it’s time to just do the work. Spill the story and characters and worlds that we were meant to tell onto the page. There’s a time for editing and critiques and all of that later. And every single part of the writing journey will bring about change that further influences that story.

It’s pretty cool. And in my opinion, why we intend to weave these stories into the cultural consciousness rather than keep them hidden away in a private journal in the recesses of our nightstand.

So, maybe it’s about changing how we think about the creative process. Then making those little micro-adjustments, one at a time.  Or everything all at once; it’s your process, you do you! Drastic change can disinfect the slate for fresh creativity as well. What’ll it make space for, I wonder?

More change, is my guess.

*Feature image by Jorm Sangsorn (Adobe)