Maybe you’re lucky enough to have stood beneath the natural wonders that are Redwood trees, here on the golden California Coast, with their treetops soaring so much higher than most buildings that you can’t see them with your feet planted in soil, but you can see and sense them defying gravity, as their trunks and branches that have steadily grown over hundreds of years, expand into the infinite summer sky. If you haven’t, let me tell you, the experience is truly humbling and awe-inspiring.
Creatively, I want that same sense of steady expansion over time.
I feel like I’ve cracked open my creative seeds, and I’m now learning how to nourish them so they can continue sprouting throughout the changing and sometimes turbulent seasons. And what I want is to see the possibility of how much they can grow. What I want is to see myself expand into an infinite summer sky.
But if you’re also someone pursuing creative work, and in the early stages of creating a creative life, then you already know how much of this journey is trodding through the mental gymnastics of it all.
The creative journey is as much mental and emotional as it is about developing craft. I think it’s often mostly that. Even in writing this right now, I need to psychologically unfuck myself.
And that’s courtesy of a flavorful fusion of insecurity, self-doubt, perfectionism, comparison, and the world of instant gratification that we live in. All of that is a stew of reasons to never start, or if you’re like me, get dangerously close to overthinking and second-guessing yourself out of the game entirely.
It can leave you wanting so much more, and wanting so much more now. It can leave you feeling like nothing is ever enough, or worse, like you’re never enough.
Now, I’m generally a patient person, but my desire to tap into the depths of my own wellspring of creativity and make all the things I want and need to make, in the way I want and need to make them, can sometimes leave me feeling impatient by the constraint of my current capacity.
But there’s a quote by poet Rainer Maria Rilke I come back to often.
These words keep me steady.
"Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer. It does come. But it comes only to the patient, who are there as though eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and wide. I learn it daily, learn it with pain to which I am grateful: patience is everything!"
Rilke reminds us that it’s only through patience that true artistic prowess arrives. It’s never through calculating everything, or rushing yourself or the process, and it’s especially, not through fear.
It’s straight, steadfast patience. Doggedness.
This means being an “artist” requires resilience, trust, and an unwavering belief in one’s pursuit. And I think this is where the most profound growth and fulfillment lies.
Not in forcing anything, or holding things too tightly. But in being so rooted in the process, the journey, yourself, and in believing that there is bountiful time, and in that time, all the seeds meant to grow, with intentional and patient nourishment, eventually will.
For the creative journey, patience isn’t just a virtue, it’s vital.
But trying to make things, planting tiny seeds with my words, and engaging with it all, through the internet, where everyone has the attention span of a flea, content for every platform is always king, and the creative output of everyone comes with a quick turnaround time catapulted by a cocktail of A.I., algorithms, and anxiety?
Damn, that’s dismal.
With so many years having already passed, where I wasn’t actively engaged with my own creativity, in the ways I wanted to be, I already feel like such a late bloomer to my own creative life. And I don’t want to waste more time. And I won’t.
But creative acts like writing take time. Uncovering what I think and feel takes time. Finding the right words to capture it all, takes time. At least I know for myself, I need, like, and want time. If writing is thinking, I don’t want to rush my thinking, or underthink.
Life is short, but it’s also really long. And I want to spend it exploring every ounce of creativity inside me. I want to squeeze it all out. I want to die empty.
And that means I need to go slow, stay steady, be thoughtful, and patient. That’s not a waste of time. And I know I do have time, and I also know that I don’t actually have forever, but I’d love to create everything with a level of deliberateness as if I do. I want to do things my own way. For as much as authenticity is a buzzword, it is extremely important to me. I think maintaining and protecting one’s sense of self is one of the hardest, but necessary things to do. And I intend to remain myself through and through. To remain earnest and with integrity. To never bend.
That means doing things in ways that align best with me. And I think so much of developing a creative practice has been going through the motions of learning about myself and what works best for me. My process? It remains an ongoing experiment. It’s steps forward and what feels like several steps back. It’s pivoting when necessary. It’s intentional. It’s play. It’s starting over and coming back stronger.
Sometimes, I wonder if there’s an actual place for me in any and all of this, whatever this is. I question my progress. At times, I feel unaccomplished because I’m not sure what I have to show for any of it. Because I’m still figuring it all out. I’m still learning how to tap into everything inside me. And I know I’ve barely scratched the surface. But that’s a good thing, I think. I’m still just getting started.
And I believe I’m cultivating a solid foundation. Strong roots. For me, that means anchoring myself in the conviction of my pursuits. I’m not looking for immediate results. I believe in the simplicity of showing up and doing the work. Again and again and again. No matter what.
I’m sustaining a patient perspective. I’m focused on right now because I’m interested in longevity. I’m here for the long game. This keeps me going. Like water for Redwood roots, this mindset nourishes me. So when I become discouraged or distracted, I come back to my sprouting seeds, my roots, my gradual expansion, and the possibility of future fruition.
By being so rooted in patience, I can continue to show up and do the work. I can endure the “storms of spring.” But this is a delicate dance of being patient without letting myself off the hook. Maintaining momentum.
Because, like a Redwood tree, I too, will expand. Creatively, I’ll stay nourished. If I remain steady. If I stay patient. Because patience is indeed everything.
And soon my summer will come.
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“And I know I’ve barely scratched the surface. But that’s a good thing, I think. I’m still just getting started.” loved this 🤍
“And I know I do have time, and I also know that I don’t actually have forever, but I’d love to create everything with a level of deliberateness as if I do.” - This is 🔥🔥