Rekindle: From Flicker to Flame

In my mind's eye, I'm sitting on a log underneath the vast expanse of a navy blue wilderness sky. Crisp mountain air fills my lungs and then leaves as small clouds swept away into the night. More stars come into view the longer I stare up at them. It's beautiful. I want to take it in and remember it. But there's a tightness in my chest pulling me out of the present moment. I'm distracted by the cold. The campfire has died down; it's nearly burnt out—only collapsed ashy fire logs, and they’re barely smoking now.

But there's an intermittent breeze. When it comes, embers glow, and a couple of rogue sparks fly out.

I see the opportunity to work with that breeze, to fan the sparks into flames. With just a bit of combustible material, I'd have a stable fire again. Keep feeding the fire, and it will keep you warm. I know this, but I have been resisting it.

I've felt so far removed from my creative self. Does that part of me even exist anymore? Can that part of me exist in this phase of life? But I keep getting nudged.

So I got up and stoked the fire.

I rekindled.

And whoosh! Like a gust of wind bringing fresh oxygen to a fire, I found myself coming back into my body, revitalized. I was present, paying attention. It gave me hope that I would find my way through that metaphorical dark night in the wilderness. I would see the sunrise. I would feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I would hear the birds chirp to greet the day. I would see the beauty around me and be compelled to capture it, reflect it, in art again.

I can't stop with the fire metaphors because they are so potent for describing my experience and relationship to creativity. But I'll step out of them for a moment to explain.

Creativity is a gift. It's a life force that works through us to make meaning of things, connect to others, and understand our place in the world. I've always been "creative," but over the last several years, I took that for granted.

It started about 8 years ago when I published my book. While I believe the book's creation was guided by pure creative energy, what followed wasn't. I got attached to the idea of the book making an impact, being read and used by many people. So, I worked to build a business around the book. I marketed it to churches and youth groups and pitched the idea of coming to speak. I achieved my goal of three paid speaking gigs alongside bulk book purchases and hosted my own workshop in the year following publication, and earning a Publisher’s Weekly Review. But by the time that year ended, I was burnt out. I felt dissonance between the subject matter of my book and my life experience. For a time reference, this was in 2017, as the #MeToo movement was in full swing.