The Slow Emergence of Creativity

"A tree as great as a man's embrace springs from a small shoot;
A terrace nine stories high begins with a pile of earth;
A journey of a thousand miles starts under one's feet." 
--Lao Tzu

In these words, Lau Tzu captures the challenges of spring that have been weighing heavily upon me.  I keep thinking about seeds and bulbs.  I find myself impatiently waiting for the bulbs I planted in the fall to slowly starting making their way through the earth and into the air so I can see them.  All I see now is bare dirt.  I worry. I wonder.  I hope.  I try to control the things I cannot control.  So I keep worrying. I keep wondering. I keep hoping. 

The challenge of spring is staying the course.  It is staying focused, not on what I can't control, but on the work of nurturing all the small steps that are the foundation of creativity. I am working on the small steps of a book, reminding myself that I need to take each step if I want to get anywhere. I can't just wake up one morning with a book fully written.  It takes self-compassion, commitment, hard work, love, and trust.  Yet, my impatience grows. I get distracted. I think about the immensity of the end goal. This paralyzes me with fear and an overwhelming sense of my human limitations.  In that paralysis, I think about my bulbs. I grow impatient.  Almost to the point that I want to dig a little, just to take a peek at what is going on down there in the depths of that fertile earth.  The spring does that to me.  It wakes me up. The snow has melted. The grass is getting greener. It should be time, right? It's been a long winter and I'm ready to see some results of that hibernation.

Mu Cang Chai, Vietnam. vietnamhotels.net

The creative process tests me in all sorts of ways.  I imagine an expansive terrace and I want that to be me. I want to be that completed creation. I don't want to think about the process involved in making that terrace. I don't want to think about the years of labor.  I don't want to think of the layers of dirt.  I just want that fertile valley in all its glory. But that is not how that terrace came into being. It was a slow, organic process.  It took thousands upon thousands of small steps. It moved forward and backward, depending on all kinds of unpredictable elements--such as weather and people.  It took compassion, commitment, hard work, love, and trust.  As it states on the Inspiration Green website:  "Terraced Farms: when it rains, instead of washing away the soil, the soil stays in place. Nutrients are also held in place or carried down to the next level." It is a slow and orchestrated process.  It takes a lot of planning and a lot of trust. 

If only I could understand that completely.  If only I could be patient and intentional.  If only I could trust in the process with consistency.  Instead, I get edgy and crabby with impatience.  My anxiety grows.  I worry.  I want it now, today.  I try to hold tight to the small daily steps--and sometimes that feels amazing.  I can feel the world opening up within me.  But on other days I feel the sensation of dread and worry take over.  Where can I find solace?  Where can I find trust?  If I listen to Lao Tzu, it's in the focus and intention of each step.  It is coming to the humbling reality that creation and creative processes are anything but final and done. They are ongoing steps that do not prosper and develop in the realm of control.  Ongoing small steps can take us into amazing places. Unexpectedly beautiful places.  I need to remember that right now.   I need to sit and be patient. I need self-compassion, commitment, hard work, love, and trust.