Every year in early January, I take myself out into the world to buy a book off a shelf in a store. I never plan ahead of time, instead letting the momentum of the fresh year guide me, setting a trajectory for the months to come. 33 feels mystical to me, a year of curiosity and play and continuing to find myself along the weird and winding path I’ve been meandering on for so long now.
When I strolled through the bookstore last Saturday, I was drawn to Rick Rubin’s The Creative Act: A Way of Being - a book that’s been calling to me since it came out last year, but I haven’t yet found the capacity to explore. It felt right, and now it lives in my hands, on my lap, in my bag, on my bedside table, in the passenger seat of my car. Here, in Rubin’s pages, thoughts that could only come from him are resurfacing themes from past books I’ve read, quotes I have taped to my front door, ideas that have already found their way into my life over the years, in different capacities, from an array of artists and authors. Somehow, finding all these motifs woven together in these pages feels magical and telling. Ideas I’ve already reflected upon are showing up in new ways, twisting and manifesting into my life again, with new perspective.
The past couple of weeks I’ve been sitting in deep and quiet reflection, in the same space my family has come to quiet their minds for generations. I rest now in the same chair where my grandmother sat, and my great-grandmother before her. I pad through the same house on the same shag green carpet and stare out at the same mountains and watch the same sun sprawl through the same windows, casting it’s bright desert light on the same white brick walls. I wonder whether the same big questions that are rising in me arose in them, too. How should I spend my precious time? Why are we here? What does it all mean - and are we even supposed to understand?
I mostly find myself considering how I differently I saw the world when I was in the depths of the Grand Canyon last summer, and how I attribute that curiosity and perspective to stepping away from the noise in my life - the noise of the internet, of society, of expectations around documenting and sharing. When I was away from it all, I didn’t indulge myself in learning how someone did something before me, I simply played and tinkered and sank deeper into my own creative being.
In this space of silence and reflection, I’m noticing where my mind is floating and listening to my body’s physical responses. Most of all, I’m uncovering an awareness of an internal yearning to fold into myself, to hermit away for a while, just like my tarot cards told me I would when, last week, I asked them what lay ahead for me. It leads me to my greatest wish - for the spaciousness to play with reckless abandon, to feel things deeply and without shame, to step away from the noise and sink into a state of wonder and creativity.
I’m grateful to myself for finding my way back to my morning pages after some time away, and re-introducing my tarot cards into the reflection of the quiet space I’ve been gifted. I encourage you to give morning pages a try, too. Gift yourself time to free write during the early hours, let your hands share what comes to them, let them surprise you. Start small - even with one sentence a day if that’s where you’re at - and grow from there.
For us all, I’ve pulled a tarot card for reflection on the hour or day or week or year ahead. Whatever you need it to be, let it be.
The Sun
When the Sun card appears, it indicates the beginning of a new day. The great things in your life are illuminated by bright light - it is time to celebrate. Everything you have worked for will come into focus. There’s no room for low self-esteem and self-doubt - the Sun fills your soul with warmth and joy. Share this positivity with others - who in your life could benefit from your cheerful disposition? A little happiness can go a long way.
Rick Rubin reminded me that the best artists tend to draw in the energy resonating at a particular moment - and that everything hurts them more, because they feel everything more deeply. I often view the deepness with which I feel things as a curse, but today I’m reminding myself - and those of you who feel deeply along with me - it is a great blessing.
May we find the capacity to retreat from the noise. May we feel deeply and without shame. May our days be filled with the wonder and play and peace all humans deserve.
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