by
… When Life Asks Too Much
Since this article leans into storytelling, I’ve recorded an optional audio version for you. Feel free to listen while you create!
Last month, I traveled back to my rural Kansas hometown for a family gathering. It was like stepping into a time capsule. Faces from every corner of my childhood were suddenly there again: cousins, old neighbors, family friends. It’s remarkable how people who were once part of your daily rhythm can quietly fade into the woodwork. Shifts in location, role, or responsibility inevitably rearrange our connections.
One of those faded connections was Paula. As a child, I adored her. She ran the post office in our tiny town of less than 100 people. In a place that small, the post office was the most exciting destination around. (This was the ’90s, after all, and checking one’s PO box held real promise.) On the days when my mom allowed me to walk to the post office, Paula always let me linger. I even remember getting to peek behind the boxes, seeing things from her side of the counter. Looking back, that post office is probably where my love of snail mail began.
Before last month, I hadn’t seen Paula in more than 20 years. I was a child the last time we spoke—now we were two women having a conversation. She shared her story, one shaped by years of caregiving. First, there had been the long illness of her husband and his passing. Not long after that, she faced her own scary cancer diagnosis and recovery. Just as she was regaining her footing, her nonagenarian father moved in unexpectedly. “I can’t go watch my grandchildren play sports,” she said with a shake of her head. “I have to be at home with Dad.”
As Paula caught me up on the past couple of decades, I couldn’t help but notice her colorful earrings. When it seemed like an appropriate time to comment on them, I did. That was when her entire tone shifted. She told me that she’d made them herself using a technique called sublimation printing. With this printing technique, she creates earrings, keychains, and even graphic t-shirts. “The shirts are usually just cows with cute sayings,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “You know—cowgirl stuff.”
That moment has stayed with me. Underneath her words was something bigger: this is how I stay upright. Creativity might come easily when life is light, but it becomes a lifeline when things get hard. It’s important to remember that art is not always about beauty. Sometimes, it’s just about reminding yourself that you’re still in there, beyond the to-do lists and hard news. Creating gives you a way to come back to yourself.
After a few minutes of chatting, Paula excused herself—she needed to drive home to check on her dad. I grabbed a bite to eat and circulated the room a little bit. After a while, I was surprised to noticed that Paula had returned. In place of the somber gray shirt she wore earlier, she had put on a cheerful pink tee. The tee shirt featured three heifers with a playful saying written underneath. She approached me almost sheepishly, and she said, “I changed shirts to show you an example of what I make.” Then, she reached into her pocket and presented a handful of earrings. Each pair was colorful, cheerful, and waiting in a crisp packet. “I also made these. I think that all of them suit you.”
Now that I’m back home, the earrings are part of my jewelry collection—but they hold a different kind of weight. They came from someone who’s been through a lot and found comfort in making. When I wear them, I’m reminded that creativity can be an act of care. It’s a gift we give to ourselves; and, if we want to, to others, too.
It’s important to remember that creativity is whatever serves you in your season. Maybe that means it’s a pink printed shirt and a pocketful of earrings made with sublimation. When I had a rocky transition into new motherhood, my creative channel was simple envelope art (like this and this). For many people, keeping a sketchbook helps to synthesize feelings. It’s all about what works to help you reach a flow state and reconnect with yourself.
Next time you feel a little lost or overwhelmed, I hope you’ll remember Paula’s story. Then, let it inspire you to make something—big or small—despite the noise of life. Don’t create because it’s productive or impressive; instead, do it it because it brings a little color back in.
When I’m feeling stressed, I turn to mail art. I know it’s not everyone’s thing, but there’s something about it that grounds me. I love working within its small, familiar format, and carefully choosing postage stamps. Plus, I always feel a jolt of giddiness knowing the envelope will bring joy to its recipient.
Calligraphy drills are wonderfully meditative! Turn on a favorite podcast or some music, and let your pen follow the same shapes again and again. There’s something about just letting the repetition do its work and focusing on honing your technique.
If sketchbooking calls to you, lean into it. Let a page develop slowly—over days, not hours. As you doodle, I suspect you’ll be surprised at how effective sketchbooking can be for metabolizing emotions and experiences.
At its best, creativity is not about output; it’s about presence. If something helps you feel more rooted, then it’s worth making time for. It doesn’t matter if a project isn’t practical, if it’s above your skill level, or you don’t have fancy supplies. Instead, focus on the the effect that the creation process has on your mental well-being. I suspect you’ll find that the act of making helps you feel a little more like yourself.
Warmly,
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