An early morning in Maine, I set out down a long breakwater with a little lighthouse at the end. Truth be told, I was not particularly interested in the lighthouse, but I do tend to find a destination galvanizing. A bit out from the shaded shoreline, the easy morning sun hits my left cheek, and the warmth prompts a half smile and unexpected delight. I leave the breakwater and, led by that bit of body experience, go down a sun-warmed trail to a few weekends before. I am face down on a paddle board in the late afternoon light, floating. Here, too, I am unexpectedly delighted to notice that the bottoms of my feet are being warmed by the sun. How often, if ever, do feet bottoms feel the sun?
I did not make it out to that lighthouse at the end of the breakwater, but I did make something while heading toward it. My mind, given the time and space, wove two experiences of sun warmth together, creating a story of being unexpectedly delighted by and in the world. This somehow helps those experiences stick, and the possibility of unexpected delight feels more real. Out of random experiential bits and bobs, a something—a story—emerged that is not only holdable but also shareable.
I recently heard writer Elizabeth Gilbert describe creativity as spiritual—defined as a sense of being a part of something bigger than one's self. Everything is always in a state of change and, relatedly, in a state of creation. When you make something of something, you tap into that creative process and become a contributor to a bigger picture.
There are endless ingredients in the world to be foraged through noticing, feeling, allowing, listening, collecting. I hope you exercise your particular creative genius enthusiastically and often, and convert raw ingredients into something new and touched by you; it is sure to be delicious.