Sunday Edition: The Art of Becoming Again
Encouragement, inspiration & permission
A few years ago, I was deep in the kind of burnout that leaves you questioning everything, work, creativity, your capacity for joy. Over lunch, my friend Shelly, who is one of those deeply creative souls that seem to see life through a more magical lens, looked at me and said, “When you’re ready, and you have the space, I hope you explore Danielle the artist.”
I kind of laughed and asked her, “Wait, what do you mean artist?”
She paused, fork midair, and gave me that long, knowing look. The kind that gently unsettles you because it sees something you’ve been trying to hide, even from yourself. Shelly has that way of holding eye contact like she’s reaching past your surface. She finally smiled and said, “That’s for you to figure out. But it’s in there. When you’re ready, explore it. And no mean self-talk while you do.”
It wasn’t a challenge, exactly. It felt more like a breadcrumb. An invitation. And at the time, it was a kind one, especially during a season when I was more “on autopilot” than creatively lit up.
For months, maybe years, her words stuck with me like a lyric I couldn’t forget. I didn’t do anything about them, not right away. I was fully in the thick of motherhood, newly pregnant with Josie, and in a creative fog that felt like it might never lift. I kept searching for some spark, but creativity, as I’ve learned, doesn’t show up just because you want it to. It’s not on a timer. Sometimes you’re just floating, waiting for the tide to turn. I spent a long time there, waiting.
And maybe Shelly knew I would. Maybe she knew the wave would come eventually, and when it did, I’d be ready to ride it. And I did. Slowly, quietly, then with more confidence, I started creating again. Not because I had a plan. But because the urge to make something, to play, to experiment, to get a little messy, was finally louder than the self-doubt.
That moment cracked something open in me. And now I want to pass it on.
I want to offer you the same invitation: to explore what it means for you to be an artist.
Not necessarily in the formal sense, this isn’t about becoming a painter or quitting your job to write poetry in the woods. (Though if that’s your dream, please do.) It’s about noticing the art that’s already in your life. The way you arrange flowers. The way you plate your lunch or light a candle on an ordinary Tuesday. The way you document your kids’ quirks with a photo or tuck a note into their backpack. That’s art, too.
Maybe your art is gardening, pulling weeds, planting hope, arranging snipped blooms in old jars. Maybe it’s dancing in the kitchen. Writing before the house wakes up. Singing in the car. Styling a bookshelf. Making a mess with finger paint or baking bread from scratch or finally picking up that camera again.
For me, lately, it’s been getting my hands dirty, literally. Paint, plaster, canvas, wood. Big-scale messes with no rules and no plan. Just intuition. Just joy.
Here’s your nudge: say yes to that little creative pull. The one you’ve maybe been ignoring. Try something new. Return to something old. Let it be imperfect. Let it be weird. Let it just be.
Because art isn’t always a career or a label. Sometimes, it’s just how we remember who we are.
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