The practice of creativity

I work in a creative field in the “creative” department. By trade, I fit in an artistic box – which allows any eccentricity on my part to be completely socially accepted. But what I’ve always found strange is the thought that there are those who are creative and those who are not. That life is an awkward 7th grade school dance, where the artists sit on one side of the brain – and the analytical types sit on the other side, divided into neat little spaces by natural gifts and talents (each side enjoying their Fun Dip and Cherry Coke, of course). Sure, I believe we are each born with a specific set of God-given gifts – but creativity is so much more than a specific talent. It is the ability to create something original, unique, inspiring and powerful with your specific talents.

And the funny thing? As children, we are all naturally creative. We are all “artists.”

In this interesting talk by Sir Ken Robinson, he notes:

“[Kids] aren’t frightened of being wrong. Now I don’t mean to say that being wrong is the same thing as being creative, but what we do know is that if you’re not prepared to be wrong, you’ll never come up with anything original. And by the time they get to be adults, most kids have lost that capacity. They have become frightened of being wrong… Picasso once said that we are all born artists. The problem is to remain an artist when we grow up. I believe this passionately: we don’t grow into creativity, we grow out of it.”

His words echo my sentiment. Creativity is not something you’re born with – but more importantly, something you hold on to. It is courage, sillyness and the simple confidence of being OK if people think you’re weird. Nothing stifles creativity more than insecurity. Children are the most creative creatures alive because they don’t know to care about what other people think. Their lives revolve around imagination because nobody has told them otherwise.

This inhibition – this carefree whimsy – is what allows us to see foxes in the sky.

It’s what lets us create oceans out of bedsheets on our livingroom floor.

It is what allows us to build majestic cathedrals out of bricks… and graham crackers.

It is what inspires us to play and make-believe and daydream.

So often, we think that the most creative things are the ones we don’t “get.” As if being especially bizarre  to the point of becoming abstruse is what defines true creativity – a skill reserved only for the artistic elite.  And so, the “normal” folks – the laundry-doing moms and 9-5 dads and high school math geeks – leave the “creativity” to the true artists with colorful hair and body piercings. But the truth is, all of us are capable of profound creativity if we allow it.

We may not all be eloquent wordsmiths or master painters. We may not all be able to write beautiful symphonies or choreograph elaborate theater productions. But in our own way, woven deeply into our unique talents, we were all given the innate ability to create something profound – something that, small or big, could change the world.

When I was in 3rd grade, I could do incredible cartwheels. I would run with reckless abandon across the freshly watered grass in barefeet, launching myself through the air, and landing fearlessly onto my soft little palms. That loss of control between launching and landing was exhilarating. For not a second did I think about the possibility of falling. Or how awkward I may look. Or if I would sprain something. But now, I really stink at doing cartwheels. They are uncomfortable and cumbersome — and in the rare times that I’ve even tried to do them in my adult life, I’ve chickened out mid-launch. This is how I think many people feel about creativity. As a child, it came natural. But now, it just feels uncomfortable.

But unlike cartwheels, we were made to create. If only we can simply channel our 3rd grade selves…

The small people with big imaginations who run full-on across the fresh-watered grass, throw up their hands… and launch fearlessly into the sky.

Saturday mornings

It’s a rainy Saturday morning.

The house smells like drip-brewed coffee and hot-from-the-oven biscuits.

Little boy is wearing mismatched pajamas and little girl is nestled snug as a bug in her older brother’s blue bouncer.

The livingroom has been frantically attacked by armies of plastic, oversized Legos, wooden blocks and a needy 60 lb. dog curled up like a hot cinnamon roll on a semi-clear spot of carpet.

The dryer whirrls and clinks as one, lone hooded sweatshirt knocks it’s zipper against the metal in a rhythmic clink, clank, clink, clank.

The hubby cheers for the college basketball game on TV.

The coffee maker beeps with satisfaction at creating a fresh pot of java.

And I stand content amidst it all in “carefree timelessness” – a phrase used by Matthew Kelly in his book, Rhythm of Life (great book!), when referring to the childlike state of simply enjoying the moment without the ruling of a clock. Yes, it’s a good day.

 

My Favorite Things (this week) Vol. 2

My Favorite Things (this week) is a fun way to share the little, big, amusing, beautiful, interesting, and sometimes just plain helpful things that I run across each week. There’s no formula to the pickin’. Just random things that make me smile. And smiles are made to be shared. See more Favorite Things here.

1. Monogrammed mini-blanket from Moonbeam Baby

Kate received this super soft blanket as a gift from her cousin (thanks Erin!). Both functional and fashionable, the mini-blankie is the perfect size to take to-go and I foresee it being one of her favorite “lovies.” Plus, a girl can never have too many polka-dots in her life.

2. Baby Gap Bear Slippers and skirt leggings.

I’m in love with Baby Gap lately. The textures, the colors, the unique prints… I kind of want to wear the clothes myself. Our little bear looks adorable rockin’ his Bear house slippers – and his little sis couldn’t be any cuter in her ruffly skirt leggings from friend, Sarah Bauer.

3. Dreamin Bohemian pillow

This gorgeous pillow is not only handmade and adorable, it’s as soft as a kitten. My sweet pillow simply says “Love,” but you can custom make yours with anything you want – a name, special word or a sweet message. I bought this for my little girl’s nursery, but it makes a great gift.

4. Target room organizer


These oh-so-pink shelves make for easy and quick clean-up when the toddler tornado hits. And the baskets come in fun little designs.

5. Bruster’s Ice Cream – Mint Chocolate Chip, baby!

I discovered this delectable wonderfulness when pregnant with numero uno – and I’m tellin’ ya, it really is “real good ice cream.” The mint chocolate chip comes with plenty of big chocolate chunks – and their peanut butter puddles? GOOD-night.

6. Hostess with the Mostess

I like pretty decor. Pretty food. Pretty parties. So there’s no surprise that I like this pretty website, full of creative ideas for all your celebrations.

Hope this week is full of your favorite things!

I heart the Food Network

Some people watch golf. Others do yoga. Some soak in a hot bubble bath. Others enjoy a robust glass of wine. But my favorite thing to do to relax? (In the absence of a beach vacation…)

Watch the Food Network.

I’ve developed several theories about why this niche channel transports me to a state of calm and comfort. It could be the elevator music that plays softly behind each show. The rhythmic simmers, sizzles and stirs of the kitchen lulling me to happy land. But what I’ve concluded is that, yes, there is a certain ambience that accompanies my favorite cooking shows – but more importantly, there is a nostalgia that keeps me coming back for more.

It’s all about the family kitchen. A gathering place. A mecca for holidays, celebrations and intimate meals. As the heartbeat of the home, the kitchen is a place to do more than cook – but to connect. And so, the Food Network gives me that warm-fuzzy family feeling. It’s as if the TV chefs were family members, inviting me into their homes, sharing a few tips – and sending me home with a full belly and a new recipe in hand.

And in the family spirit, here are my eclectic Food TV relatives:

Mama Paula Deen

Her food is decadent and she always thinks you’re too skinny. She loves you by feeding you – with as much butter possible – and is always ready to greet you with a big hug and a pet name. “Sugar, you’re wastin’ away to nuthin! Go relax on my big, fancy, Georgian front porch and I’ll cook you up sumthin’ extra fattening.”

Yes, Mama Paula is comfort food at it’s finest.

Papa Pat Neely

Dad knows best – and when your Dad is Pat Neely, there’s going to be a lot of parties, music and Tennessee BBQ in your life. Plus, Daddy Pat owns his own BBQ joint, so the smell of smoked meat will always remind you of home.

Paula and Pat do make a cute couple, don’t they?

Auntie Ina Garten

Your fun, pretentious (but in a good way) Aunt Ina is always good for girl talk. She’ll invite you over to her house in the Hamptons, engage you in enlightened conversations about life and love – and will always have some delicious, heavy appetizers on hand. Now how bad can that be?

Oh, and best of all, she’ll always tell you how fabulous you look.

Sister Giada De Laurentiis

She’ll take you surfing. Do your make up. Teach you a little Italian. Make you dessert – and give the BEST maid of honor speech at your wedding.

Brother Bobby Flay

He beat up all your bad boyfriends when you were young and now he’s best buds with your husband. Plus, he did a Throwdown with blogging queen, Pioneer Woman.

It really would make for interesting Thanksgivings, eh? And now, I must go grocery shopping. Because in the real world, I’m the mama and I have to figure out what’s for dinner.

Finding my Roots in Cowboy Boots

I grew up traveling the world. As the toe-headed daughter of an Air Force officer, I learned my first English words in Japan. I sailed into puberty in Hawaii. I woke up to flaky, chocolate croissants in Paris on my 13th birthday — and attended Oktoberfest long before I could enjoy the heavy steins of rich, frothy beer. But no country, culture or people have inspired me like my birthplace — Texas.

As a northern friend once joked, Texas is the only state that actually “lives up to its parody.” Big hats, big boots and, most importantly, big pride. Because I’ve spent much of my life relocating (and reinventing), I found great comfort in the sense of belonging that came with being a local—a Texan—when I finally settled down here.

To walk the walk, I finally bought the right shoes—my first pair of cowboy boots. (Or are they cowgirl boots?) Either way, they’ve already molded to my feet. Funny enough, I love wearing them to the office. I prop them up on my desk and admire the juxtaposition of durable cowhide sewn together with tiny, delicate threads. The warm, caramel leather hugs my ankles as swirls of gold and peach designs wind up my calf.

At first, I wanted a pair of boots for novelty, something to wear for a night on the town or maybe to a country music concert. But what I’ve discovered is much more profound. With these boots, it’s not just about where I walk. It’s about following in the footsteps—and clinging to the no-nonsense horse sense–of past generations.

In my little corner of corporate America, it’s easy to get lost in the minutia of marketing plans and conference calls. My boots help me wade through all of that — and when needed, step over it. They give me a genuine Texas swagger, a boldness, and a soft-spoken rebellion. And at night, when I take them off and set them by the door, they remind me that I’ve gotten the job done yet another day. Even if they aren’t covered with dust from riding the range, they’re still, as my grandma called them, my work boots.

Many boot aficionados have the same pair their entire lives. And like a wrinkled, elderly face with a lifetime of laugh lines, old boots come with a story. Their nicks, scuffs, dings, and cuts add personality and charm. They just seem to get better with age. They fit better. Look better. Feel better. And I like that.

In several decades, my boots will tell a story of their own – the story of a Texan. They’ll remind me of family portraits taken in fields of Bluebonnets. Of tramping through piles of hay on my grandma’s East Texas farm. And of the time when — long, long ago — I was a young career woman with her first pair of cowboy boots.