Creativity, Cobwebs, and Claiming What's Yours

Photo by Jill Dimond on Unsplash

Last week, I launched a new idea that I had for our space here in Nooks & Crannies, and I called it The Hatchery. Friends, I can’t tell you how thrilled I was when so many of you joined in on the fun.

You all are the best.

But one reply in the comments section gave me pause, and I wanted to address it this week. The words below from a fellow Nooks & Crannies friend bravely gave language to what so many of us may feel more often than not:

“Wish I could say Let's go for it. But this morning has already awoken the *I'm not good enough* old thoughts in my head . Until I can banish those demons, I will stay on the sidelines.”

About a year ago I personified my own similar thoughts as the “You’re the Worst” Voice or YWV for short. This voice is a powerful force. And she tends to get out her megaphone whenever we attempt to contribute to the world in vulnerable ways or step forward and try something different or hard.

Like being creative…

Or, moving-your-limbs-in-a-forward-motion-in-what-would-be-described-by-most-as-belabored-walking-but-what-you-whole-heartedly-consider-to-be-RUNNING.

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About a year and a half ago I decided to take on the challenge of starting up a running routine. It was a whole somewhat dramatic thing (because I LOVE being dramatic), which I shared in vivid detail here on my Substack way back when.

As I progressed on my running journey, my ear really started to tune into YWV and I began see her for who she truly was. Here’s an excerpt from one of my posts during that time that might give you a little peek into my relationship with YWV:

So there I stood on our front porch, doubled-over after my first post 45th birthday, I’m-taking-on-new-challenges “run.” (In this circumstance “run” refers to me maintaining a speed one notch above a swift walk for approximately a mile and a half—should you have passed me on the road, you may have mistaken me for someone who desperately needed to pee.) Sweat poured down my cheeks and my lungs were still gasping for air five minutes after I’d dragged myself in off the street.

“Yeah, you’re not a runner,” the voice in my head said. “Look at you. You’re a complete disaster. It was noble of you to give this whole ‘running experiment’ a try, but it’s time to put away the sneakers. You’re done.”

By the time the voice got to the end of her little spiel, I’d sniffed her out for who she was. She was the “You’re the Worst” Voice (YWV, for short) that had been bumming around inside the walls of my brain for years. But after my 45th birthday revelation, I’d decided that I was putting old YWV into retirement.

Turns out that’s easier said than done.

Every time that I courteously asked her to move along, she planted herself ever more firmly into the dark corner of my mind with a smug little smile stitched across her face. So I decided that if I couldn’t politely put her on a plane to some remote desert island, maybe I could make my brain a less hospitable place to live. I knew it would take longer and more effort, but it looked like that was my only option.

So after she got done ranting about my first run performance, I pushed back. “Okay maybe I’m not a runner…yet. But I did run for 20 minutes—albeit it was slow—and guess what? I didn’t wet my pants, and that’s a pretty big win in my book.”

Here’s the deal: if you have a reliable, always-on-the-job pelvic floor, you might be rolling your eyes at my rebuttal to YWV. Fair enough. But if your pelvic floor has been somehow compromised over the years (moms, I’m talking to you right now), you would know that it’s no small thing to exert your body by running or jumping rope or laughing without coming away with your lower region feeling like a toddler who couldn’t get to the potty fast enough. It’s a really big deal.

And over the past several months, with devoted practice to yoga and its “pelvic floor conditioning” exercises, I found that my own pelvic floor had risen to the challenge of running. After that momentous boast, YWV conceded defeat for the moment. But I knew she’d be back soon enough.

In fact, her return came about a week later. That afternoon I saw an advertisement for a local 5k race that was taking place the following weekend. That sounds like fun, I thought.

YWV’s ears perked up. Her perfect opportunity to reassert herself had finally arrived. “Are you kidding me?” she snapped. “You can’t do that race. You’ve been running for a grand total of one week. You can barely eke out two miles and even that you do like you’re running through molasses. Races are for real runners. You, my dear, are not a real runner.”

I listened intently to what she said.

Then I pulled out my new favorite question.

“Is that true? Am I disqualified by any ‘race rules’ to participate in this little event? No. I’m not registering for the Boston Marathon here. No qualifying times are required for entry. So why can’t I do it?”

YWV saw where I was going with this, and she didn’t like it one bit. “You can’t do that race because you’ll come in dead last,” she snarled. “Old overweight men in too tight sweat suits will soar past you as you gasp in the back of the pack. At the finish line, they will have already packed away the signs and AV equipment, waiting with arms crossed and patience spent for you to drag yourself to the end so they can finally go home. You will be a complete embarrassment.”

I considered YWV’s scenario and again asked, “Is that true?”

Yes, there was a good possibility that I would be the last one across the finish line. And yes, questionably dressed grandpas would probably pass me. But even if I was last and everyone was annoyed by my snail-like performance, did I even care? My goal was to experience running this 5k. If I finished, then I’d complete my goal and that’s all that mattered.

At that point YWV gave an exaggerated sigh, rolled her eyes, and mumbled to herself as she hobbled back to her corner.

So I registered for the race.

Ten days later, race day arrived, cold and wet. I mean really wet. I mean a steady chilly rain that had no intention of pulling up stakes and moving on. And I had never run in the rain. YWV’s eyes brightened and she scurried back to the center stage of my mind. “You can’t run in the rain,” she croaked. “You barely survive on a pleasant day. Now you’re going to be cold, wet, miserable, and pathetic all at once. Really, all this race talk was a nice charade, but let’s get back to reality. You’re better off just staying at home and snuggling up under the covers with a book. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Truth is, it did sound nice. But something she said made me curious: was it true that I couldn’t run in the cold and rain? How could I know unless I tried it? I saw YWV wilting off the stage as I texted my friend who was running the race with me: “The weather doesn’t look great, but if you’re up for a cold, wet run, I am.”

She texted back, “Let’s do it!”

And so we did. After the first 200 yards, my body had completely warmed up. By the first 1/2 mile, I was completely drenched and it felt lovely. Yes, we got passed by old men and children and almost every other person on the course. No, we didn’t come in last. There were a handful of runners that straggled in behind us. But when we did eventually cross the finish line, there was a small eager crowd there cheering for us, giving us high-fives, making us feel like we’d just finished the Olympic marathon. It was fabulous. We were smelly and exhausted, but we felt absolutely marvelous.

I wish I could say after that whole incident, YWV packed her bags and hailed her own flight out of my brain, but she hasn’t. She’s still here. But she’s introduced me to this idea that I like to call “cobweb fences.” Throughout my life YWV has done a great job of setting up cobweb fences all around me, and she weaves them with her two favorite words: you can’t. The power of those two simple words makes the fence look like the impenetrable barriers that Tolkien’s formidable spider, Shelob, loved to trap her prey with in The Lord of the Rings. Through the years, I’d take one look at that those thick sticky walls and sigh to myself, “Yep, I can’t.”

But something changed when I started this running journey. I started seeing the cobweb fences for what they really were: whisper-thin casings that a healthy gust of air would break in two if I simply found the courage to breathe deep and exhale. This, I’ve discovered, is where change actually begins. When my response to YWV’s barriers becomes a breathy, “But what if I try anyway,” the fences fall away and new horizons open up all around me.

Friends, YWV doesn’t get to decide what you do with “this one wild and precious life” that you get. As humans, I believe that we were meant to create. That creating comes in all forms from baking cakes to building skyscrapers to planting gardens. We are allowed to do it for the joy of it. Not because we’re good at it, not because it’s impressive to others. But because it delights us to do so.

I recently started running again. I took about a 9 month break while we were busy getting our bookshop established, but now I find that there’s a little Cranny I can slip it into in my life once more.

And guess what?

I’m still as slow as a sloth and look a little akin to Phoebe from “Friends” when it comes to my running form. I am not the person you pass on the road and feel envious of when you see me sweating out the miles. Nope, I’m the one who boosts your self esteem. Good god, at least I don’t look like her when I run, you say to yourself.

Honest as Abe, I’m truly okay with that. Because I’m not out there pounding the pavement for you. I’m doing it for me. Because I love what it does for my body, mind, and spirit. That’s the only thing that matters.

And that’s the only thing that matters each month when we open the doors of The Hatchery here. Contribute because the work plays a part in making you whole. Write the words for the joy of it, for the moment of play that it gives you in a world full of responsibilities. Do it because you are human, and humans, God love ‘em, create.

For those of you who didn’t get in on all the fun last week during the launch of The Hatchery, please follow this link over to the post and get yourself dug into it. For those of you who did contribute, again, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It is such a joy to do this with you. I will be adding new Hatchery prompts on the third Thursday of each month so join us again in April.

Until then, friends, keep creating!!!