Reflections Part 3

Mischief, Scheming, and Play

This newsletter is the third in a series begun two weeks ago with 50 Rotations Around the Sun, on the occasion of my 50th birthday.

The last of a tulip bouquet, leaning toward each other in greeting.

I want to remember:

Creativity thrives on the edges of things; this is a place to gather. We don’t have to strive for the center, we can claim and enjoy the spaciousness of the outskirts and focus on connection as we welcome others to gather with us.

When we find ourselves on the edges or on edge, we can walk around a bit, finding a rhythm. When things feel overwhelming on the outside, we can return to a focus on the patterns of our lives and routines. We can craft a way of being in the world that remembers attention is an offering of energy and care.

We can invite our creativity into cahoots, scheming ways to disrupt the cycles of overwhelm with moments of pause and rest in awe, wonder, and connection. As we find these things, we share them with others, offering sustenance and nurturance.

This week I want to explore the idea of scheming with our creativity, finding ways to disrupt expectations and create delight through sharing wonder, awe, and connection. These things sustain and nurture us.

A few weeks ago, I read in the paper about a woman offering free stew to neighbors in her DC neighborhood each day throughout the month of March. It was the way she described her project that delighted me - the idea that she was up to something with this act of kindness.

“I love a scheme. I love roping people into cahoots.” Miniter said. “I love mischief.”

“Can we find play and pleasure in this time that is hard? And I feel like we need all of those things.”

-Robin Miniter

I love the trickster energy in her words, as well as the clarity around our need for play and pleasure. She seems to know that though we all need these things, we may forget to seek them out. There is a role for offering mischief making and play.

Reading this quote to friends the past few weeks, something would shift in our conversation, a lightness and curiosity settled between us, a sense of hope in human nature.

Dandelion in my front garden.

I want to keep thinking this year about the ways creativity invites us into cahoots, the ways we are reminded that play and mischief shift perspectives and keep us on our toes. They help keep us aware and in touch with our imaginations.

I have begun revising my manuscript and learning about next steps for moving forward with my book. This new phase feels both exciting and vulnerable. My challenge is to stay present to the work and not rush it to completion.

This past week I became a bit overwhelmed, uncertain about next steps and how to proceed. I was grateful for the wisdom of a good friend who suggested that maybe my creativity and I needed a break from writing, we needed to play together, experiment, and create without goals or expectations. A shift to a process of experimentation led me to return to a pile of leaves I have been collecting over the past few months.

Dried beech leaves fall slowly throughout the winter, the last ones pushed off only when new buds burst forth.

They remind me of old note paper, lined and crumpled.

Beech leaves printed with sun and water.

Making prints, collaborating with sun, water, and plants, was a nice way to return to a playful relationship with my creativity. It felt childlike to collect leaves. I honored this playful part of myself by spending time with my collection, experimenting with prints, and exploring the beauty of their forms.

I find myself wondering what notes of love and care might be written upon these bits of fallen beech notes. What words might I imagine receiving from the trees?

What notes might you like to find written on beech leaves, what notes might you write for others?

What is bringing you a sense of wonder and curiosity in this season?

I am grateful for all who read and respond. I particularly enjoyed reading about routines, patterns and practices that shape your days. Thank you for being a part of creative community through this newsletter.

With a grateful heart,

Kathryn

First bloom on the sweet William plants in my wildflower bed.