Everyday Creativity
We had this old cot that we weren’t using. It was a hand me down from friends and sat beautifully decorated in the nursery until we realised co-sleeping was our way.
Jarrod was kind of bothered that we had to go through the rigmarole of re-homing it. We had a bit on our plate at the time, and he thought no one would want it. We decided to put it up on Gumtree, and as we sat down to write the description, we realised we could have some fun with it.
“The Cot of a Thousand Tales,” was how we decided to market it to prospective takers. Then we proceeded to write the longest most imaginative description we could come up with. We sat together on the couch late at night and work-shopped. We wrote elaborate stories of the babies it had held, and made the many tooth marks on the rail sound like melancholy remnants of time gone by. The description was long and filled with nonsense, and when we got to the end, I asked Jarrod if there was anything else we should add.
“No time wasters.” he replied promptly and we both burst into the unstoppable kind of laughter.
Jarrod went full time in his videography business immediately after we had Lumi. With no safety net, we dove into self employment in the post-covid days with perhaps a bit too much optimism. It was hard. Very hard.
One night, I opened the fridge with a dejected sigh. It was as empty as our bank accounts, save for one sad cabbage. I took a dramatic breath, and pulled it out onto the bench. Then I slowly tied my apron in place, twitching only a little bit in my left and most honest eye.
Let’s do this, I thought - feebly attempting to feel excited.
I chopped and separated the cabbage into three piles. Then I found a wrinkly onion in the bottom of the pantry, climbed the back fence and stole free-harvested a lemon from the neighbour’s tree, and pulled out a nonsensical array of spices.
It didn’t sound super enticing to announce to the family that dinner would be cabbage three ways. It didn’t sound fun to even think in my own head that dinner would be cabbage three ways. So I did what any self respecting adult would do in this situation…I covered each dish with a tea towel, set them on the table, put on a French accent and then announced that dinner would be cabbage three ways. I unveiled each dish with a flourish and a smattering of completely out of context French words, and we sat to eat.
Halo loved it until the cabbage touched her taste buds.
Jarrod had a few clarifying questions.
Questions such as, “Just cabbage…three different ways…?”
Oui, mon ami. Bon appétit!
We both found the start of marriage very hard.
Approximately the first eight years, to be precise.
I spent many nights crying myself to sleep and eventually got really worn down.
One day, on account of the fact that I could think of no other options, I suggested we do “lovely things” before sleep each night. We would climb into bed and each say something lovely we had observed in the other person that day and explain what was so special about it.
When we ended the day with these little affirmations and celebrations of each other, the pre-bedtime tears quite quickly became a thing of the past. There was a large divide between us made up of the things we couldn’t offer each other at the time. Lovely things gave us a way to stay connected and send ribbons of friendship across the divide.
Our absolute favourite show is This Is Us. Two of the main characters are a married couple - Randall and Beth. Randall deals with intense anxiety and panic attacks over the course of the series. They have this game they play called ‘Worst Case Scenario’ where when things are feeling intense and worry is mounting about a particular situation, they take turns detailing the worst case scenario they’ve been imagining will occur. The raw honesty of their concerns ends up being pretty funny when they say them out loud, and you can feel the tension receding as they share their innermost fears.
Every now and then, we pull this game out and it’s amazing how it can transform the paralysing nature of fear into something a bit more manageable.
My Mum is going through chemo at the moment and the more I listen and reflect on the situation of her being in this space on and off for five years…I realise just how much she would feel out of control. The absolute roller coaster of setbacks and successes must be absolutely exhausting. Constantly feeling like you’re being pulled this way and that, and none of it really ever feels like a choice. The powerlessness of it all can be crippling.
So I made her a magic wand.
The rules are simple:
If Mum points the wand at you and says, “Put Escape to the Chateau on…” you do it.
If Mum points the wand at you and says, “Volume down…” because she was struggling to find a way to tell you her head is hurting and you’re being too loud - you pipe down, son.
If Mum points the wand at you and says, “Foot massage…” you go find some lovely oil and you tend to her weary feet.
The idea came from something I do on days when everything feels too overwhelming. The days the kids are ignoring my every word and I don’t have it in me to solve the problem calmly, and I forget all of my tools and resources. The days I get updates on Mum and can’t fix any of her problems. The days we forget to put the bin out and it’s full and now we have to wait two more weeks and there is nothing I can do about it. When every single food and drink gets spilled on the floor in unbelievable succession.
When all the powerlessness compounds and all the frustration builds in my body…I let it out with a little magic. I tell Jarrod I need to feel powerful for just 10 minutes and then I whoosh my hands in a downward motion and he falls back into his chair. Then I whoosh them upwards and he stands back up. Then I do a twirling motion and he spins in circles. Then I whoosh him back into his seat… and usually I’m pretty good after that. This is the same philosophy I’m applying to Mum and the wand. Just a wee little way to regain a semblance of your power and circumvent violence of words and actions.
Is there something to be said for accepting seasons or moments of powerlessness as part of the human condition and the reality of life?
No. And no one even asked you.
What these stories have in common for me are a theme of creativity being central to our survival.
I truly don’t know if I would have survived the early days of marriage without ‘lovely things.’ None of us would have survived cabbage three ways by a mediocre chef, if it wasn’t for the accent and the imaginary restaurant. As well as the many other times creativity saved us during financial insecurity. Both from our hunger and from our mounting stress.
I’m hoping when I give Mum her new wand, she feels even a momentary rekindling of her power. And that she makes a few necessary demands in the process, with audacity and wizardly authority.
This is how we have somewhat accidentally turned seasons of struggle into moments of joy. Annoying tasks into enjoyable ones. Moments of fear into moments of vulnerability (and subsequently - closeness). This is how we sprinkle tiny speckles of connection into challenging relationship spaces.
What I’m realising is that the real creative practice in life is always asking yourself, “What can I make of this?”
And with this posture of transformative creative authorship…
an empty wallet becomes a poem.
A broken heart becomes a song.
An empty fridge becomes a specialty cabbage restaurant.
A lack of friends becomes a new dancing class.
Powerlessness becomes a magic wand.
Feeling stuck opens the door for a new rhythm or a new perspective.
You can disarm your inner boggarts with a ‘Ridikulus’ spell. Turn your fears into fits of laughter. Dress your worries in brightly coloured elmo underwear.
Creativity isn’t just paintings and theatre shows.
It’s crucial to our survival.
It keeps our lights on. Our souls aglow.
It redirects our energy from futility to expansion.
It transforms us using the infinite nature of the universe.
Reassembling our spirits for the good work of being here in this moment.
Creativity is no frivolous endeavour. And it doesn’t always require paintbrushes and fabric and craft glue. It requires a sacred dissatisfaction, and a posture of possibility.
I think perhaps the antithesis of this is the idea that there is a right and a wrong way about things. So instead of asking, ‘What am I supposed to do now?’ or wondering what ‘should’ be your next move…you can simply ask, “What can I make of this?”
And see what transpires.
x
Lysette
Absolutely LOVED this post!