Is it time to mix things up?

The joy of switching lanes, getting messy and exploring new – and sometimes old – creative practices.

“Okay artists / designers / writers / creatives,” I say to the kids I work with.

I sometimes say this to the adults too, but their reaction tends to be very different.

It’s natural for a 10 year-old to think of themselves in this way. They paint therefore they are an artist. Except for today, when they are a poet. And tomorrow they might be designing the most legendary build Minecraft has ever seen.

They are all these things, and more.

As adults we tend to find it harder to step into these identities. We speak in caveats. Adding, But it’s just a hobby, after describing a love of photography.

We will happily call someone a cyclist without expecting them to compete in the Tour De France, and yet struggle to describe ourselves as a poet, unless we’re getting paid for our words.

I know folks who have written in one way or another all their lives. But who still add ‘aspiring’ to their bios. For some, it’s not official until the book deal is signed. Or the bestseller list achieved. There is always the but.

Photo by Austin Chan on Unsplash

I find it easy to call myself a writer. I received my first freelance paycheque while still an undergraduate and have worked with words ever since. And 15 years running a photography business makes that a comfortable hat to put back on too.

But poet. Or artist. Those feel very different. For me, those hats are in a whole other section of the department store. One that has a set of stairs and a velvet rope.

Or at least, that’s how it was until recently.

As a coach, helping folks express themselves creatively and feel all the wellbeing benefits this brings, sparks so much joy. And as a writer, encouraging people to play with words is an absolute dream.

But as a human with self-doubt, and as someone who was friends with the most incredible visual artists at high school, I’ve tended to stay in my lane. Which means that I set aside my pencils and paint years ago, and focused on the areas that I showed the most promise in – writing, drama and then photography.

These were the things that I  

A - Loved and gravitated towards anyway

B - Didn’t feel completely shit at

in comparison to my peers.

It’s only recently that I’ve begun to play with different art forms and given myself permission to explore mixed media art and hybrid writing. In a similar vein, I’ve realised just how important dance and physical self-expression are to me.

It’s funny now to look back on the weekly sessions that the beleaguered head of dance would be forced to deliver to we theatre arts students. Trying, but failing, to hide his disbelief at our lack of flexibility or inability to pick up basic choreography. In comparison with folks who were training to be professional dancers.

I categorised contemporary dance as something that I would be watching rather than doing by the time I exited my teens. Another door closed. But now, I’m exploring ways to bring more creative movement into my weeks and days.

Photo by Ahmad Odeh on Unsplash

This change hasn’t stemmed from signing up to an art class or taking dance lessons. It comes from a deeper place. From having done a fair bit of digging into the root causes of my own self-doubt while training as a coach. And having realised that I (and we all) have internalised so many messages about what I (we) can and can’t do. About what is and isn’t for us.

Therapy has also helped. Having grown up in a farming community in North-east Scotland, I come from a long line of people who traditionally do not talk about their emotions. Or even feel them if it can at all be avoided. And with acres to plough your pain into, it often can. Until it can’t.

I’m embarrassed to say that I used to think of therapy as a North-American indulgence. As navel gazing. How wrong I was.

While it was a nasty case of C-PTSD (is there any other kind?), combined with the slow but steady de-stigmatisation of therapy here in the UK, that finally convinced me to give it a go, it was the huge difference I saw in my days that made me stay. I’ve been having ‘monthly maintenance’ sessions for the past two years and have no plans to stop. Not only does it help me to gain perspective, become more self-aware and keep my equilibrium, but therapy also helps me to ride the regular waves of creative self-doubt more smoothly. And with less wipeouts.

We tend to think of coaching when it comes to supporting ourselves in taking risks and working at our growth edges. And the type I specialise in is powerful when it comes to unpicking limiting beliefs. But I’d argue that therapy could also be considered a business investment. Not that HMRC is likely to listen.

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash

Other things that have helped when it comes to stepping into new identities, or picking up old, left-behind parts of myself, include:

Regular reflective practice

Surrounding myself with supportive creatives

Treating things as an experiment

Having a beginner’s mindset

Adding in the words ‘play’ or ‘perfectly imperfect’

Following curiosity threads

Embracing the process

Not expecting any particular output or end result

Reminding myself that it’s okay not to be good at something

In this way, I find my creative practice currently flowing from journalling into poetry, from collage to flash fiction, from life-writing to sketchbooking. I’m playing with paint and ink, experimenting with what happens when they merge. Drawing shapes on the floor with my feet. And adding words to watercolours.

Often it turns into a hot mess. There’s a moment along the way where I can see the promise of something new and vibrant, and then it vanishes into a murky swirl.

But this is the process. And, for now, I’m having fun letting things merge in this way. It feels freeing. Less restrictive and more me. An integration, perhaps, of things lost. And found.

So that’s why, when someone called me an artist this week, I didn’t flinch. Or feel like a fraud. Instead, I reflected on the way that this hat no longer feels so big or grand or out of reach. Even if it doesn’t quite fit, yet.

Ten year-old me is giving 42 year-old me the double thumbs up*. And I’m high fiving her right back.

If you’ve been experimenting with any new creative practices, or trying on a new hat or two, I’d love to hear it. Comment sections are great places for getting ideas, and inspiring each other, I tend to find!

* She was a big fan of The Fonz