In an ideal scenario, the sun is out and shining in full force on the long weekend you decide to head out to a cabin on a lake.
This goes double when you have 9 people along for the weekend trip and the cabin is only meant to accommodate 6.
And it goes triple when two of those nine are younger than 9 years old.
Alas, this past weekend was not ideal.
Sure, there were those few hours of sun when we pulled up to my Dad’s cabin on Friday evening before the rain started…
And the couple of breaks in the downpour on Saturday and Sunday before everyone decided to pack up and head home a day earlier than planned.
But other than that, it was a decidedly indoor weekend.
If it was just the adults, the setting would have been downright cozy. The perfect setting for eating, drinking, reading, relaxing, board games, and conversation.
But within an hour or two of the rain starting, it became painfully obvious that the confines of the cabin were too small to contain the energy and expectations of my 8-year-old nephew, fresh out of school for the summer.
And while the weekend was full of disruptions, distractions, a constant stream of requests, and several minor meltdowns, among all the noise, there was something that stood out to me:
The things we create—whether children or creative work—tend to behave in similar ways.
They’re needy.
For their first years, utterly dependent on us.
And they require ample room to run around and explore aimlessly before finding and settling into themselves.
But perhaps most of all, our creations are uniquely capable of driving us to the absolute brink of our sanity.
And do so on a near-daily basis for much of the first decade of their lives.
Sure, the stakes and responsibilities are vastly different.
But I don’t think it’s unreasonable to think that the requirements for shepherding our creative projects to their potential are similar to those of raising a child to theirs.
Love.
Time.
Attention.
Space.
Trust.
And a level of patience that seems entirely unreasonable to anyone on the outside.
Yes, they’ll misbehave.
They’ll ignore our wishes.
Fall short.
Disappoint, frustrate, and annoy us more times than we can count.
But if we stick by them and provide them the opportunity, they’ll surprise us and enrich our lives in ways we could never have imagined.
Explore how to navigate a creative life that matters
This article originally appeared in my weekly Creative Wayfinding Newsletter. Each issue is the product of a week of work, and contains something not available for sale.
A fresh perspective, a shot of encouragement when you need it most, and maybe even some genuine wisdom from time to time.
Each week, we explore a different facet of the question “How do we navigate the wilds of creating work that matters?”
It’s something I’m proud to create and I’d be honoured to share it with you.
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