No stillness? No stories.

on making space

Aloha, I’m Ashley. I write about life through the lens of love for creative souls who seek to make life more beautiful. If you find value in the magical and inspiration in the messy middle, subscribe to join the journey. Your footprints will be celebrated.

This morning, I sat outside and watched the sunrise. The birds offered their morning concert, and the sky lightened to white with blue undertones. It would be bright enough to see clearly long before the sun peaked over the mountain. It was cool and crisp in a way that inside our house, with its superb insulation, is not, and the feel of chilled cheeks enlivened me.

I started thinking about what I might write, as I know it’s been a minute. In the silence of the morning, with nothing to magnetize my attention but the moment, I realized that, lately, there have not been a lot of blank spaces to let messages through. I don’t have an editorial calendar; I don’t plan these essays in advance. The most I have is a list of possible topics, but after a while, they feel stale, like a very old condiment (it probably won’t kill you, but it won’t taste good either), and they do not want to be written.

The purpose of this publication is not to stockpile content but, rather, to let whatever wants to be heard come through in real-time. 

The fact that I haven’t written here is a stark reminder that, without space, these kinds of stories don’t happen. It takes dedication and discipline to say no to all the shiny things in life and yes to silence and stillness and the work of allowing words to move through me. While writing is deeply gratifying in a way that finding the perfect rug pad for my kitchen runners so that they do not slide around and yet still ease foot fatigue isn’t, it requires more from me. 

I’m not falling headlong into a morning scotch routine trying to squeeze a sentence out, but it’s certainly not effortless. There are so many shiny magpie dreams out there (like rug pads or changing the water filter) that are easily made manifest. Instant gratification. Easier choices.

And, while these small tasks improve my quality of life somewhat, a life comprised of a string of them without the depth that stillness allows rings hollow. There’s a way we can fill our days with minutiae that give the feeling of accomplishment and hit after hit of dopamine, yet it doesn’t allow space for true creativity.

Creativity is not instantly gratifying. It’s a long, slow burn of fulfillment. Making peace with that truth has the potential to transform our creative lives entirely. 

Last month, we went on a trip to Sedona, Arizona. I thought the vortex would whip me into some kind of creative frenzy, but that didn’t happen. While the hiking was fabulous, the scenery amazing, and the energy fantastic, I didn’t claim enough stillness to let the ideas through. So I have a lot of pretty pictures, but nothing much to say about them. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing; it’s just not what Stories from Stillness is about.

Creating space can’t be passive, there’s no free ticket to ride. No force in the universe is going to put me on that train. It’s my choices that see me all aboard, or stuck on Platform A (would that it were 9 3/4). But once I’m on, hey-ho, let’s go.

And so, I am grateful for this hiatus, as it’s reminded me of the conditions required to do the work — conditions that I am one hundred percent responsible for. Yay! Boo! Responsibility, blessing, or burden? Or both? A contemplation for another time, perhaps.

Actually, it’s not true that I had no creative ideas on our journey into the vortex. I received exactly one. But it’s a good one. Early one morning, floating silently in the outdoor hot tub before the sun crested the mountain, I had the idea to share close-up snippets of wonder.

So, the experiment of Tiny Wonders is underway. They’ll be small observations, full of delight, and a photo, I’m sure. Short, sweet injections of awe. Reminders to look closely. Maybe a journal prompt? I’m not sure yet. I’d love for it to evolve into greater conversations together.

What I do know is the first one will drop on June 20th, the Summer Solstice, and they’ll continue weekly on Thursdays for the remainder of the season. If we like it, we’ll keep it going into Autumn (my favorite season of all). 

It’s all one great experiment. Thank you for being along for the ride.