It is day eight of this two-week creative exploration. Each time I sit down to share, I feel that familiar tension of wanting to know what I will say or make before I begin. The discomfort in approaching the blank canvas. The questioning of whether it will be good enough, or good at all, and what even makes something “good” anyway? It takes a surprising amount of courage to move past that questioning, past the pre-judgment of the outcome, past the part of me that wants to control the outcome, only to step into the unknown and let myself fumble my way toward something.

After seven days, there is this quiet and powerful feeling of satisfaction. The kind of satisfaction that comes from seeing what accumulates when you simply keep showing up, day after day.

It reminds me of cross-country practice in high school, the slow strengthening that only becomes visible over time. This week has felt much the same, building the muscle of trust, of showing up, of staying with myself.

The balance of structure and freedom within this practice feels just right. The daily rhythm provides an anchor, and the freedom to express in any form, whether a poem, a painting, a photograph from a forest walk, a rambling reflection, keeps it feeling alive and meaningful.

There has been both ease and effort. Flow and friction. Some days feel heavy, like lifting lead weights, and yet there’s a gratifying strength that comes with each return. I’ve also made it easy to succeed. Because the practice is not about perfection, I give myself full permission to post just one small sentence for a day, and that is enough

I think what feels most meaningful is that every part of me is welcome in this experimental practice. The part that doesn’t know. The part that wants to plan. The part that wants to hide. The part that wants to share, be seen, connect. The part of me that has been so afraid to not make sense, to be confusing, to be too messy, unsure, tender. It all gets to belong.

As I look ahead to the next week, there isn’t much I want to change. The structure and spaciousness feel just right, and curious to continue noticing the part of me that fears the blank page, that resists the returning, that is still so uncomfortable with the unknown. I want to keep building trust that it’s safe to not know what will come, it is safe to not make sense, it is safe to follow what feels true.

I can feel something strengthening and growing within me, even if I have no idea what will become of it. And maybe that not knowing is an important part of the creative journey.