Creative Spirituality

Navigating uncertainty with faith, art, and the power of small steps.

Every morning presents itself as a game of chance.

It's a toss of the dice, uncertain and unpredictable, dictating the state of my well-being for the day ahead.

In the murky shadows of my well-being, there lies a mysterious ailment that envelops me, pulling me into a void of gloom - a profound malaise.

Malaise.

That liminal state, marked by the remnants of a headache that wove itself into the fabric of the night, a turmoil brewing within my stomach, and a body that strives to persevere.

Instantly, I pivot to detective mode: questioning my actions, analyzing my diet, reflecting on whether the volleyball game drained my energy reserves. I wonder, will this feeling shadow me throughout the weekend?

Slowly, my body and mind begin a quiet takeover that's set to last a couple of days, and I have to find a way to live with it.

This is the challenge of living with illness, a battle I've been facing for nearly 30 years.

I’ve never felt so understood as when I encountered Meghan O’Rourke’s "The Invisible Kingdom: Reimagining Chronic Illness." It was like seeing my own experiences reflected back at me through her words.

“My fatigue felt like a problem with me-something about my very being. I worked too hard, but without enough discipline; I exercised, but I ate junk food; I was sloppy where I should be ascetic. When I felt off, it was my fault, a sign of some internal weakness, a lack of moral fiber, a crack running through the integrity of my being.”

Discovering someone who articulates the intricacies of illness with such eloquence and without judgment was not merely refreshing—it was validating. It affirmed not just life, but the very existence and significance of living with illness.

The isolation that accompanies illness is straightforward. 

It's the sensation of moving through the world burdened by discomfort, harboring a mix of disdain and envy towards those who appear to be well. 

Equally frustrating is hearing others lament their ailments online, which prompts a self-reflective spiral: you judge them, then worry about being judged in the same way. It's a cycle that confirms the fear of how others might perceive your own struggles with illness.

I'm drawn to how illness has become my greatest creative instructor. 

For someone who 🎶goes and goes and goes and goes and goes🎶—a line from a song I penned—I've had to evolve into a person who has mastered the art of rest. 

Did I say mastered? 

What I really mean is a series of stumbles and false starts accompanied by a generous dollop of lopsided mishaps.

I am not good at it. 

With age, necessity pushes me towards improvement—there's simply no alternative way to exist.

After 25 years of performing professionally while ill, it is mega difficult to switch off that automatic response. 

Feel sick? Just push through. 

But it's not just about pushing through; it's about doing so with a smile, injecting humor, and dancing in three-inch character shoes.

I wouldn’t trade those experiences for anything. However, now, the option to push through regardless is fading, as the inflammation in my body fluctuates, waxes and wanes, ebbs and flows, along with all the other ups and downs one can imagine.

Yet, there's a silver lining: creativity thrives within constraints.

Picasso's "Blue Period" is a great example of creativity born from emotional and financial constraints. Facing depression following the suicide of his friend and constrained by financial hardship, Picasso produced works in shades of blue and blue-green, only occasionally warmed by other colors. This period is considered one of his most powerful and creative phases, showing how emotional constraints can deepen artistic expression.

To channel creativity through my mind instead of my body requires intense concentration. Making people laugh with a funny walk, a stumble, or a quick physical gesture comes naturally to me.

Crafting the equivalent of a comedic fall using only words, however, poses a greater challenge.

For me, it involves dedicating myself to a sustained and intentional creative practice.

It's a component of my creative spiritual routine, cultivated over the past five years, which has become a cornerstone in how I confront and understand my own mortality. Sorry to be so blatant. 

What exactly is creative spirituality?

While I doubt I coined the term, it feels like a novel concept to me, as it emerged naturally in my journey.

Learning to reside in that mystery without rushing the results is a key aspect of my creative spiritual practice.

Not knowing the ending of the story and letting it percolate, being willing to change it, allowing thoughts to arise, rearranging the words to make it better, feeling the resistance and letting it wash over you as you get closer to your heart, holding it loosely, letting it teach you, watching it evolve and grow inside yourself. 

It takes a tremendous amount of faith. 

And it makes me feel better. 

This is what it means to be spiritually creative. 

It pushes against the societal tide of productivity gurus, influencers, online wellness experts. 

For me, the most challenging aspect of this practice lies in its uncertainty—the duration it demands and the unpredictable nature of how long it will truly take.

I never expect a musical to take seven years. But it does. 

I establish achievable milestones to guide my journey. 

• Embarking on 100 days of writing without any specific expectations. 

• Showcasing my musical to a small audience of 30, rather than aiming for 3,000, to gauge its progress. 

• Introducing a minimal viable product to softly test the market.

• Witness its failure and persevere once more, all without letting it weigh too heavily on your spirit.

These steps help me navigate the uncertain timeline with clarity and purpose.

This journey into spiritual creativity has taught me to embrace the unknown and to be patient with time. 

By setting small, achievable goals, I’ve found a way to keep moving forward and to appreciate every step, big or small. This path requires faith and the willingness to explore without knowing exactly where I'm going. It’s brought me peace and a deeper connection to my creative work. 

Each day reminds me that the real beauty of creation isn't just in what we make, but in the humorous, humbling journey of growth and discovery that accompanies it—missteps, face-plants, and all.