Tag Archives: detachment

What If the Thing You’re Trying to Get Rid Of Is Also the Thing That Helps You Create?

One of the most interesting questions I have asked myself recently is: “Does an old belief need to disappear, or is it something that deserves to be understood in a new way?”

So many of us carry an old story about ourselves. I’m not enough, I’m too much, I’m not clever enough, it’s too late, I’m too different or I’m an imposter. We believe that before we can move forward, we have to somehow eliminate those feelings.

But what if the goal isn’t to erase them? What if the real work is learning to recognise them when they arrive, greet them with compassion, and choose not to let them drive the bus?

That’s a very different way of living.

I see this all the time in the creative process. Writers and artists I work with often believe they’re stuck because they lack talent, discipline or inspiration. More often than not, they’re stuck because an old belief has quietly resurfaced. The inner critic gets louder, confidence shrinks, and suddenly the blank page feels impossible.

Yet creativity has a wonderful way of inviting us into relationship with these parts of ourselves. When we stop fighting the old story and simply notice it. “Ah, there you are again”, we then create space for curiosity. From that place, the work begins to flow again. Not because the fear has disappeared, but because it no longer gets to make the decisions.

Perhaps that’s one of the unexpected gifts of a creative life. It doesn’t ask us to become fearless; it asks us to become kinder. Every time we return to the page despite our doubts, every time we choose to create instead of waiting to feel confident, we’re quietly writing a new story. Not just on the paper, but within ourselves. Over time, we discover that creativity isn’t about not having wounds from the past. It’s about learning that those old wounds don’t have to silence our voice. Sometimes they even deepen it.

Magic Hides in Plain Sight

I’m often asked where my creative ideas come from. I usually answer, the world is our greatest teacher. It’s constantly tapping us on the shoulder, whispering reminders to look up, look around, and actually see what’s happening in our lives. Learning doesn’t only happen in textbooks, webinars, or thirty-second clips served to us by an algorithm. It happens in the quiet, ordinary moments we rush past, the stranger who smiles at us in the supermarket aisle, the way the sky shifts colours on our morning walk, or even a sentence on the back of a bus that unexpectedly stirs something inside us. Life is always handing us tiny invitations to wake up and pay attention.

People often assume creativity arrives in dramatic flashes of inspiration, but for me, it’s the opposite. I notice the small things. I pay attention to stuff most people hurry past. The way a child drags their feet when they’re tired, the way a neighbour’s dog pauses as if it understands something I don’t, the way a single sunbeam lands on my desk in the afternoon, these little moments become sparks. They remind me that creativity isn’t about chasing something grand; it’s about being present enough to catch the quiet details life offers freely.

And the best lessons aren’t the ones we memorise; they’re the ones we live. They come from making meaning out of what’s unfolding right in front of us. Each day asks us to move through the world with a little more confidence, a little more steadiness, and a willingness to notice what we usually overlook. When we slow down enough to connect the dots, the simple with the complex, the joyful with the uncomfortable, we begin to understand how to navigate this extraordinary, messy, beautiful life we’re all living. Creativity, it turns out, isn’t something we find. It’s something we’re already surrounded by.

OPPS – sent you the wrong address.

I’m so sorry — in my earlier invitation, I gave you the wrong address for the Stillness exhibition. Here’s the correct (and very beautiful) location where I’d love to welcome you:
Studio on Brunswick
Shop 2 California Lane, off 22 McLachlan Street, New Farm

Yes, it’s a different street — but the same promise of stillness, soul, and connection.

The exhibition opens at 5:30pm on Saturday 12 July, and I’d be absolutely delighted to see you there.

Stillness is a collection of mixed media artworks and poetry created during a time of deep personal transformation. Each piece is an invitation to pause, breathe, and reconnect — with yourself, with beauty, with quiet truth.

Come for the art, stay for some bubbles and the company. Let’s share a moment of presence together.

Warmly,
Vicki Bennett