When I was about nine years old, my mother bought me a can of Sunburst orange juice. It wasn’t something that we’d get often but on this particular day, I was thirsty, and she bought it for me. It was such a refreshing treat in the midday heat. But by nightfall, I’d have the worst abdominal pain I’d ever felt and began losing liquid from every opening. We figured the sunburst may have been the cause because it was the only new thing I’d consumed.
My mother, ever the imaginative soul, decided to turn my bellyache misery into a calypso song for the Children’s Calypso Competition. She then asked me to stand on stage and sing about how Sunburst made my belly burst.
I promptly said no. Absolutely not.
Even at nine, I knew performing was not for me. I knew this because just the thought of standing in front of a crowd made my stomach twist and turn in ways even a can of Sunburst couldn’t compete with. What if I stood on that stage and forgot the words that I did not write? What if people laughed, not with me, but at me? What if, despite all the practice, I wasn’t good enough to pull it off? What if?
At that age, I didn’t yet have the words to name it, but it wasn’t fear alone that held me back. Between you and I, it was also the belief that I didn’t belong on that stage. I didn’t feel like I fit the mold of what I thought a creative person was supposed to be.
The images and definition I had unconsciously attached to creativity were so narrow, so specific. What I thought creativity looked like was my aunt who used pieces of charcoal to turn the concrete walls of our unfinished bottom flat into her personal canvas and created an at home gallery for us without intention. It looked like my neighbor who made cakes from scratch and decorated them so beautifully they could’ve been the centerpieces for life. Creativity didn’t look like me; the girl who stumbled over her words, second-guessed her every move and shied away from the spotlight.
For decades I misunderstood creativity. I hesitated to call myself creative because I thought it was something I lacked. I thought it was reserved for those who owned the stage or whose art could be admired by and inspire others.
What I didn’t realize then is that creativity is far more expansive, more all-encompassing, more alive than the narrow box we try to fit and force it into. In fact, creativity isn’t even something we do. It is a fundamental part of who we are. It is the very essence of life itself. The mere act of the Universe unfolding into existence is creativity. The way the earth spins and the tides rise and fall with little commotion, the way the sun rises and sets, the way a plant reaches for the light, bending toward what is possible, all of it is creativity in motion.
And so are you and I.
In our aliveness, we are walking, talking expressions of creativity. With every breath, we defy the dictionary definitions that reduce creativity to only artistic expression. It’s in the way we make meaning in the midst of chaos, the way we dream of different and better futures, the way we respond to the polycrisis – the thing after thing after thing. It’s in how we are piecing our lives together when all we want to do is fall apart.
For so long, I measured creativity by a yardstick that didn’t belong to me, when in fact, there is no single, universal yardstick for creativity. It shows up in how we care for a friend in distress, in how we make a dollar out of fifteen cents, in how we tend to our gardens and our relationships. And sometimes, creativity looks simply like surviving. It shows up in the pauses between words, in the spaces between breaths.
What if we expanded our definition of creativity to include more than just the art we make? What if we include the life we live? What if we acknowledged the creativity inherent in decision making? What if we recognized that even our hesitation, our reluctance, our doubt is part of our creative process?
Looking back, my reluctance to stand on stage that day was me attempting to navigate my internal world and respond to a situation that felt entirely too big, too unfamiliar, too overwhelming, too much for me. And in that hesitation, there was a creative process unfolding – a process of self-preservation, of finding the path that felt right for me.
I wish I had known sooner that just as there are infinite ways to be human, there are infinite ways to be creative. I wish I could tell my nine year old self that her instincts were valid, that her creativity would find other outlets and expressions. That she would one day find her voice, not in song, not on stage, but in quiet reflection and the very act of moving through the world.
Because what I’ve come to know and understand is that creativity isn’t a lack of talent or a gift that’s been denied. It’s about how we live. The truth is, you are creative. We all are. Every single one of us creates one moment, one choice, one breath at a time. And the world needs more of the kind of creativity that you have to offer. The kind that is honest, raw, messy and simply yours.
And that’s why I created Edgework: Care & Creativity at the Margins. To provide a space for you and I to explore creativity in all its forms. Edgework is a personal invitation to break free and reclaim (y)our innate creative power, honor the ways you’ve always been creating and share space with people who understand creativity as a living, breathing practice of survival, healing, resistance, and reimagining.
Come create dangerously with me.