Lately, I’ve been leaning deeply into the simple practice of presence—meeting my creative process with a kind of pure, undivided attention. Not multitasking. Not strategizing. Just being with what wants to emerge. What I’m discovering is that something subtle but powerful happens when we stop trying to use creativity and instead listen to it.
In that space, I noticed a thread. Small at first, almost easy to dismiss. It began as a kind of question. A feeling about the world we’re living in—the systems shaping us, the quiet ways we surrender our agency to technology without realizing we’ve done so. I followed it without knowing where it would lead, and suddenly I found myself writing social sci-fi. Not because I set out to, but because presence made it possible to hear what was asking to be written.
This is the thing I keep returning to: when we give our process our full attention—without forcing outcome, without demanding certainty—it reveals flecks of gold we can’t access any other way. Insight. Voice. Direction. And sometimes, even an entirely new body of work. Don’t get me wrong—am I intimidated? Absolutely! Who am I to write a sci-fi novella?
I wanted to share this with you because I believe we’ve all wrestled with our own version of who am I, and maybe this is true for your work, too.
