Reader,
Two weeks ago I put up a felt bulletin board in the kitchen. Not even a proper cork board type thing — just two of those small square felt tiles I had left over from something else. I pinned up a “joke of the day,” a random Canadian fact, and a recommended “eat” for the family.
It was mostly an experiment. Just something to do.
Then something sweet started happening.
I’d be in my office and suddenly hear my partner laughing at full volume, which I’m choosing to believe was because my joke of the day was absolutely top-tier comedy. I’d wander into the kitchen and find my son standing there, quietly reading the fact. The next morning he’d jump up from the table and say, “Oh yeah! I have to read the fact of the day!” Like it was an event. Like it mattered. hmm. data.
He started looking forward to it.
So of course I amped things up. I added my terrible little drawings. I started pinning kind notes for each of them. It stopped being a board and started becoming a hub. A touchpoint. A small gathering place in the middle of our day. A moment to breathe.
In a world that keeps handing us grief and hard headlines, this tiny square of felt became something unexpectedly necessary. A pocket of delight. Small, yes, but pretty damn powerful if you looked closely, listened, and paid attention.
Lately I’ve been talking with writers about creative micro-practices, the smaller pieces of a larger creative act that don’t require a residency or a perfectly protected morning. Just small, repeatable acts that slowly, over time, reshape how creativity lives in us. 'cause sometimes that's all we have space for.
And I’ve been asking myself: if this is true in writing, where else could this be true? Where else could these micro acts change the vibe of a room? Of a relationship? Of a life?
The kitchen board is just one example.
Here's another example that I shared with the writers in the forever writers club: ⬇️
Yesterday I was sitting in my office and could not stop thinking about the white bench I bought for this office when I first moved here. There it sat with its cute little cushions, flush against the floral wallpaper wall. Cute to look at but not functional. I could rarely sit there because it being against the wall like that almost always caused a sciatica flare up. Plus I already have a little cozy nook on the opposite side of the room. I kept thinking, I want a space where I can spread out my papers when building workshops. I usually just use the kitchen table but now we've got a big puzzle occupying that space. So I said to myself what if I moved this bench over to the window in the living room where this old vanity-turned-desk currently resides? I asked my partner to help me swap it out and it was a perfect fit. But I share this not because of the new nook, station, desk area, but because of the unexpected DELIGHT that my partner experienced.
Lately, he's been stressed, nervous, anxious about the world and rightly so. But when I moved the bench over to the window, his face changed immediately. He was like "I love this!" and this was a noticeable shift as he is not quick to show emotion like this haha. He went on, "This makes me want to sit there with a coffee and read." I smiled and watched him put a blanket over the bench, grab two cushions, move over a little side table, and we even put a little plant on the table.
I went back to work and when I poked my head out, there he was, sitting on that bench, relaxing (finally) and looking out the window. He really needed that. The whole shape of his day changed because of a small decision to give myself what I needed. It rippled out to him. THAT whole experience made me want to revisit Ross Gay's book "The Book of More Delights" because he writes about this very thing. In a world where it feels like nothing is really ours, where the constant crumble, pain, injustice continue to eat away at us, we need delights more than ever. They matter. They do not have to be big grand gestures. They can be small moments of intentional decision-making.
From that we talked about Ross Gay's book and we decided I would re-read it (I have it on my kindle), and he would read it for the first time (I have a spare copy sent to me from the publisher back when I interviewed Ross Gay).
Sometimes the smallest things ... the tiniest decisions, the almost-invisible acts, create the biggest ripples.
But they multiply if we build them into the design of our lives.
When we go to work, we plan for it. We account for the commute, brushing our teeth, waiting for the bus, packing lunch. There’s an assumed rhythm. A structure. A sequence. But in so many other areas, especially the creative ones, we’re forever squeezing things in. Tacking them onto the edges of exhaustion ( I raise my hand here 'cause I've lived most of my life like this). Leaning on that well-worn story that we just… don’t have the time. Or the energy.
What I’m starting to see more clearly is this: the micro creative acts built into the structure of our days are what restore the energy daily life takes from us. Because life… well, life will life.
I have a close family member in the hospital right now, recovering from surgery, adjusting to a whole new way of living. We all have financial struggles, painful encounters, hard days that hit out of nowhere. But why do we keep telling ourselves that we have to show up to those moments… empty-handed? Empty of energy, empty of care for ourselves? can we start to, slowly, over time, say no (with love) to that?
The work I do with creatives has evolved so much over the years. It’s deepened. Broadened. Blossomed in ways I couldn’t have named at the beginning. And I’ve also realized that what I’m living now didn’t happen overnight. It’s been built slowly, over a lifetime. It's been hard to do something when there are so many who just refused to see the value (but oh is that ever changing!) And I’m nowhere near done, because this is lifelong tending. Lifelong maintenance. The kind you return to again and again.
That’s why I feel so grounded in what I offer now. Every workshop, every session, every program is really about helping someone build a foundation that feels like ... home.
Whether it’s the Annual Say No With Love Workshop (happening this spring), the Creative Net Worth session I’m slowly shaping for summer, the 5-day retreat at Hollyhock where I’ll be teaching on this very “dream home” idea, or the new ecosystem curriculum I’m hoping to launch in the fall, it all comes back to the same thing. Home.
I’m doing the work I always dreamt of. Even before I had language for it.
Last week I went through all of my notebooks, old talks and keynotes, and the reflection writing I did after every interview for my novel, Junie, and for Let It Go. And do you know what kept showing up? The same thread, over and over: I am searching for a home. But today, the word "searching" has transformed into "designing" ; )
Home. A place where all parts of me are welcome. Where I don’t second-guess a decision because I know it’s coming from a grounded, rooted place.
Everything I do now ... every session, workshop, and curriculum, is about helping writers slowly, patiently, over time, create that same sense of home for themselves ... inside their creative lives and beyond.
And when you finally see that kind of life on the horizon—when it starts to take shape—you learn very quickly how to protect it with everything you’ve got.
Reflect + Rewrite
This Week's Reflection Question: What types of creative micro practices do you already have in your life?
After answering the reflection question, revisit what you wrote.
Is there a single line—just one—that surprised you?
Maybe it stirred something. Maybe it made you pause.
Copy that line out. Sit with it.
As always, if you feel called, I’d love to see it. Hit reply and share it with me.
Have a creative "myth" that you'd like me to explore in one of these monthly letters? Please share it and I just might add it to my queue ; )
See you next month! If this letter moved you in some way, please forward it to a friend.
with love, Chelene
Founder, Breathing Space Creative
Want to explore more of my work? I offer bespoke writing mentorships, creative support calls, and free creative resources through my studio. But for now, just take what you need. I’ll be here.
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