Deep-Thinking Spaces and Creating in the Margins

By Ashley Whittemore

I breathe deep.

The words on my screen fill me up with inspiration and hope as I scroll through the newest publication of an insightful and culturally paradoxical journal I have grown to love. It is so beautifully written and represented by the photos chosen to accompany the words on the page.

I get lost in it.

Just reading it makes me want to dig deeper into my own soul and unearth what profound truths lie just below the surface. 

Suddenly, I want nothing more than to be in a forest somewhere, listening to the sounds of nature breathing in, breathing out. Or, more practically, in the presence of other thinkers and artists, drawing from their creativity and insight.

Iron sharpens iron.

I sigh deeply, click my phone screen off, and close my eyes. I open them again and stare directly at the pile of mail and my ‘to-do’ list sitting right beside me. 

Reality, checking in against my will. 

I pick up my phone to call State Farm (again) when I hear, “Mom! I need help with math.”

Not my forte, but as a homeschool mom, I reluctantly wear that hat when my husband isn’t home to lead the mathematical charge. 

I set my phone down. I’ve waited for months on the insurance company, what’s a few more minutes. I’m wrapping up a math explanation just in time to hear, “My computer won’t let me log in.” My youngest sits at her laptop, her face bearing that familiar perturbed look we all know well when it comes to utilizing the necessary evil of technology and battling its obstinance. Now I am troubleshooting internet and websites and wondering how I became the IT guy for the family considering I am technologically challenged myself. 

I glance at the clock— it’s almost lunchtime. But I also have a phone call at 12:30. Maybe I can eat a quick sandwich and make the call on my way to Aldi? Because it’s Wednesday… and I’m a day late for my usual grocery trip… and the pantry isn’t being very gracious about it… and only God knows what’s for dinner. 

I get a text message that needs to be responded to immediately just as the washer buzzes its triumphant announcement that the cycle is complete. I would typically ignore it until a more opportune moment to switch it out, but I know my son needs his jersey clean before practice tonight, so I grab the basket and do the laundry dance as I dictate a response over text. Then, my oldest pops her head in to ask a question about literature, and I shush my dog who is daily offended by the sweet lady simply strolling down our street. 

I breathe deep.

And then I laugh to myself because answering a question about The Scarlett Letter is probably about as close to creativity as I’ll get for today. 

I want to be in those deep-thinking spaces where nature and soul collide. 

Those spaces where the pen can’t brush the smooth surface of the paper fast enough because the ideas and thoughts and discoveries and deeply rooted wisdom flow so freely that muscle and brain must compete to win.

Yet here I sit instead at my dining room table resetting passwords and answering profound inquiries such as, “Can I have mac and cheese for lunch?”

The doorbell rings. The dog loses his mind. I’m on the verge of losing mine. 

Deep breath in. Slow breath out. I remind myself that, in the words of the wisest man ever to walk the earth, there is a time for everything. 

Solomon reminds us in Ecclesiastes 3:

There is an occasion for everything,

and a time for every activity under heaven.

(Now read this next part slowly…)

a time to give birth and a time to die;

a time to plant and a time to uproot; 

a time to kill and a time to heal;

a time to tear down and a time to build;

a time to weep and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn and a time to dance;

a time to throw stones and a time to gather stones; 

a time to embrace and a time to avoid embracing;

a time to search and a time to count as lost;

a time to keep and a time to throw away;

a time to tear and a time to sew;

a time to be silent and a time to speak;

a time to love and a time to hate;

a time for war and a time for peace.

He stops shy of saying a “a time to simply survive the cultural rush and a time to thrive in creative elation,” but I bet he’d nod in agreement. 

I want to be in those deep-thinking spaces where nature and soul collide. So, how do I dwell there when it seems everything in my life is poised against this very effort? 

We humans are adaptable beings. When life hands us lemons, we make lemonade, lemon cake, and save a few slices to squeeze over the guacamole for taco night.  If we did not do that, we would cease to exist. Because no matter how we plan out our days and dream about the future of our years, there will inevitably be that flat tire, that unexpected diagnosis, that cancellation, that {insert inconvenient truth here}. So, we pivot. The same is true for our creative lives. 

Though my soul would rather be lost among the towering grandfather trees of the Red Wood Forest with paper and pen in hand, it’s time for that appointment I’ve been dreading so I hop in the car and open the sunroof. The wind causes my hair to dance a chaotic dance, and that is me squeezing the lemons into lemonade. 

I breathe deep.

While I wish I was lost in the sounds of the ocean waves on the white sand beaches of the Gulf of Mexico, soaking up stories almost too good to be true off the pages of a book, I am instead in the throes of another school day.  So, with books and colored pencils and papers strewn about, I thrust open the curtains letting the sunlight and songbirds turn those lemons into sweet and savory cake. 

Every part of me craves the tranquil coastline of the Amalfi Coast in Italy, where I found myself about this time last year on my dream trip that my husband orchestrated to celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. The art and culture of a foreign land brings forth so much inspiration. But it’s an overcast day in Southeast Tennessee, so I pour myself a cup of warm coffee from the Chemex and sit down at my computer to get some words down before my not-so-littles come stumbling into the kitchen, all messy-haired and squinty-eyed.

This is me spritzing my day with lemon slices. 

Truth be told, this is the case for most of us creatives. Few of us live that fairy-tale life of zero responsibilities, a scenic view, and endless time and resources to simply create and be amongst creation. Regardless of what social media may tell us, the creative life is a tug-of-war in this modern age. 

So, in this season in which you find yourself, remember this: it is, in fact, a season. The responsibilities you bear now will evolve. Perhaps today it is diapers and naptimes and toddler-sized meltdowns (the most epic of all). But tomorrow it will be the big feels of adolescence and the holding-of-your-breath for first-time drivers as they pull out of your driveway. And then one day, perhaps it will be the pitter-patter again of little feet again—and new voices, this time shouting, “Grandma! Grandpa!” 

(Isn’t life that fleeting?) 

Seasons come, and seasons go.  And we are left with no other choice but to embrace each one in all its monotonous and exhilarating glory.

The scribbled story idea we don’t touch again for a month...

The late-night research to complete that chapter of the book...

The painting pieced together in increments of color here and there between nap times...

The thirty-minute podcast that took three days to finish but fed our soul just the same…

Of course, I want to be in those deep-thinking spaces where nature and soul collide. 

But truth be told, I already am.

ASHLEY WHITTEMORE

Ashley is a writer, poet, and former missionary. After moving back to the United States unexpectedly from a life overseas, she began writing about living in the tension of dreams deferred and hope sustained as a pathway to healing. Her previous work includes writing for Calla Press, Red Tent Living, The Way Back to Ourselves, and many others, including having poems and chapters published in various collaborative books, such as Let There be Art by Rachel Marie Kang. She currently lives in the Southeast with her husband and three kids. When she is not writing, you can find her triaging the needs of her garden and chickens or reading a good book.

Ashley is an editor and contributor at The Way Back to Ourselves, and you can find her on Instagram @ash.whittemore where she shares poetry and prose that connects the reader’s heart to the tangible world around us, where God’s goodness is so often found in the simple elements of daily life.