Something to Chew On is a newsletter I’ve cooked up to share some of my ruminations and marinations with family, friends, and colleagues. More importantly, though, it’s meant as an invitation to (re)connect, reflect, and be in conversation, at a pace that works with all the goings-on in everyone’s lives. New issues will go out about once every 2-3 months. Happy reading!
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Carving Out Creative Space
Published 25 days ago • 5 min read
Main Course
Carving Out Creative Space
Most years, my family of four spends Christmas in the San Francisco Bay Area, where my husband's parents, sisters, and most of his aunties, uncles, and cousins live. Because we typically visit just once a year, we often host an informal family dinner at a local restaurant where we bring 25-30 people together to share a meal and enjoy the opportunity to catch up.
This past Christmas, scheduling limitations meant the four of us had to postpone our trip till just past the start of the new year. I decided to make the most of the “fresh start” season by shaking up our routine dinner gathering, and instead planned a New Year’s brunch, complete with bona fide e-vitations:
We incorporated a few kid-friendly activities into brunch, the first of which was a New Year’s Show & Tell. We asked everyone to bring an object that represented something that they wanted more of in 2026. As people tucked into their French toast and veggie scrambles, we took turns around the tables showing our chosen object to the group, then explaining our hopes for an abundance of whatever that object might represent.
What unfolded was a delightful window into family members’ aspirations for the coming year. One cousin’s jiu jitsu blue belt represented his commitment to growing his martial arts skills; another’s bottle of sunscreen nodded to her hopes to spend more time outdoors. My sister-in-law’s trail map symbolized her plans to do more hiking and exploring; my niece’s seashell, her wish for her family to spend more time at the beach. An uncle, still adjusting to a recent relocation to the East Bay from South San Francisco, brought a Daly City baseball cap and expressed his hope to continue playing cards with his old neighborhood friends on the weekends.
When it was my turn, I began by holding up a pair of knitted baby booties:
(And friends, let me quickly dispel any misunderstanding, just as I did at brunch when a cousin hooted, “You guys are having a BABY?!”... No no, that shop is closed!!)
I explained that when I was pregnant with our first son, I had taken a knitting class (because, you know… nesting), but that after he was born, my best-laid plans of maintaining knitting as a hobby fell to the wayside. A year and a half into empty nesterhood, I realized that I missed that act of creating with my hands. I told our gathered family that finding outlets to channel my creative energy was something I hadn’t experienced for many years, and was hoping to return to. Making time and space for more creative pursuits was my wish for 2026.
It’s a funny thing, naming what you long for.
My wish for more time and space for creativity has been a wake-up call. I realize that this craving I’ve been feeling reflects a sense of incompleteness. I’ve been faithfully tending my “thinking” garden for years and leaving my “creating” garden to wither, without recognizing the latter nourishes the former. Only when both gardens are blossoming is cross-pollination possible.
If still minds are a hallmark of meditation, then maybe so, too, are hands in motion: sculpting clay, blending watercolors across paper, undulating in dance, scripting words on journal pages, tiptoeing over piano keys. In recent months, simply activating the muscle memory in my fingers to make and create feels like a carved-out space. And in a world where distraction and destruction seem so easy to come by, to create with my hands feels like a stake in the ground. A tiny plant pushing up through broken concrete.
What began as a resolution to tap dormant creative juices has unfolded in the past months in revealing ways. Through conversations with friends, what I’ve realized is that the creative itch I’ve been feeling has been speaking to something deeper. Fears, to begin with: of professional stagnation, of failing to bring imagination and possibility to my work. That maybe the youthful well of creative ideas I once felt was abundant has run dry. That whatever creative outlets I might attempt at this stage of life I’d simply be no good at.
Playing in this creative space again has revealed such an obvious truth that it sort of pains me to type it, but such are the lessons we learn in adulthood: We don’t need to be excellent at a thing for it to be worthwhile. We don’t even need to be good at it, in fact. Sometimes engaging in the practice is enough. It is its own form of medicine.
So that’s what I’m leaning into right now. Just the practice, the showing up. This week, that's taken the shape of a few minutes at the piano each morning. In halting steps, I'm reminding my fingers how to speak the language of music. I'm rebuilding that muscle memory, so each day’s creative act is a little easier than the day before. It feels novel, nurturing the love of process without regard for the end result. Though I'm making music, it's a quiet space. I think I could get used to this.
What is something you want more of in the remainder of 2026? What object would you have brought to brunch to represent that? How do you carve out space for creativity in your life? What does that carved-out space make possible for you? I invite you to hit "reply" and send me your thoughts. I may share some of your replies in my next newsletter. Looking forward to hearing what's on your mind!
Quick Bites
PC: Stefan Ruiz, The New York Times
Finding inspiration in the "Nashville process"
The New York Times recently ran a series on the 30 Greatest Living American Songwriters. And although I’m not a country music fan, I was intrigued by the interview with three Nashville songwriters, Shane McAnally, Brandy Clark, and Josh Osborne. In it, they describe the “Nashville process,” which involves a disciplined, collaborative approach to songwriting and finding inspiration.
Screengrab from "Flea: Thinkin Bout You | The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon"
Returning to a First Instrument
Before Flea became the legendarily funky bass guitarist for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, he got acquainted with jazz trumpet at age 11. As he neared his 60th birthday, he felt compelled to return to his first instrument and made a commitment to practice trumpet “everyday, no matter what, period” for two years, then record an album of his progress. That album, Honora, was released in March. Read more about Flea’s rediscovery of the trumpet here.
Looking for a little dose of creativity in your own life? Try this Creativity Challenge, a week's worth of short activities like doodling, brainstorming, and daydreaming. It's a fun, playful way to stretch your creative muscles!
Illustration by Erik Minkowski, The New York Times
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Hi there! I’m Joyce Lee-Ibarra, and I’m a social sector consultant specializing in learning & evaluation, community research, and facilitation. I’m also a wife, mom, and human doing my best to navigate my journey on this giant blue marble.
Something to Chew On is a newsletter I’ve cooked up to share some of my ruminations and marinations with family, friends, and colleagues. More importantly, though, it’s meant as an invitation to (re)connect, reflect, and be in conversation, at a pace that works with all the goings-on in everyone’s lives. New issues will go out about once every 2-3 months. Happy reading!
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