Creative but Lost

Creative But Lost

July 5, 2026

Tonight I’m sitting outside on a new lounger Jay found on Marketplace. The sky is filled with fluffy clouds that look like they could turn into rain if Mother Nature decides they should. Every once in a while a dog barks somewhere in the neighborhood. Air conditioners hum in the background. A few streets over, fireworks are still going off.

I’m thinking I need lights out here.

Not because it’s dark right now, but because something feels different. Sitting outside seems to be waking up a creative part of me that has been quiet for a long time.

I hope that’s true.

Because lately I’ve felt like I needed something.

Yesterday was America’s 250th birthday. We didn’t celebrate in any big way. We spent the weekend at the cabin, sat around a fire, and talked about how grateful we are to live in a country where we’re still free to think, believe, and live differently from one another.

As I sit here listening to fireworks crackle through the neighborhood, I’m also thinking about the woman who lost her husband this weekend from a bee sting.

Life is fragile.

We all know that, but somehow we forget.

We wake up, go to work, pay bills, feed the dogs, make dinner, and move through our routines as if tomorrow is guaranteed. Then something happens that reminds us everything can change in a second.

Maybe that’s why I’m looking at Kuda differently these days.

He’s getting older.

I find myself wanting to cherish every minute with him. The same goes for Kela. They won’t be here forever, and neither will we.

Life has a way of reminding us what’s important when we least expect it.

The strange thing is that while I’ve been thinking about all of this, I’ve also been feeling creative.

Not just a little creative.

The kind of creative that makes me want to write blogs, take pictures, make desserts, create gift baskets, build Wild West Rebel, and chase every idea that pops into my head.

I wish I could bottle this feeling.

The problem is that creativity and reality don’t always get along.

I still have my job.

I still have responsibilities.

I still have bills.

Part of me wishes I could take a month off, keep getting paid, and spend that entire month investing in myself and the dreams I’ve been talking about for years. I know that’s not realistic, but it doesn’t stop me from wishing.

The truth is that replacing a paycheck isn’t something that happens overnight.

And that’s where the frustration starts.

Because I don’t think my biggest problem is a lack of ideas.

I think it’s a lack of belief.

Somewhere along the way, my confidence disappeared.

I used to be incredibly structured. When I worked in corporate America, I was the queen of schedules. Everything had a place. Everything had a process. I got up early. I exercised. I planned. I followed through.

Now?

That version of me feels like someone I used to know.

I keep wondering if bringing some of that structure back would help.

Not because structure is exciting, but because freedom actually requires structure. Dreams require structure. Businesses require structure.

Maybe that’s what I’ve forgotten.

I also find myself wondering why I care so much about what other people think.

Why do I allow some people to walk all over me while pushing away the people who would probably stand beside me through anything?

Why do I doubt myself so quickly?

Why do I start things with excitement and then convince myself they won’t work?

I’ve spent years trying to understand myself through personality tests, Human Design, astrology, enneagrams, and every other framework I could find.

Some of them have helped.

None of them have provided all the answers.

Maybe the answer isn’t hidden inside another personality system.

Maybe the answer is simply learning to trust myself again.

Because when I strip everything away, I know what I want.

I want to build a life that feels free.

I want to spend summers at the cabin.

I want to escape somewhere warm in the winter.

I want work that can travel with me.

I want enough financial freedom that Jay can retire.

I want to create things that matter.

The problem is that when I look at the gap between where I am and where I want to be, it feels impossible.

And when something feels impossible, it’s easier to stop moving than risk failing.

That’s the crossroads I’ve been standing at lately.

It feels like there are twenty different roads in front of me.

Every one of them looks uncertain.

Every one of them carries risk.

So instead of choosing, I find myself turning around and walking back the way I came.

Maybe that’s what feeling lost really is.

Not having too few options.

Having too many.

Tonight I don’t have any big conclusions.

I don’t have a five-step plan.

I don’t have a motivational ending.

What I do have is this moment.

A lounger in the backyard.

A Wyoming summer evening.

Dogs nearby.

Fireworks in the distance.

A notebook full of questions.

And for the first time in a while, a small spark of creativity.

Maybe that’s enough for tonight.

Maybe I don’t need all the answers.

Maybe I just need to keep showing up, keep writing, and trust that the path will become clearer with every step I take.

Even if I can’t see the whole road yet.