So, few days ago the universe decided to hit the “shuffle” button on my life. One minute, I’m tackling my endless to-do list, thinking I’ve got everything under control, and the next—bam! I’m in the emergency room, clutching my side like I’m auditioning for a low-budget drama. No warning, no time to argue with my body about “today not being a good day for this.” Just, “Surprise! Forget your plans.”
I don’t know if you’ve spent any time in an emergency room recently, but let me tell you, it’s a whole new level of “hurry up and wait.” Beeping machines (why do they always sound like something terrible is happening? Can someone ask medical device makers to tone down the drama?) and the strange, sterile limbo where time stretches out forever. It’s like a never-ending Wednesday. You’re stuck there, trying not to freak out while life marches on without you.
And this is where life pulls one of its classic moves: yanks the rug out from under you, forces you to sit down (literally) and be still. Whether you like it or not. Spoiler alert: I did not.
I had big plans. I had a list. A really long one (like, truly epic). But no, the universe decided I needed to cancel all that. So, there I was, lying on a hospital bed, stripped of any schedule, any control. And you know what? It wasn’t just my physical self that hit the brakes. My brain, my very overactive, idea-generating, always-in-motion brain, came to a grinding halt too.
At first, that felt terrifying. Like, where did all the noise go? The creative chaos? I mean, I’m used to ideas flying at me faster than I can catch them (it’s like a mental dodgeball game most days). But there, in that beeping, sterile silence, the ideas stopped. Everything stopped.
And weirdly… it was exactly what I needed.
Because here’s the thing: sometimes the noise in our heads gets so loud, we forget to actually hear ourselves. We’re so busy chasing the next project, the next spark, that we forget to pause, to breathe. To check in with who we are, underneath all that noise.
Pain has a funny way of doing that. It grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you until you’re forced to pay attention. To yourself. To what really matters. It’s like life saying, “Hey, maybe it’s time to stop. Just for a second. Maybe you’re missing something.”
And it turned out, I was.
When I’m in my usual zone, creating, writing, painting (sometimes all at once), my mind is in constant overdrive. I’m juggling a million things—pages of ideas, images, concepts—all competing for space. And yes, it’s exhilarating. But it’s also exhausting. It’s like trying to watch ten different TV shows on ten different screens, all at the same time. Fun? Sure. Focused? Not so much.
But lying there, in that emergency room, with nothing to do but feel (and wait), I realized that sometimes, to really move forward, you have to stop. You have to let the dust settle, let the chaos die down. And that’s when clarity hits.
It was like all the ideas I’d been trying to wrangle into some kind of order suddenly found their places. The mental clutter cleared, and I could actually see the big picture. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I could think. I could focus on what I truly wanted to create, what really mattered, and why I do what I do.
That forced pause, uncomfortable as it was, gave me a gift: perspective. It gave me the chance to slow down and reconnect with the core of my creativity, with the reason I started all of this in the first place. Without the constant pressure to produce, I could just… be. Be still. Be present. Be me.
And guess what? That stillness fueled my creativity in ways I hadn’t expected. Ideas came back, but not in the usual chaotic flurry. They were clear, precise. Almost calm. It’s like my brain went on a much-needed vacation, and when it returned, it was ready to get back to work. But smarter this time. More intentional.
I realized that creativity isn’t just about constantly producing. It’s about pausing, reflecting, letting things settle. It’s about stepping away from the easel, or the keyboard, or the to-do list, and remembering why you picked them up in the first place. It’s about finding balance between the doing and the being.
So yes, life swiped my schedule away, with zero warning, zero discussion. And it was frustrating, and yes, a little scary. But it was also exactly what I needed. It reminded me that I can’t control everything (shocking, I know). That sometimes, I have to let go and trust the process—even when it’s painful. Even when it’s uncomfortable.
Because here’s the truth: pain and illness, as much as they suck, have a way of stripping away the unnecessary. They force you to refocus on the essentials. And in that emergency room, I rediscovered the essentials—why I create, what drives me, and how to move forward with more clarity and purpose.
It’s funny how life works sometimes. It throws you curveballs, cancels your plans, forces you to hit pause. And in that stillness, in that silence, you can find yourself again. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the real point of it all.
So here’s to schedules being swiped away, to painful pauses (ok, it’s weird but epically powerful in a sentence), and to finding clarity in the chaos. Because sometimes, losing control is exactly how you regain it.
Ah… and here’s to dreams of silence—and those beeping machines.