A Reminder to Pause, Reflect, and Trust the Creative Process
Our world is rapidly changing. It’s exhausting. Social norms have eroded, creating a level of chaos and confusion that feels unnecessarily hard—it’s like static on the radio. The days of a shared narrative, or even a common reality, feel almost nostalgic. I hear people say, “I don’t know what to believe.” Some days, I practice biting my tongue.
The music of the ’60s and early ’70s inspired me to play the guitar. My family and church were deeply entrenched in the social justice and civil rights movement. I was just a child, so I can’t take credit for their work—but it’s how I was raised.
This week, I’m reminded to pause. To breathe. To write. To remember how I was raised and what I was taught. To trust the creative process. And to remember the lyrics to one of my favorite songs by CSN&Y, “I Almost Cut My Hair”—one of those soundtracks from my youth that kept me going when things felt hard. The lyric “…and I feel like I owe it to someone” still rings true.
This post is part of my ongoing Creative Journey:
→ Week One of My Creative Journey
→ Creative Journey Journal – Week Two
The Angel That Never Blew Away: January 15, 2026
It’s the little things—
My mother gave me this angel. It sat on the ledge of my front porch for seventeen years.
From time to time, it would blow off, but it never blew away.
It’s in my studio now—reminding me that I’m loved, I’m safe, and I’m thankful.
The plaster angel my mother gave me came from the store at Quest Farm. My parents started the farm in 1984. It was a 21-acre piece of land in Scott County, Kentucky, with a house and a barn. They formed a nonprofit and began a journey to create a living space where mentally challenged adults could live meaningful lives.
The farm was nothing short of a course in miracles. Over time, they expanded to three houses with eighteen residents and three sets of house parents, added three greenhouses, and built a two-story pole barn that housed a craft center, the main office, and a shop where items grown and made on the farm were sold.
Somehow, this angel appeared for sale in the shop—and my mom bought it for me. I loved it. It has gone everywhere I’ve lived and now resides in my studio. Each time I see it, I’m reminded that I was loved growing up, and that love gave me a sense of security. It has served as my North Star.
Do I believe in angels?
I believe in this one—so yes, I can honestly say I do.
A Gift of Color, Connection, and Art: January 16, 2026
It speaks to me of kindness,
of friendship,
and of trust—
how small pieces, brought together, can become something whole.Artist: Jill Wilkinson
While I was in Austin, Texas, in 2024, playing a series of handpan shows during the solar eclipse at the James Turrell Skyspace, I met an artist who gifted me this beautiful round sphere, patched together with brilliant colors. When I saw it in her studio, it immediately caught my eye. I said, “I love this—it’s beautiful!”
It was the same response she and her husband had when they first saw my handpan and experienced hearing me play. It was a heartfelt moment—artist to artist—each of us admiring what the other had to offer.
I keep this piece in a special place in my studio, where meaningful objects live. It serves as a reminder of the power art holds in our lives. This mighty little four-inch sphere performs its miracle again and again—lighting up my studio each day and making me smile
Listening, Stillness, and the Butterfly Effect: January 17, 2026
The handpan has taught me how to listen—
it invites a different kind of attention,
one that slows the breath and opens the body to sound.
What an exquisite work of art—visual and sonic mastery. Its beauty speaks for itself. What an honor it is to play these handcrafted instruments. This one is an extraordinary build: an F#2 Pygmy handpan by Fabian of Subtle Sounds, Germany.
After decades of playing my old ’63 Fender Strat, it long ago became an extension of my fingertips, my heart, and my soul. I’ve lived inside the wall of sound that explodes from a stage when an electric guitar is blasting full tilt. And now, I find myself drawn to the quiet, subtle, mystical beauty of the handpan.
There is something awe-inspiring about playing a musical instrument—feeling the vibration you set in motion, listening as it resonates through time and space, and watching how it lands on others. Like the butterfly effect, it reminds me that nothing is insignificant.
The butterfly effect comes from chaos theory. It describes how small actions can create large, unpredictable consequences over time. From the thunderous force of an electric guitar to the nuanced sound of a handpan, the principle remains the same.
The classic metaphor suggests that the flap of a butterfly’s wings in one place could eventually influence the formation of a storm somewhere else—not because the butterfly causes the storm in a linear way, but because everything is connected, and small inputs ripple through complex systems.
At its heart, the butterfly effect says this:
Nothing is insignificant.
Music for Stillness and Reflection
Journals, Memory, and a Clock With No Hands: January 18, 2026
One closet.
Many notebooks.
When I moved into my new studio space in late 2022, I discovered a small nook beneath the staircase—shelves and a light, tucked away. It’s perfect. People often wonder what lies behind the curtain that is almost always drawn: a handful of books crowded by years’ worth of journals.
All the stories, thoughts, and feelings. The fears, heartbreaks, and dreams. Everything that once lived inside me—it’s all there, on the pages.
I’m so glad I never burned or threw away my past. It has served as a profound reminder of where I’ve been, who I was, and who I’ve become. It captured all those little things I might have forgotten—or needed clarity around—my version of what happened in a moment in time.
I like the clock with no hands. I saw it once in a magazine. No one had one for sale, so I made my own.
A Gift, a Guitar, and Michelangelo’s Pietà: January 19, 2026
A gift from my parents. I remember standing in Saint Peter’s Basilica,
looking at Michelangelo’s Pietà. The only time I was ever separated from my guitar.
I was sixteen.
Each night before bed, I remove my peace ring, my onyx necklace, and my earrings, and place them on the dresser. This is where Michelangelo’s Pietà now lives.
I remember standing in the Vatican, mesmerized. I was sixteen and had been playing guitar for exactly one year when we left for our trip to the Holy Land, with a side trip to Rome. It was one of the only times I was ever separated from my guitar. When I saw this sculpture, I remember feeling that the entire trip was worth it.
My parents gave me this porcelain replica of Michelangelo’s Pietà for Christmas when I was in my early forties. I feel connected through and through—ancient Rome, the story of sacrifice and love, captured and carried forward to my dresser, now woven into my own story.
An Album That Still Speaks: January 20, 2026
Journals stacked.
Music playing on my phone.Does anyone remember this album?
John Barleycorn Must Dieappears on my iPhone screen. It came up in my feed, so I hit play while taking photos in my studio. I love this album—deeply. Some of my favorite bass lines are woven throughout each song.
My friend Brian first played this record for me. He was older, wiser, and very tolerant of my youth. This album has depth. It speaks—to me, and to the moment we’re living in.
Pausing, Breathing, and Staying the Course: January 21, 2026
A reminder to pause.
To step back from the chaos and breathe.There is more to life than we can see or understand.
This past summer, I screened in my back deck and added a roof so my swinging chair and this Buddha could have a better home. In the mornings, when the weather allows, I sit on my yoga mat, drink my coffee, and contemplate life.
It reminds me to pause, breathe, and step back from the chaos—not step away, but step back. To remain open. To explore whatever gift of art you may have to give.
It’s the little things that hold us all together.
This wraps up week three. I continue to stay committed to my creative journey—one day at a time. Each thumbnail serves as a steady reminder to pause, reflect, and stay the course.
Bye for now… Week Four (Coming Soon)
k
