The Creative Act Of Mothering

A repost of an essay in time. On time.

A Note On Tour: These are the last stops for a while. I would love to meet you!

If you’re in Brooklyn Monday, May 5th (Fort Greene, specifically) I’ll be reading a portion of Stand In My Window at Petite Paulette from 7-9pm (bring your copies to be signed). You can RSVP right here. I’ll be in D.C on May 14th in conversation with Glory Edim at Oxon Hill Library at 7pm. Books will be sold by Mahogany Books. RSVP right here. And finally, on May 15th I’ll be at Catbird in Georgetown, D.C leading an intention-setting workshop. RSVP right here.

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‘Two Queens’ 2011| The estate of Nona Faustine, who passed away last year.

Hello, somehow, by some strange occurrence of events I landed in my father’s motherland this week, using prose that was undoubtedly passed down to me from my mother. In Panamá, there is this beautiful emphasis on being the bridge between countries. There’s the Chagres, The Atlantic, and The Pacific, and there’s me and so many beautiful others on this land space which is silently only one of three that are carbon neutral in this world. I am feeling surprised and grateful for the power of language. The beauty in being creative, in your early days and even in your last days, even when you have done it for so very long, but remain nearly not on view in the lexicon.

This evening is my last night, and there aren’t words that could shuffle the magnitude of just being here—even just in my room writing, teaching, meeting with clients, and with you—from my body. This morning I taught the final class of my Storytelling Through The Seasons: Spring workshop, and one of the cohort members shared this quote;

“Deep in the struggle of early motherhood, workshops were pretty much the only way I could sit and write. I needed the community, accountability, and prompts to get me there.”

The group was intimate and varied. I felt excited to be with them, as I do every time. It got me thinking about the creative map of caregiving, because I see much of what I’m doing in these workshops as a form of creative caregiving rather than traditional teaching. I'm offering it to myself, too.

In celebration of Mother’s Day, the workshop concluding, this visit to a mother-land of sorts, I’m sharing an excerpt of this essay. You can read the rest by becoming a subscriber — which is the cost of a cup of coffee, and worth so much more. I’m also hosting a special one-day caregiving workshop open to paid-subscribers only. I’d love for you to join this magical group. Until then, and for now…

With Love,

L

“We aren’t allowed to say this about parenting because for many of us it is deemed The Most Important Thing We Will Ever Do. It is the kind of thing that you know, when you’re doing it, just how important it is. So much so, when any kind of mistake or heartbreak rubs against it, causing friction, I am forced to ask myself, “How important is it?”

What Creativity It Takes

During a call the other day, as I tried to map out this critical junction of my career. I had to think what I’ve spent the last 12 years doing, on the internet, and in books, but mostly in my home. How did I overlay all these worlds and deliver them to you to read and experience in tiny snippets? Is this my calling?

This thought process is a salve, I suppose. Something to soothe the passing days and months, particularly the ones where I don’t show up as my best. I try to see the good in the time passed, the places I could and did apply creativity in mothering as much as anywhere else. And it’s a salve to calm the aching of living in a world where trans death, school shootings, and the bombardment, occupation and killing of other children is normalized. I dreamt about the water again last night. When I woke up, I read that the Atlantic Ocean is at its critical tipping point, much sooner than anticipated. We can not course-correct now, I summarized. So I locked it away in a box in my head, I played Bob Marley, purchased croissants, and came back to these conversations about creativity and community.

Mothering is not a scalable creative role. Often, it is seen as an inconvenience. When I say I haven’t been the best mother lately, that’s because it has been very inconvenient lately. Because I am very human lately. Because I wonder what will become of me. And of them. Of all of us. I wonder what will become of this conversation about creativity, about motherhood—about how the two can dance together so clearly sometimes, when we claim they are worlds apart. It starts at home. Paint on the walls. Meals on the stove. Making things. Music wafting through the air. And believing. Believing in something beyond what we are forced to ingest.”