Guten Tag, Reader,

You know the sound of a bird banging against a window. Maybe you’ve even had to help out (or bury) a bird who mistook glass for air. Mostly a benign magic—invisible walls—yet dangerous for the uninitiated.

When my friends and I heard the sound yesterday, we were outside while the bird was inside the house.

Such a human concept, inside/outside.

I am currently at a friend‘s farmhouse in Northeastern Germany, the Wendland. She lives alone in a 170-year-old farmhouse. The old sties and stables are the barn swallows‘ preferred habitat. Dozens are flying in and out of the old brick buildings as I am writing this in my friend’s crispy-aired courtyard at 7 a.m.

No wonder then, perhaps, that one of the swallows came into the main house through the open door. But then she tried to leave through the invisible wall.

Bomp.

Bompbomp.

Bomp.

Humans have learned as children how to disarm the spell by opening the window. So we jumped up from the breakfast table, interrupting the conversation about the absurdities of online dating, and came to the swallow‘s aid.

We all celebrated her graceful turns and loops when she made it to the other side.

Now, I know nothing of bird psychology. But from what I have learned about our nonhuman relatives, I deduce that my friends and I underwent some anxiety while the swallow was busy finding a way back to the open sky.

Maybe she even experienced some fear (her brain’s reaction to the actual threat of being cut off from all usual resources). But the left side of her brain definitely didn’t create anxious stories about the rest of her life in captivity, or starving between an invisible wall and a picture frame, or why the hell she never took that Defense Against The Dark Arts class she kept seeing on Beekbook.

No, those kinds of creative storylines are reserved for the human species. Only we created the kind of imaginative power* that can pull us into anxiety spirals.

You know what we also have?

The imaginative power to pull us right out of one.

Left brain anxiety and right brain creativity cannot occupy our energy simultaneously.

Over the past few days, I have been obsessing about what to write, when to write, and why to keep writing when nobody (a very creative lie) ever responds.

Then, I started writing, finding words to put in the correct sequence to possibly convey the experience of trying to release a barn swallow from the inside of a house. I was playing with rhythms, sounds, and melodies. There was no room for anxiety to nest in creative flow.

My friends and I immersed ourselves in crafts later. Picking patterns, choosing yarns and colors, weaving bands. No more imaginary thoughts about crap newsletters, failed dates, or trapped birds. Only art.

See, “art” doesn’t have to be about novels, exhibitions, or Etsy shops. It can be the daily haiku you put in your journal to sum up your day. Or the sticker of a crocheted lemon you decide to put on a living room wall.

Or it can be the next decision you make about your job, relationship, or dinner.

🎈 MIDLIFE MISCHIEF

is about radical art as an anti-anxiety potion. About training your Self (mostly your brilliant, brainy brain) to get out of worry and overwhelm by using your own creativity. And about dismantling the biggest lie that society has ever made us believe: “I am not creative (enough).”

I am looking for two more participants in the free beta version. Four weeks. Nine mini-lessons. Lots of fun. We start as soon as the group is complete. There is no form or official sign-up. Just say “yes” to creating some mischief by responding to this email.

🌿 MOSS HOUR

Our next online nature therapy gathering is May 12. Yes, the practice works on Zoom (promise!). Sliding scale starts at $6, and all genders are welcome. More here.

🛶 wildHER

is an even more radical act of midlife mischief. Find your Wild in a wild new world and go Rogue with us on the Rogue River in Oregon this September. Only five spots left. Claim your space today.

I will see you back here in two weeks. If you liked this letter, please forward it to a friend.

Always on your side, truly,

*Whenever a client tells me “I am not creative,” I remind her of all the storylines she just shared with me about why she can’t possibly add 10 minutes of journaling to her morning routine.

p.s. If you got something from today's letter, why not buy me a coffee? I am keeping my writing AI-free, which means a lot of creative goes into it. You can leave me a tip here.