And when it was over, my brain sounded like this:
First thought: So much fun!
Second thought: Oh boy did I learn a lot.
Third thought: Oh crap when am I ever going to find time to do all of this?
A few different threads
I planned to keep it simple.
I was going to 1) think about freelancing plans, and 2) plan out a crafting project.
But when I was done, I had also 3) brainstormed a new zine, 4) decided there is a new blog I need to write, and 5) begun to think about online and offline identity and connections and and and so many other things.
This Secret Playdate stuff really works — I had no idea how many project ideas were waiting to jump up and surprise me, until I sat down with a box of crayons and turned off the computer and let myself decorate and explore and percolate and make dotted lines between important things on the page.
So aside from wishing and planning and gleefully cackling about a whole garden of idea-seeds blooming into riotous color, my important realization was that, duh, creative space helps creativity happen. And: I am not secretly creatively dead. Oh no — in fact, I didn’t even know this was a secret fear until I wrote that last sentence. Maybe the creative stuff was just sleeping. It was so much fun to spend time with it and let it come out to play. Rather like Rally in miniature form.
What comes next?
The first thing: permission not to have to do everything at once.
After all, I have a day job. It’s not possible or expected or necessary to launch five creative and possibly overwhelming projects all at once. Some of them are ladder-steps to each other, so tending one fractal flower in the garden will actually help me get to the others, eventually.
I have the tiniest, most mundane, non-dreamy to-do list in the world in order to get this whole garden of dreams started, and it looks like this:
Repair the sewing machine.
This is my only task. I’m giving myself until the end of March to think about it.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
And I’m going to keep my amazing Secret Playdate dream maps on my desk where I can look at them, and dream and think and wish and despair and boggle and wish again, until I’m ready to make the next move.