Taking Creative Risks — All Because of a Friggin’ Coat

Who knew that a coat would be the last straw? The catalyst for actually starting a long-lost dream of mine: helping other people along their artistic paths. This would mean long days, finding clients, website building, filming courses, hosting live classes, marketing (ick), social media (UGH), in person schmoozing (a literal hellscape for a highly-sensitive introvert like myself).

A whole new journey with absolutely no guarantees. One that I really care about.

Back to the coat.

As I was becoming part of the living room sofa, my Mum noticed that I seemed a little lost in the liminal space of just having finished graduate school, moving back home, being completely broke, and job hunting (a dark hole of a place if there ever was one).

She suggested that we go to a little second hand bookstore, in a little country town, a little ways away. That’ll cheer me up from the constant dread of existential tomfoolery. She knows me too well.

After buying a particularly witchy book from said bookstore, we perused the quaint strip of small businesses. Not a big box in sight, praise be.

We entered a cowboy boot shop called Herbert’s. We awed at the wall to wall plaid and the hats that made you crave to tip the brim and toot a “yes ma’am”. There were boots. So many boots. Enough boots to outfit all of Alberta. Or Texas just in case you’re not Canadian and think Alberta is some sort of herbal remedy for mystery rashes.

We poked around, had our fun, yee-hawed.

That’s when I saw it. It was magnificent. Big. Bulky. Cuddly. Funky.

The coat. It was denim with a cream sherpa collar so wide you could serve a whole charcuterie on it. The coat was who I wanted to be. Bold. Comforting. Warm. Confident. Didn’t care what other people thought. Just there to make a statement and snuggle the person wrapped inside.

I tried it on, looked in the mirror. The thing was made for me. Hand stitched by the sparkling golden threads of Zeus . I was convinced. It had to be. The. Most. Glorious. Coat. Ever.

Mum gave a mischievous look, which simply meant it looked good. I stared at myself. Unsure, I sent a picture to my best friend who basically said it reminded her of the Ikea monkey, Darwin. She wasn’t wrong. I can always go to her for the truth.

But I didn’t care! I loved it. I was the coat now. We were one and the same.

I smiled in the mirror and did a little half twirl.

By the time I came around, the smile had dropped.

There it was — the voice. I call it Frank. My inner critic. It’s always with me. I couldn’t hear exactly what it was saying but it made me feel like there was no way in hell I could pull off this coat. I wasn’t this person.

I put the coat back, deflated. 

You’re not going to get it? It looks good! Cozy, Mum asked. 

I don’t know. It’s okay. I don’t need another coat. A lie. One always needs another coat. Especially one that could potentially change the very fabric of who you are as a person.

We left and drove home. Believe it or not I felt like I had let myself down in some way. Like the coat was a symbol of something bigger. Another moment in my life that Frank had won.

Later that evening, still obsessing about the coat, I posted on Instagram asking friends if I should get it. The reviews were in and they were very supportive of the whole vibe. Only then did I feel comfortable buying it.

That’s when it hit me.

I really give a shit about what other people think. What Frank thinks. What my friends think. Still. I still need permission from others to do what I want.

The self-judgement on this is rough. I would NEVER judge anybody else for wanting some reassurance on a coat, but myself? Boy howdy. I don’t get away unscathed. After a bit of self-forgiveness and compassion to quiet Frank down, I had a plan.

The next day — I was supposed to be applying to jobs but for some reason this  felt more important, priorities, am I right? — we drove back and got the coat.

Oh, hello. Back for the coat? said the chipper, young cashier from the day before.

THIS IS PERSONAL, SMALL CHILD, OUTTA MY WAY.

I wore it out of the store, a little grin forming on my insides.

It was hotter than a usual October day and my armpits were dripping like a backwater swamp but god damn I was going to waltz around in plain view for the world to see my new coat. The one that caused in me a battle for the ages.

Of course passersby took no notice of my incredible coat, or the fact that I was brave enough to wear it. Here I was thinking it was going to be like John Travolta’s Saturday Night Fever strut scene. But no. Nobody noticed.

But I did! I noticed! That’s what was important.

I had never been more proud of a purchase in my life. Frank be damned. Ikea monkey be damned. I am a weird, wacky person who deserves such a coat.

The next day, as I applied for jobs (in my fucking coat, you bet your bottom) I thought about all the other things in my life I had ‘put back’ on the proverbial hanger. All the instances I didn’t do something, or say something, or dress the way I wanted, because I was scared, or Frank was too loud, or other people didn’t really get it.

I got mad. Not at myself. Not at Frank. Or other people. I just felt angry. Like I had turned on myself one too many times. This was a silly way to live, giving so much power to other people or parts of myself that try to keep me small. I am who I am.

I deserve to be.

I paused the job hunt for that day and started looking at my notes from a Teaching Writing class I took in grad school. I love teaching. Writing. Creative process. Holding space for others to be themselves. I thought about all the deep conversations about craft and creative process with all the incredible people I met during my time there. I wanted more of that. I remembered that I genuinely love helping people. Making a difference one-on-one. Being a positive force in people’s lives. Giving instead of getting. I had wanted to be that positive force even before grad school.

I love creating. My Mum says I was born with a paintbrush in my hand. Not sure how that would have worked uterus-wise, somebody probably should have been concerned about that, but I get what she’s saying. I also love helping people. I care deeply about what other people are going through. I love sharing tea and untangling the difficult parts of ourselves. Most of all, it would break my heart to know that somebody out there speaks to themselves the way Frank does to me.

At some point along the way I had buried that part of me, the part that wants to help. I thought it was silly. Or that I’d fail. Who needs another person trying to sell another course? But I’m not just selling shit for people. I really care. More than you could know.

With the coat still on (I call her Dolly because she reminds me of Dolly Parton) I started searching furiously. What would coaching actually look like? What would forming an online community of artists, musicians and writers look like? I looked at community platforms like Circle, Skool, somewhere to sell courses that had yet to be invented, website options, YouTube gear, how to vlog. I acted and information gathered simultaneously, totally in flow.

Within 5 days of buying that coat I did the following:

This site was built. I had struggled with the idea of using my name. Thought it selfish. Ego-driven. But no. That was just Frank again. Within those 5 daysI had 3 course ideas to start building. A book idea. A meditation series for creatives. Hell, even a custom-made tea with skullcap and lavender for relaxing after the stress of sharing art! Lots of ideas. I started 2 social media accounts, recorded a vlog, compiled some reels, and had my online community idea Pages Pens Poets on the horizon. All with Dolly the Coat on, respectively.

This is just the beginning.

I’m not sure what this journey will hold for me. It’ll be a lot of work and a lot of uncomfortableness. It’s going to test my ability to soothe Frank, that’s for sure. I find marketing gross. But then I look at Dolly. I know that even if I put the coat back on the hanger, I’ll be back the next day to put it on my shoulders.

Nobody cares what we do in this life more than ourselves. It’s time to start wearing the coat, even if it feels like we shouldn’t be. Thoughts and feelings aren’t truth. Just indicators.

What’s your denim, sherpa coat that’s still hanging on that hanger? Ever thought about going back to get it? Wearing it like a badge of honour? Strutting down the street with it?

I hope you do.

Thank you for being here with me.

In Love & Art,

J