What If Blank Pages Are Invitations to Breathe?

Because More Content Doesn't Mean Greater Impact.

I sit down with pen in hand and a now familiar anxiety bubble wells up in my chest causing it to tighten.

Put the pen down. Breathe.

Look at the words already written. Breathe again.

Pick up the pen. Feel the frosted plastic of my 0.35 Muji knock-off settle between my fingers. Breathe.

Tame the wildness clawing at the edges of my focus…

What if the words aren’t there? What if nothing comes? What if all there is is fog?

Inhale 2-3-4. Hold 2-3-4-5-6-7 Exhale 2-3-4-5-6-7-8

Put the pen to paper. Trust.

Write one word. Any word. The first line that floats into focus.

Breathe.

This happens every single time I sit down to read or write.

My body still holds the terror of losing so much of that which was most precious.

So, friend, I get it.

I get the deer-in-the-headlights freeze response when faced with a blank page. And in my case also a page with words to read.

I used to be a speed reader. I could read a cool 800 words a minute. I retained about 80-85% of what I read. It was my very own private superpower.

Reading fast. Writing fast. It all felt like flying, buoyed by a seemingly endless column of lines and loops.

Until my brain got knocked around and it all came crashing down.

I used to measure success in pages read and information retained. In pages written and books finished. In the metrics of word counts and page views.

Now the story I tell myself every single time I sit down to read or write and feel that anxiety rise is that I am no longer a speed reader, I am now a DEEP reader.

I whisper it fiercely in the face of what still feels like suffocating loss.

And there’s the incredible paradox.

Slow savoring comes with greater insight and deeper creativity than I ever had when powering through the pages like a competitive swimmer chasing gold.

Greater speed and volume do not mean greater creative impact. Sometimes greater volume just means more noise.

As creatives, we are pressured to produce more content to feed hungry algorithms and stay relevant on increasingly crowded platforms.

It’s NO WONDER we feel disconnected and exhausted.

Then the advent of AI ups the game and pushes us to produce even more. It all can feel like being asked to create a viral tsunami and then surf its wave. Daily if possible.

It can feel like the Fast and the Furious meets The Hunger Games all reduced to 3-second soundbites.

When I lived in Africa, there was a proverb: If you want to fly fast, fly alone. If you want to fly far, fly together.

Maybe flying fast isn’t all we think it is.

What if we don’t need 100s of thousands of followers? What if we lifted that pressure and instead prioritized finding the right followers?

And one better…What if we focused on nurturing and nourishing a community of literal human beings instead of nebulous “follower counts”?

(That truly is what I hope to do here.)

A post that is viewed 5 times by 5 actual people… is 5 people.

Imagine 5 people all coming over to have coffee and cake in your living room. I know. That was an eye-opener for me too. Also, can the cake be chocolate and gluten-free?

What if we leaned into building human relationships in an increasingly automated world?

For those of us who make a living from what we create the content production grind is real. Often our livelihood depends on it. We can’t afford to simply opt out of participating.

But I want to encourage you as the gal who lost her ability to fly fast and still has huge anxiety about that, slowing down can increase the depth and meaning of the things you create and the community you build.

Blank pages are invitations to breathe.

Going slow allows for deeper work and deeper growth.

If you are creating and sharing with a small group of friends, that is not failure.

It just may be the very thing that sets you up for flying far.

As always, I’m SO glad you are here.

All my love,