April 2025 - Lauren Lott

Create What Matters Most

I don’t create because something’s missing. I create because something matters. Because I’ve seen how a simple sentence can shift a day. How colour can crack open joy. How a journal page can become a place to land, rest, and rise again.

When I sit down to write, I’m not trying to fill a gap, I’m following a glow.
A flicker of beauty. A phrase that won’t let go. A whisper of wonder that says, This… this is worth your time.

There’s something deeply powerful about making what you’d want to find, not out of frustration, but from fascination. From love. From a deep desire to live in a world where the quiet things, the sacred things, the heartfelt things, are not overlooked but celebrated.

I want more wonder in the world, so I make it.
I want more honest, heart-spilled, healing language, so I write it.
Not because no one else is, but because I want to be one of the ones who does. To me, creativity isn’t just about talent. It’s about telling the truth in a beautiful way. It’s about amplifying the goodness. Contributing to the chorus. Creating the kind of work that doesn’t just get consumed but felt.

We all have that pull to make what we’re moved by.
Maybe you read a poem that stirs your spirit, and your fingers twitch to write one too. Maybe you see a painting and think, yes, more like that, please. Maybe you hear a melody and you hum along, wishing you had your own chorus to carry. That impulse is not imitation. It’s initiation.
It’s your creative spirit waking up, stretching out, and saying, Let’s go.

You don’t have to wait until something is needed. You can simply decide it’s worthy. You can bring more of what you love into the world because you love it. You can honour your taste, your truth, your tenderness, by shaping it into something that lasts.

So here’s my invitation, and maybe it’s yours too:
Make what you’d be delighted to find on a bookshelf, in a gallery, on a greeting card. Write what you’d highlight, underline, or send to a friend.
Create what makes you sit a little straighter, breathe a little deeper, feel a little more alive. Your joy is a compass. Your curiosity is a clue.

Your creations don’t have to be revolutionary, they just have to be real.
We’re all building the world we want to live in, one piece of art, one line, one loving act at a time. So if you’ve been wondering whether your voice is needed, the answer is: Yes. Not because it fills a void. But because it adds to our becoming.

The Quiet Ways We Shortchange Our Potential (And How to Stop)

Recently, I came across a question that made me pause mid-scroll: “In what ways are you shortchanging your potential?”

I didn’t breeze past it. I couldn’t. This wasn’t the kind of question that asks for a surface-level answer. It was an invitation to go inward, to get honest, to look beyond the usual excuses I give myself.

So I did something I’ve learned to do when the big questions come: I turned to my journal.

No answers arrived right away. But three prompts slowly surfaced. Three gentle exercises that helped me to explore the hidden places where I might be holding back. What followed was uncomfortable, clarifying, and surprisingly freeing.

I’m sharing them with you in case you’re ready to do the same.

1. The Unwritten Permission Slip

I closed my eyes and imagined a blank permission slip in my hand. No rules. No waiting. Just full access to everything I’m capable of, without having to earn it first.

Then I wrote: You have permission to create without worrying if it’s good enough. You have permission to take up space, to speak your ideas, to show up before you feel “ready.” You have permission to begin. Now. As you are. You have permission to be yourself around your kids. You have permission to rest, to be disliked, to be misunderstood, to not have to explain. You have permission to be cringy, to do things badly, to be unimpressive, to fail, and to go at your own pace.

And then came the harder questions: ‘Who have I been waiting for permission from?’ ‘What have I been putting off because I still don’t feel “qualified”?’

I wrote a list, one I’ll keep just for me, but let me tell you, there’s something about physically writing yourself a permission slip that shifts things. It’s subtle, but it’s powerful. Something softens. Something awakens.

The Half-Filled Jar

Next, I sketched a tall, glass jar, my potential, visualised on paper. I wanted to see it, not just imagine it. So I gave it shape with pencil, then began to fill it in with colour. I used different shades to represent what was already there: green for the ways I’ve grown, yellow for the risks I’ve taken, blue for the moments I stretched beyond what felt comfortable.

As I looked at it, I realised, this jar wasn’t empty. But it wasn’t full either. There was still space. Still more it could hold.

Seeing it drawn out in front of me made it real. So I asked: ‘What’s missing? What would it take to fill this completely?’

And here’s what surprised me: It wasn’t more talent. It wasn’t more time or experience. It was trust. It was the willingness to act before I felt completely safe. To stop waiting for the perfect moment and take the next step now.

I wrote down one small thing I could do that day. Nothing grand. Just a tiny shift that moved me forward. And then I did it.

The Unlived Parallel Life

This was the one that hit deepest. I imagined her, the version of me who had fully stepped into her potential. The one who didn’t shrink, didn’t second-guess, didn’t hold back. She sat across from me, confident, calm, and whole.

I asked her: ‘How did you become who you are?’

And I wrote down what she said: I am you who didn’t give up. The one who kept choosing her heart, even when it was hard. I am the you who stayed close to what felt true. Who kept creating, kept expressing, kept showing up with honesty, even when you doubted.

After working through these prompts, the answer to that original question became clear: I shortchange my potential every time I wait for permission instead of giving it to myself. Every time I believe I’m not ready, instead of remembering that growth happens through action. Every time I ignore my inner voice in favour of outside approval.

If this stirred something in you, I invite you to sit with the same question. Use the prompts. Go gently. Be honest. And most importantly, do something with the answers.

It’s too important to leave unlived.