Ingrid Murray, Author at Ingrid Murray

Permission to Be

I chose “ease” as my word of the year precisely because recently, it hasn’t been easy. And I haven’t yet figured out how to write through it, preferring instead to emerge from my protective cocoon once everything feels more manageable again, painting in the meantime.

I took part in Oliver Burkeman‘s Designing Your System for Creativity workshop this past weekend. His book 4000 Weeks is one of the first I read last year, and it’s had a lasting impact on me and my thinking, frequently working its way into many conversations with friends and family.

So attending his workshops — I also took part in The Art of Imperfect Action in January — made sense.

The most significant realization I had was I find worthwhile only the things are literally unmanageable, and anything less is evasion. But this mindset results in inevitable failure: if some action is of value (ie. impossible) and I can’t do it, but also if I can do something and it’s not that valuable (ie. feasible), I am telling myself that I am incapable of accomplishing anything meaningful.

I’m trying to unlearn that there is no such thing as too small if the alternative is doing nothing at all.

Increasing ease — and reducing friction — has immense value, too, because it is the key to sustainability. So does consistency. (In the words of another favorite author, Brad Stulberg: “Do not focus on being consistently great; focus on being great at being consistent.”)

So I ask you and myself both: what is the minimum manageable thing that you can do every day that will still move you forward?

Build a Bigger Table

A collaged index card, divided diagonally. On the left is color and body elements, including a painted hand; on the right is black and white words.

It’s International Women’s Day, and just over a week after Black History Month ended.

My thoughts today for those who have more privilege: Be quiet for a moment. Listen—listen to hear, to understand, to learn. Trust that those who ask for your support actually do know what they need, and do what you can to realize those needs.

Challenge racism and sexism and transphobia and bigotry. Pass the mic. Vote. Do your own work to undo your biases, however and wherever they appear.

Be less defensive, and lean into growth. Empower. Lift up.

And love, unconditionally.

Welcoming Ease

A double exposure of a flock of birds flying against a gray sky.

Intermittently, I’ve chosen word of the year—it serves as a beacon to focus on throughout the ups and downs of a trip around the sun, a reminder of what is important to me at this time in my life. It fits nicely into a “to feel” list, too. Past words include emerge, expand, awakening, and charge.

In 2023, my word is ease.

After a difficult year, now behind me, and a year of big change looming ahead, I am craving simplicity, small and steady progress, and letting go of perfection and impossible expectations.

Ease is a permission slip to breathe and be. I have a tendency to complicate things with arbitrary self-imposed rules; this year, instead, I’m going to focus on embracing “good enough”. I’m centering rest, too, and my own imperfect humanity.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
Mary Oliver, When I Am Among the Trees

Hey, Artist

Open mixed media art journal. A layer of neutral-colored collage is covered with energetic marks in teal, green, white, and green. Much of the background shows through.

I have heard from a number of people over the course of my own creative journey who’ve said something along the lines of “I’m not an artist, but I’m interested in starting an art journal [or painting, or exploring collage]. Where do I begin?”

First up: yeah, actually, you are an artist.

Creating is innate; as a species, we’ve been expressing ourselves through dance, sculpture, music and painting for tens of thousands of years. You don’t need a degree to make art, and you don’t need to make “good” art to be an artist. All you need to do is start.

I wrote on My Peacetree — way back in 2011 — about the creative process:

The journey to creativity is not a static one: we must always be searching, pushing, moving, and striving forward. There is no end to be reached — there is only new discovery, exploration, growth, stretching, and learning […]

Art is something which must be practiced over and over again. It is only through this we can really make it our own.

As to where to start: What art makes you pause and stare? Go buy some of those materials — cheap ones are fine. Try them out. Make mistakes. Experiment.

Seek out other artists, look closely at their work, and pull elements of it that you love into your own. (Don’t steal others’ work, though! Incorporating colors and processes and materials is ok; duplicating work is not. And always, always credit artists where it’s due.)

What do you like about your art? Do more of that. What don’t you like about your work? Do less of that.

And above all else, don’t apologize for your work or for yourself. Take yourself seriously and others will, too.

The Waiting Place

Last year, in late January, I got married. This year, I spent the day alone.

We’d been working on getting a visa for months, bogged down by bureaucracy, unexpected challenges, and moving goal posts. The embassy took my passport in September, and by January, the uncertainty of when I would be able to travel out of the country again was unbearable.

While in agonizing limbo, my friend re-shared Oh, the Places You’ll Go! by Dr. Seuss. I thought I knew it pretty well: it’s a celebratory gift to many graduates, lauding all the adventures they’ll have and the wide horizons of endless possibility.

I’d forgotten, though, about The Waiting Place.

The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or the waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

Somewhere in my personal waiting place, I came across a crucial reminder that, no matter how dark or difficult or heartbreaking or lonely this moment is, humans across the globe — throughout all of time — have been through it, too, and there is a piece of poetry or art or music that echoes that pain.

No matter how isolated or powerless you may feel, you are not alone. And, because life is the way it is and change is inevitable, these valleys will not last forever.

Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

Somehow, we did escape all that waiting. I am writing from Germany — the visa was approved just a little over a week ago. I picked it up the morning of our anniversary.