No 6 – A Story of Creative Birth

If work were a person, how would you relate to it?

When I think about my work — the creative project I’ve been carrying inside me for years, and hope to finally bring into the world next year — there’s a warm, fuzzy feeling.

A mix of intention and serendipity, of romanticised fate and the very down-to-earth demand to make a living. It is dream and practicality, expression and necessity, all entwined.

My ideas arrive without my calling them; they settle, grow, and take up space long before I consciously invite them.

In that sense, my work feels like a relative I’m destined to deal with — the kind you can’t simply detach from, because some invisible thread binds you together. Destiny always carries a faint echo of unescapability.

From the moment the idea arrived, the seed was planted, to the moment it is ready to be brought to life, years have passed. Cozy years in which the idea was safe in the creation womb, protected from outside influence, slowly growing and evolving.

But lately, I’ve been feeling the contractions — those creative surges that tighten and release, waves of tension pushing me toward something inevitable, whether I feel ready or not. The birth feels near, and just as inescapable.

So far, every time I’ve thought my due date is finally near, life has shifted and quietly moved it further away.

This baby I’ve been carrying — this creative endeavour — has been ripening for years now, maturing, overdue in all the ways that matter. But with the birth coming closer, my attention shifts to the surroundings.

The imagined birthing room is hectic: fear of not having enough resources, fear of the unknown shape this project will take, fear of failure or fragility.

But fear is exactly what is halting the birth, time and again. In fear, everything freezes; a rigidity takes over. The panic in the room seeps inward, influencing all that is happening within. Nothing flows, everything stalls. So how do I birth a project in the presence of fear? Or rather, how do I work through fear so that the flow can return?

And yet, the birth is already happening. There is no pause, no time to step back or wait for the perfect moment. Life keeps moving, the ordinary continues, and in the midst of it all, the project grows, insists, and finds its way. Creation pushes through — into early mornings, into quiet corners, into the tiny moments where attention can be given. It demands presence, persistence, and courage, even as fear lingers.

This is what it means to give birth to a creative project: to face the pain, the fear, the thrill of anticipation, the extreme feelings — all while managing everything else that life demands. And yet, despite fear and the relentless rhythm of everyday life, the birth is happening now, insistently and unstoppable.

• How do you experience the “contractions” in your own creative or professional life — those moments of tension that push you toward something new?
• Where in your daily routines can you nurture your bigger aspirations, even in small, ordinary ways?
• What fears arise when you imagine not just the birth of a project, but the life that follows it — and how might you approach them with patience and courage?