Hi friends and fellow creatives,
Like many of you, I’m trying to pace myself with the news and the state of the world. It’s a lot. I feel it in my body, in my family, in my friends. The collective anxiety is real. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how to stay engaged without getting swallowed, how to take care of myself without checking out.
This blog is where I write about my day-to-day life. My hope is that by becoming more conscious of myself—the bright and the shadowy bits—I can show up in the world a little more honestly. And maybe, in some small way, that helps.
A couple of weeks ago, I told my youngest, Zoe, that I was feeling vulnerable as a teacher—especially after confessing to my students that my Wild Writing practice had been feeling flat. The words just flew out of my mouth, unplanned, and once they were out, I couldn’t take them back.
And then came the questions: What did this mean for the work I had built? For the people who found something meaningful in it? For me?
When I first discovered this practice 35 years ago, it was electric. It cracked something open in me. Gave me permission to drop the veil, to let it all out—the anger, the loneliness, the hope, the fear, the joy. Wild Writing taught me how to tell the truth, to write from the jugular. Over the years, it became the water I swam in, and I invited a lot of people into that pool with me.
So to suddenly feel flat about this work? It felt shameful—like something I should keep hidden. If I wasn’t feeling connected to my own practice, why would anyone else?
The last thing I ever want to be is a stuffed bird, just parroting the Wild Writing message.
So I did the only thing I knew how to do: I told the truth.
And let me tell you, honesty can feel hot and itchy.
When I shared all this with Zoe, they told me it reminded them of something their puppet-making partner, Eli Nixon, always says—how important it is to let the cardboard part of the puppet show so its humanity is exposed.
I loved that.
As it happens, Zoe has been teaching workshops on making puppets from trash. “That’s brilliant,” I told them. “What a relief—now everyone can make a puppet.”
And this idea—of exposing the cardboard, showing the raw, common material underneath—landed in me like a truth I already knew. I’m just a person moving through life, feeling joy, sorrow, flatness, anxiety, love… just like everyone else.
For someone like me—someone who’s been ambitious her whole life, who’s carried around a heavy dose of perfectionism—the idea of exposing my cardboard felt like a deep exhale.
The truth is, I’m more committed to showing up as I am than to curating some polished version of myself. Not even because it’s the right thing to do—though it is—but because when I start holding things back, I go numb. I can’t compartmentalize. If I hide one thing, I end up hiding everything. And that disconnects me from myself, my work, and the people I care about.
That’s why, in Wild Writing, we practice saying YES to whatever moves through us—welcoming it, putting it on the page, letting it be part of the creative process.
And even though I felt a wave of Oh Shit vulnerability after admitting my flatness, something surprising happened—I felt more connected. To myself, to my students, to the work itself.
That’s how this practice works.
I also need to give myself permission to change—to not grip so tightly to who I’ve been, even when that means stepping into the unknown. Easy to write, harder to live because it requires surrender.
My friend Andrea Scher says, Participation is the bridge to belonging.
For me, participation means bringing my whole self—my rusty bits, my secret worries, my dark corners, my longings, my sadness—onto the page and into the light.
As for the flatness?
All I know how to do is name it. To let my cardboard show. Because every time I do, I find my way back—to myself, my work, and the people I share it with.
Take good care, friends,
Xxoo,
Laurie
Laurie, you give US permission to write poorly, to skip a day, “to let your belly hang.” Give yourself the same kindness. Because of you, when I’m in a writing slump I now know that it is a temporary condition instead of me failing. Thank you for showing us your cardboard.
I am in a similar state … my decades long work isn’t calling me like it used to. So I grieve this profound loss, frantically look around for what else… and eventually live into the reality that I am changing. I am alive. I hear your aliveness and growth in your piece. Thank you for letting us know.
Thank you for your honesty. I relate to the flatness. So much flatness.
But I love your lovely face on my screen and your soothing voice reading me a poem–twice– and your wisdom and the ritual of showing up for myself. Im a better person for this practice and I always feel better. I appreciate you so much. You brighten my life
Amen
Oh, Laurie… Thank you for sharing your flatness with us… “All I know how to do is name it.” I remember a poem you shared long ago by Jean Reinhold, “In the lobby of Holiday Inn Express”, where the woman points at things and names them for a Chinese little girl. Do you remember that one? That poem changed me deeply, on how we name things and the power of doing that. Sending Love.
Hi Patricia, Any poem that changed someone deeply, I would like to read. Searched for “In the Lobby of Holiday Inn Express” by Jean Reinhold and couldn’t find it. Can you share the poem here? Naming is so important, I agree! Thanks….
Yes please, share.
In the lobby of Holiday Inn Express
– Jean Reinhold
Just now, a small girl in the hotel breakfast area.
Her two-year-old hand on my leg as a way to say hello.
She speaks Chinese, points at objects.
When she points at my glass, I say water.
When she points at my napkin, I say napkin.
Her parents are trying to whisk her away,
but I could talk with her all day.
She knows the secret of naming,
that’s a game I stopped playing long ago.
How much easier it would be if I simply
put a finger in the direction of what I do not know.
After pointing, someone would tell me what I see.
Pointing. Love. Pointing. Friendship.
Pointing. Good fortune. Pointing. Last chance.
Pointing. Don’t forget. Pointing. Water.
Everything around us water, water, water.
Given what’s going on in the world, flat might be a miracle and cardboard the new gold. We’re with you, Laurie, the path is never obvious, but getting out on it is what matters.
Thank you Laurie for sharing yourself with us in such an honest and creative way. If only I had known you for decades already, maybe then I would be able to see some of this flatness, but what I see is fully three dimensional, expansive and raw.
Could you tell us more about that beautiful house in the picture? It sparkles! I’m going to run out of material from my Unbound project soon, so I’ve begun collecting cardboard because it needs recycling, it’s flexible, light, unpretentious and the perfect material for the weight of today.
I always love things when they’re raw.
You are a beacon of light for so many. You are making a difference. Keep fighting the good fight.
Your house is a very very very nice house. Whatever its form. Don’t stop now!
Thank you so much for sharing. I have gone through periods of flatness in my life. The best thing is to “be” with it. It is so good to hear other perspectives of this experience. We love you as you are in this moment.
Thank you for naming ‘flatness’, the feeling I have not even been able to name. It comes and goes, which is disorienting, mixed in as it is with bursts of energy and hope. I am guessing the reason it is so hard for us to be real, to name our inner feelings is because we know there are some who will judge us, even as there are some who will say, yes, me too. So yes, me too, and thank you for showing me I am not alone Laurie, just as you are not, as you are surrounded by like minds and great love.
Laur,
I love the metaphor of letting the cardboard show through. Its so wonderful. Good to feel some underlayers.You are a lifetime revealer, and so willing to sit on the edge and feel it, say it and share it. Muchos Gracias light bringer!
This is such a lovely piece. It feels so sacred to me. Thank you for connecting this truthful and honest way. The world just got brighter from this micro act joined with the macro weave of a new world of ways unweaving/reweaving 💞
You are a mentor of letting life be what it is in writing. We are all wishing life is not what it is right now. But that is what we are given- lean into it wildly, sadly, gratefully, honestly, and compassionately. Show us the way!! We are not letting you off the hook. Drum roll- a little cardboard please!! 🥰
Thank you so much for this. I can’t tell you how much I needed this beautiful message today.
now I’m on a treasure hunt to see where I can find the cardboard edges and let them show. It’s like letting my slip show a bit under my skirt, my pant leg accidentally tucked into my sock..we are all after all just humans. No one more perfect than another. When we show our cardboard it gives permission to others to show their own, easing of the pressure of personal perfectionism gliding toward humble humanity. thank you.
Dear one,
Spirit is always, always inviting us to the next level of our vocation. Grieving the “past” of my vocation meant that I wasn’t surrendering to the “future” of my vocation, not surrendering to the guidance of Spirit into the next level, the same Spirit that issued my vocation. And yes, before I entered this new level of vocation, I had to be truthful with my inner circle, as well as my patients, that I was in a vocational crisis, questioning my relevance, questioning my vocation. And now? The healing work that Spirit is providing through me is exponentially evolving, once again. I look forward to hearing about your exponential evolution within this new level of Wild Writing!
We are here to witness you in your growth through Wild Writing!
Lobo
This is it. This is the meaty part of life. Thank you for being you Laurie, honest you. You have created a legacy with Wild Writing. As you have shared, you don’t want to be like a stuffed parrot AND we as wild writer practitioners have our own duty to keep wild writing alive in our own practice and to show you the love and care that you show us. You have taught us to not aim for perfection, get it on the page, with this post you have done just that. Big love and gratitude to you my friend.
After hearing you say it the other day, I wrote :Showing your cardboard’ across the top of the date book that sits on my desk. So there it will be every day this month, reminding me.
I go through phases of feeling uninspired every now and then, I refer to them as dry periods. I try to stay the course even as what I’m writing feels like utter crap in the belief that it will pass.
It was hard for me to learn that good stories could be told without having to cry while telling them.
Love love love this. Thank you Laurie. You inspire and teach and embody it all — then share with everyone.
Thank you Laurie for your honesty. I have not been in this practice as long as you 2yr now I think . I have noticed the flatness and I felt flat to out of fear that you would stop one day . So I started taking steps back to protect myself from falling to far if all ended and took the position of waiting and hope for the inflation of you to return. Glad I waited . Thank you for your honesty it is where beautiful writing comes from. I love this practice and appreciate you 🥰
Your acknowledgement of feeling flat reflects to me what I continue to experience in my elder years. As I age, I continue to learn how much I do not know about the world and about myself. I respect teachers who show their vulnerability. The openness about yourself is refreshing and inspiring. You and this group help to keep me from giving in to the sometimes flatness which in the past has kept me from my writing. And even when the writing seems flat, I usually find some gems that lead me to poems. They always have cardboard edges, some of which I am challenged to ultimately let show. I have heard that Navaho women, when they weave their exquisite rugs always purposefully leave a small error in recognition that nothing can be perfect.
You’ve just created a new rallying cry, “show your cardboard!” hurray for flatness, messiness, despair, anger, joy , the whole big mess of it.
Yes, the cardboard edges are the parts woven into the whole, needing acknowledgement as much as the lace and gold. SO uncomfortable. I’ve recently made a shift in my own writing, a new focus, and that created a spark that has been fun to follow, though I was full of doubt at first. I don’t know where it will go, but that’s none of my business really. Following the murky path before us is the work, and we can only see the path in retrospect. Thank you for your honest words. I feel your nervous excitement about where this might go.
Rusty bits and with cardboard exposed are some of my favorite elements in my most beloved beings! Authenticity, raw and unfiltered (ok, maybe slightly filtered) connects us all in our perfect and frail humanness!
It’s so crazy how the world works. I have been facilitating a Wild Writing with a small group recently. Any my writing has felt utterly uninspired, flat, boring. So it’s around! So, YES!, to flat, uninspired honesty! Thanks, Laurie!
And now this! Do you know how long I have desired just to read your writing on the page. The wild stuff. Like I hear sitting round your heavy wood table beneath the golden dome. I love how these moments occur where we trick ourselves into the next place through the ache of truth, and the earth of boredom. Well done, my wise wondrous friend. Well done.
A slump – temporary – revisited and rejoined – climbing out for the 2nd time in 5 years – i feel like an alcoholic who keeps relapsing into sobriety. Mortal one – give yourself some time and space to relish all you have done – let those seeds go deep into the ground of your being and rise up as something – someone – who is entirely you – we never do stop growing as I look 75 in the eyes. Party on with your bad self and breathe!
I’ve been feeling much the same. When I dug deep, I realized I had taken on too much, made too many promises and commitments. It was sucking the joy out of everything I did. I made a list of all the things I was doing and picked out the ones that were important to me. The rest of them, I let go, making more room in my life for joy and spontaneity. Yes, I had to disappoint some people but it was what I had to do to keep from drowning. Wild Writing was one of the things I chose to keep.
Thank you for your honesty and letting your cardboard show, Laurie. Honesty and vulnerability are what move me, command my attention and presence – it’s a portal to human-connection.
So interesting – the sense of belonging! In keeping a practice where I acknowledge my always-present connection to the Earth & Cosmos, I come away knowing I can never not-belong. I also rely on my self-compassion and gentleness to myself – and all feels okay for the moment.
You have written beautifully.
Always I look for the wild ones in my mailbox. Thank you Laurie, for a bright spot in life! I continue to discover gems in buried experience with Wild Writing Cardboard is the treasure! I truly feel vulnerable until a secret memory exposes itself. I become naked on a cardboard platform. Thank you Laurie for showing the ‘how’.
Dear Wild Writing friends,
This huge list of loving comments will carry ALL OF US forward! See what showing your cardboard did for SO MANY !
I have been a mixed media artist for a long time and the cardboard is actually the spine or the strength that holds the art piece/sculpture up! It gives it strength and longevity, so it can last for a long time!!!!
Pretty cool!