At VizConf this year I sat on a panel that felt less like an official session and more like a small circle of friends willing to share the beautiful mess of their respective creative businesses.
The theme was Ebb & Flow, but what made it magic was how quickly we drifted past the polished answers and into the honest stuff. The wobbles. The how-it-really-feels moments. The ones many of us carry alone.
Five years into self employment I’ve realised my creative rhythm is never straight or predictable. I’m not a steady drumbeat kind of person. I swell with ideas, then dip into silence. I sprint, stall, rethink, leap. Turns out, most of us do.
One idea that really landed in the room was: Play leads to pay.
When I hit an ebb, forcing myself forward rarely works. Tiny sparks of joy do. Drawing something silly. Walking the beach. Picking up shells.
Those playful moments don’t look like progress, yet they wake the creative engine back up. Before long, work and energy start to return.
Then the conversation tugged a memory I didn’t expect to share.
Years ago I was cycling in South America, inching my way up a steep, never-ending hill. I was wrecked, convinced I had nothing left and no clue how much further I had to go.
I passed a farmer on the side of the road but didn't even have the energy to acknowledge him. Then I heard footsteps running behind me and I was sure that this was the end.
A hand landed on the back of my bike. Not to stop me. But to help.
A stranger ran beside me in silence, pushing me up the hill and giving me just enough of a boost to keep moving. When we reached the top, he let go and disappeared back down the road.
It was such a small moment, but it planted something big.
Sometimes the hardest stretch arrives right before the view changes. Sometimes support turns up just when you think you’re alone. And sometimes the flow returns quietly, with no big announcement at all.
Which brings me back to ebb and flow.
A quiet season isn’t failure. The dip isn’t a measure of your value. And the stories we tell ourselves when things slow down are rarely true.
Ebb. Flow. Repeat.
It isn’t a flaw in creative living. It is creative living.
So when the tide goes out let yourself play, keep pedalling and trust that the turn, the tailwind, or the helping hand might already be on its way.
One of my favourite moments was looking over afterward and seeing Cat Drysdale (pictured above) and Jimmy Patch dual graphic recording – mapping the conversation right back to us. A visual reminder of the stories we told and the truths we shared.
And massive gratitude to Matthew Magain, Dusty Folwarczny and Tatum Kenna for creating space and opening up to share your stories and to VizConf for the fantastic photos.
