Friday, 24 July – Preparing the Space

The 21 days haven't even begun yet. They only start on Monday.

And yet, today something already shifted.

I started preparing my space. I set up one table for drawing and writing, and another one just for felting. It felt like creating an invitation—not only for creativity, but for a different way of being with myself. A space where I can give myself my full attention.

While clearing and organizing my felting materials, I came across pieces from almost 10 years ago. They reminded me of something that once fascinated me deeply: creating three-dimensional geometric felt forms in a way I had never seen before. At the time, I felt I was discovering something genuinely new.

But I stopped.

Not because the fascination disappeared. I stopped because, somewhere along the way, I lost the sense of it. I couldn't find a way to share it with others. I couldn't see how to teach it or how to sell it, because technically it's incredibly complex and takes an enormous amount of time.

I haven't felted in almost two years.

During that time, I kept saying that I would only begin again when the conditions were right. I needed time. I needed space. And I needed to feel that there was no pressure.

Over the past months, I've been creating those conditions for myself. I created a dedicated space to work. I decided to reduce my time at the computer. I made room in my life for this summer of regeneration.

Now there is only one condition left, and it's the only one that no one else can create for me.

I need to let go of the pressure I've become so used to putting on myself.

I know that won't happen overnight. Maybe that's exactly what these twenty-one days are about.

Today, while simply preparing my space, I realized how deeply I'm still conditioned to create with an expectation.

How did I realize that?

By observing the thoughts that immediately appeared.

I noticed how difficult it is to simply create because I'm curious. Simply because something inside me comes alive.

Even while imagining what I might create during these three weeks, my mind immediately leaves my inner experience.

"Maybe I should make a starfish... But perhaps that's not interesting enough... Maybe it could become a retreat... People could come here and felt a starfish as a symbol of regeneration..."

Again and again, my attention moves away from the question that actually matters.

What genuinely fascinates ME?

What would make me lose track of time?

What would fill me with that quiet feeling of wonder, simply because I want to discover where it leads?

Perhaps this is the real beginning of these twenty-one days. Not the regeneration of my body. Not even the regeneration of my creativity. But the slow release of the need for every creation to justify itself.

My first practice is simply to observe my thoughts. To notice the stories I tell myself. To let them go, one by one, and create space for something new.

For now, if I create something, it only has to be a conversation between my hands and my soul.

And somehow, that feels both incredibly liberating...

and also deeply uncomfortable.