Episode 29: How to Stop Feeling Flat

Catch this episode on Apple, Spotify, or Android. 

Today we’re practicing the skill of unleashing desire and creativity, the antidote to feeling flat in a life that looks fine on paper. If you’ve wanted to leave a job but know you won’t, or you want to launch something real but can’t find ‘enough’ confidence, this one’s for you. We’re going to notice a quiet yes, give it air, and turn it into one small, useful thing at the scale you’re at. No five-year plan, no permission slip, just a room with the light on.

What You'll Learn

• How to spot a nudge even if you’re not a “body sensations” person (body, pattern, and relational lanes—with quick tells for each).
• Why capability can be a detour and how guilt and fear sound reasonable while they shrink your want (two sentences to recognize them fast).
  
• How to move without “being ready” by creating a simple home for the idea (titled document + small calendar block).
  
• Where creativity lives in non-art jobs (spreadsheets, agendas, hiring loops, demo flows, family routines) and how to count those wins.
  
• A one-week practice to trade a little consumption for a little creation, give ideas air on purpose, and measure aliveness instead of only output.

Episode Transcript

Hi everyone! So just a quick frame before we dive in. We’re moving through my favorite mindset skills this season, one per episode. Today is Skill #5: Unleash Desire & Creativity. I use this one to address a few different kinds of stuck, for example, when life looks fine on paper but feels flat, when you want to leave a job but know you’re not going to, when you want to launch something but can’t find “enough” confidence to start, when your days are full and your spirit is bored, and when you keep “getting ready to get ready” while the thing you actually want stays in draft. It’s a good skill to have too when you notice that you are searching for dopamine in all of the wrong places, scrolling, overeating, really overconsuming anything that isn’t moving you toward results that you want.

Here’s my current spark of creativity. An idea keeps tapping my shoulder: to take my coaching work and develop a a core signature talk with a follow-on workshop and deliver it to larger audiences vs. just in my private and small group coaching spaces. The spark didn’t arrive as a grand vision; it arrived like breadcrumbs. First, I kept thinking about this quarterly workshop that I run for women in sales leadership, which I always get a little nervous about but then leaves me buzzy in the best way. And then  the other day, my mom, not one to really doll out business advice, said completely casual: “You should do more talks. I have groups of people who would want to hear what you have to say.” And then a few days later, the algorithm—which of course is listening in on my brain—serves me up a course on crafting a keynote. Of course this isn’t coincidence. My subconscious was looking for opportunities, and I’ve trained my body to listen to them. I’m now able to spot a calm, grounded yes. That’s my tell when it’s time to do something new and creative. 

In my world—and in the world of the leaders I coach—desire and creativity are rarely missing. What’s missing is the way we treat them. Especially as women, we often postpone what we want until we can justify it. We often over-consume to “research” our way into confidence. We often over-edit ideas before they get a single breath of air. We ignore enough nudges and a year slips by in clean deliverables and low-grade boredom.

So to make the rest of this podcast practical, let me define a few words for how I am going to use them as I teach you this skill of cultivating your desire and creativity.

When I say desire, I mean the internal want that pulls you forward—the difference between “I should” and “I’m drawn to.”

When I say creativity, I do not mean art supplies; I mean anything novel and useful in context: a spreadsheet that saves your team twenty minutes, a meeting agenda that finally gets quiet voices first, a hiring loop that removes hidden barriers, a pickup routine that makes 5:30 p.m. kinder.

And when I say nudge, I mean the way desire taps you. Sometimes it’s bodily (your breath drops, your jaw loosens, you feel relief when you picture doing it). Sometimes it’s a pattern that keeps finding you (notes, podcasts, dog-eared pages). Sometimes it’s relational—different people reflecting the same thing back to you in conversation, for example, “You’re good at… We could use… Have you thought about…?”. Whatever the channel, it repeats. Oh, and on this one, watch out for the ones that might make you feel defensive or uncomfortable. Back when I was in my analyst days, multiple people would tell me that they admired my creative slide decks. I took this as an insult. I thought they meant that all I had was creativity vs. pure intellectual analysis and bold opinions. The fact that their compliments made me feel something, even defensiveness, was a sign that I could have been paying  more attention to something within me.

And if you’ve never tuned into nudges before, you’re not behind; you’re just early in the reps. Use the lane that fits you. If you’re not a sensations person, live in pattern and relational. You’re not doing it wrong. I offer that you can think of your brain as two committees: the brainstorm and the editor. If the editor barges into the brainstorm, ideas get shut down. You maybe just need to start giving the brainstorm a few minutes of air, then let the editor polish. Noticing and swimming in the spark first isn’t a waste of time—it’s how the work gets made.

So as we proceed, I invite you to keep three tiny questions in your back pocket and answer them like a quick voice memo to yourself as you listen:

What keeps tapping your shoulder even though you don’t have a plan yet?

How does your “yes” tend to show up—body, pattern, or people?

And where could “creative” live this week that isn’t art—maybe a simpler demo flow, a kinder meeting structure, or a one-page outline your team will actually use?

That’s our starting line for Skill #5. From here, we’ll look honestly at what always arrives right after the nudge—guilt and fear—and how to let them ride along without handing them the wheel.

SEGMENT 1: THE CONFLICT

Let’s talk now about how creative nudges run straight into our childhood programming. My closest friend is my mirror for this part. She’s wildly artistic and wildly smart—the kind of person who could have majored in any department on campus. At twelve she tiled a rainbow across her bedroom floor, she sewed her own clothes for years, and she sang in choirs because music made sense in her bones. And still, for a long time, she would not call herself an artist. The story sounded tidy and responsible: artists have galleries and grants and business cards that say the word; smart, capable people choose the path that uses their brain “properly.” Creativity could be a hobby, not an identity. It kept her safe.

This is common when you are capable. Capability is a convincing detour. It shields you from risk, and almost invisibly it muffles desire. You can spend years earning gold stars for the thing you can do while the thing you must do waits behind a gate labeled “permission.” You can be applauded for clean deliverables and still feel strangely absent from your own life.

I know this because I did it too. I became excellent at roles that reward rigor, speed, and certainty. I moved through banking, law, and policy with color-coded binders and the kind of competence that works in any room. Competence is intoxicating; it also becomes a very polished way to postpone. Every time I felt the pull to perform and teach and tell stories, I promised I’d come back to it when it “made sense”—when the plan was airtight, when the calendar opened up, when there was an official ask. The calendar did not open. The plan grew heavier. The official ask never arrived. What arrived was productive procrastination.

Productive procrastination looks responsible on the surface. It’s one more week of “research” before you pitch the talk. It’s reorganizing the family calendar instead of writing the first three sentences. It’s reading about how other people do it instead of opening a document with a working title. Your hands are busy, your work is clean, and your creative life waits in the next tab.

There’s another duet that always shows up here: guilt and fear. Guilt whispers, “Other people don’t have this freedom and flexibility in their careers; who am I to want more?” Fear nods and adds, “If I say it out loud, people will roll their eyes.” Guilt tells you to shrink the want to fit the room. Fear tells you the kind thing would be to stay small. They sound reasonable; they are also wrong. When my friend finally called herself an artist, nothing exploded. She kept making, and the world adjusted to her decision—paid walls, upholstery commissions, band sets. Identity followed reps, not the other way around. That order matters. Emily, if you’re listening, you are my inspiration, and I know an inspiration to so many others.

When I stopped treating coaching and teaching as a charming side plot, nothing exploded for me either. I didn’t need permission; I needed a first rep. I needed to open a document and give it a name. I needed to say out loud that I wanted to hear how people think and help them let go of their limiting beliefs for a living. I needed to let the want be big without punishing it for being big. I also needed to remember that creativity lives in everything I already touch: the way I design a meeting so the quiet person goes first, the way I outline a talk so a busy team can ship on time, the way I rebuild a template so chaos stops at the source, the way I structure a school-night routine so the house is kinder at 5:30. I bet your day is full of these artistic expressions and so many others. 

So as you listen, notice where this conflict lives for you. Where are you excellent and absent at the same time—praised for the output while your aliveness feels low? What is the very reasonable sentence you use to postpone what you want? Say it out loud and notice how convincing it sounds and how heavy it feels. If you allowed the want to be big without apologizing for it, what would change today, not this quarter—is it admitting the idea out loud, titling a document even if you write nothing else, telling a friendly stakeholder you’re testing a ten-minute brown-bag next month, or renaming one calendar block to match the identity you’re practicing?

The problem isn’t that we lack desire; it’s that we learned to discredit it. We learned to consume more than we create because consumption feels safe and creative work feels visible. We learned to wait for titles before we move like the person who would earn them. We learned to protect our competence even when it costs us our aliveness. If any part of that sounds familiar, take it as an invitation, not an indictment. Let the nudge breathe one minute longer than you usually do. You don’t have to make a five-year plan right now. Just let a vision live in your head for a minute. Just allow yourself to unreasonably daydream. And treat this as a skill you can practice, not a gift you either got or missed. In the next section, we’ll choose what it looks like to move as the person you’re becoming at the scale you’re at.

SEGMENT 2: THE CHOICE AND THE SHIFT

Here is the moment things actually moved. I stopped waiting to be “ready,” and I treated the keynote nudge like something I could practice, not prove. I rewrite my business plan or announce a big thing. I opened a document and gave it a plain title I wouldn’t be embarrassed. I don’t like tooooo many feelings at once! I put a small block on my calendar so I’d bump into it, and I started collecting three stories I already tell well. Nothing dramatic happened on the outside, but on the inside the air changed. The idea felt lighter because I’d given it a room with the light on.

The shift was less about effort and more about permission. I let the idea be imperfect and in progress instead of heavy and theoretical. I noticed how quickly my brain tried to turn the spark into a performance review and how fast I reached for consumption to feel “prepared”—one more article, one more thread, one more example of how someone else did it. I also noticed that on the days I created even a very small slice—a paragraph, a slide title, a cleaner outline—the next morning felt brighter. There’s research for that: small creative acts today tend to boost tomorrow’s mood and sense of flourishing. My nervous system seemed to exhale, and that felt like proof I could trust.

I also made room, which was not glamorous. I traded a little consumption for a little creation and then guarded that trade. I put my phone in another room for a stretch. I gave ideas air on purpose instead of editing them at the door. After I drafted a slice, I took a short, undemanding break—a walk, a quick tidy, a stretch—and came back long enough to star the one part that felt alive. That break wasn’t dessert; it was part of the recipe. Remember that our best creative work happens when the “brainstorm network” and the “editor network” take turns, and those light pauses help them do the handoff.

None of this erased guilt and fear; it resized them. They sat in the back seat with their commentary while I drove. On days when the old programming got loud—be helpful, be correct, be small—I went back to quiet facts. I have a document with a name. I have three stories I can tell well. I have a block on my calendar with my future identity written where I will see it. I have a clearer sense of what “creative” looks like in the day I actually live. Those facts were enough to keep me moving.

And because honesty matters, the contrast helped too. On the day I didn’t do a slice, I felt the old hum return—the tidy busyness, the clean deliverables, the low-grade absence. Nothing was wrong, and nothing was alive. The next morning I chose differently, and the room with the light on was waiting for me.

If you need a picture for what this choice feels like, imagine taking a sweater out of a drawer and putting it on. You’re not inventing a new you; you’re wearing the part that fits the season you’re in. Some days you forget and put the old one back on. Some days you notice and switch. Over time, the reach becomes automatic. You don’t feel ready first. You feel right because you’re doing the small reps that make the identity true.

CONCLUSION

This is the part where the episode becomes a week of your life. We started with a breadcrumb trail and a calm yes. We named the programming that makes capable women postpone what they want. We told the truth about guilt and fear and the very reasonable sentences they use. We watched identity follow reps, not the other way around. And we chose a lighter way to move—small slices, short breaths, and rooms with the light on. Desire and creativity are not a personality quiz; they are skills. Skills live or die by practice.

So here is the story I want you to live for seven days. Call it your Week of the Nudge. Today, give the idea a home. Open a document and title it in plain language—the kind of title you would not be embarrassed to read out loud to a friend. Put a small block on your calendar that matches that title so you will bump into it. You do not owe anyone a masterpiece. You are committing to a room with the light on.

Tomorrow, start noticing. Keep a single page or a single note where you catch what taps your shoulder. One line at a time is enough: a topic, a question, a broken process you could fix, a sentence you keep hearing yourself say. Do not assign homework to the line; your job is to catch it before it floats past. If you are in a season where time and energy are tight, make the practice even kinder. Borrow five minutes from consumption and give those same five minutes to a sentence, a slide title, or one small calendar block labeled creativity. The rep matters more than the format.

Midweek, give the idea air. Protect one stretch—ninety minutes if you have it, three fifteen-minute slices if you don’t—and work at the scale you are at. Draft a paragraph. Shape one story. Sketch the agenda that brings the quiet voice in first. When you finish the slice, step away for a short, undemanding break. Walk around the block. Tidy a counter. Stretch. Then come back long enough to star the single part that feels most alive. Remember, the break is not something you have to earn; it is part of the recipe. You are letting your idea network and your editor network trade places without shoving each other.

Each day, make one honest trade from consumption to creation. You will be surprised by how often five minutes is enough to begin, which is all you actually needed. If a day gets away from you, that is not a failure; it is a data point. The next morning, return to the room with the light on. It will be waiting for you.

Let’s name what we came here to solve. This skill is for the days that look full and feel flat, for the season when you want to leave a job but know you are not going to, for the moment you want to launch something real and cannot find “enough” confidence to begin. Unleash Desire & Creativity is the antidote because it teaches you to notice a quiet yes, give it air, and turn it into one small, useful thing at the scale you are at.

That is what we practiced this week: not forcing a five-year plan, not waiting for the official ask, not grading yourself before you start. You gave your yes a home. You opened a document with a plain title and kept a small block on your calendar so you would bump into it. You traded a little consumption for a little creation and let ideas breathe long enough for the editor to come in second, not first. Some days you felt the lift. Some days you heard the old hum. But you kept the room with the light on.

If you are staying in the job, this is how you stop feeling absent from it. You build aliveness into the day you already live—one agenda that includes the quiet voice first, one cleaner flow, one page that helps a busy team ship on time. If you want to launch and confidence is the excuse, this is how you move anyway. Confidence follows proof; proof follows reps. Identity follows reps. Aliveness follows creation.

Next week we’re practicing Skill #6: Live as Your Future Self. If this week was about the spark, next week is about the stance — making decisions like the woman who already does this work, without waiting to feel more confident or have more time. We’ll build one simple plan that present-you will actually keep, and we’ll use it to protect the rooms with the light on. If you’ve ever made a beautiful plan and ghosted it, this one’s for you.