NOURISHMENT OVER URGENCY FOR A SUSTAINABLE ART PRACTICE

Urgency, Nourishment & Learning to Trust a New Rhythm

This morning I came across an Instagram post that felt as though it had been written directly for me.

It spoke about outgrowing urgency. About how, over time, priorities begin to shift away from what feels loud and pressing, and towards what feels nourishing instead. It named this not as laziness or loss of ambition, but as emotional maturity and it landed on a morning when I was feeling quietly lost for direction. Not dramatically lost, just that subtle, uncomfortable kind of lost that comes when an old way of working no longer fits, but a new way hasn’t fully revealed itself yet.

I’ve spent much of my creative life driven by momentum, by action, by the belief that if I just kept moving, posting, making, sharing, something would eventually click into place. And often it did. Action has mattered. Showing up has mattered.

But lately, I’ve felt a growing resistance to urgency — a pull toward something slower, deeper, more spacious. And alongside that pull, a fear:

If I slow down, what happens to the work?

What happens to income?

What happens to momentum?

The post named something I’ve been struggling to articulate: that constant pressure no longer feels impressive to me. Rushing no longer feels like progress. Being needed no longer feels like purpose and instead of chasing what is loud, I find myself craving what is nourishing.

One line in particular has stayed with me:

Urgency runs on fear.

Nourishment runs on trust.

That distinction feels important.

Urgency asks us to react.

To prove.

To keep going so we don’t fall behind.

Nourishment asks something different.

It asks us to trust timing.

To trust our inner compass.

To trust that not everything of value arrives immediately.

And that trust can feel deeply uncomfortable — especially in a world that rewards speed, visibility, and constant output. Especially when your livelihood is tied to your creative work.

I’m not writing this from a place of having it figured out. I’m very much in the middle of it. Trying to learn how to create and share from a place that doesn’t rely on adrenaline or panic. Trying to build a rhythm where my nervous system feels safe, and my work still has space to grow.

What I do know is this:I don’t believe the answer is doing nothing.But I also don’t believe the answer is pushing harder.

I’m searching for a new way to feel comfortable inside my practice. A way where action still exists, but it’s rooted in intention rather than fear. Where trust isn’t something I promise myself for “later”, but something I practice in small, imperfect ways now.

Perhaps this season is less about urgency and more about discernment.

Less about chasing and more about choosing.

Less about proving and more about listening.

If you’re feeling something similar — that quiet tension between wanting to slow down and needing to keep going — I just wanted to say: you’re not alone in it. And maybe it’s not a problem to solve, but a transition to honour.

I’m allowing myself to believe that nourishment can still be productive.That trust can still support a living and that a calmer rhythm doesn’t mean less devotion — just a deeper one.

Thank you Alexa @yourbeautifullife for all your wonderful posts