From One Creative to Another: When Creativity Saves Us

On the small acts of love and courage that guide us back to joy (sometimes when we least expect it)

I’ll never forget the lunchtime I stepped outside to a back-yard stoop and found myself surrounded by monarch butterflies, their wings catching the sunlight, fluttering in orange and red all around me. I remember thinking, What am I doing inside all day when I want to be out here, in the light with them? It was one of those quiet whispers—the kind that says, you’re meant for something else.

“Wishes For Abundance” (sold)

At the time, I was working at my first job out of college as an editorial assistant at a newspaper in Minneapolis. I knew it wasn’t for me. I didn’t want to spend another hour under fluorescent lights, sitting at a desk. I even draped scarves over the overhead bulbs to make it feel like a bohemian oasis—my own little sanctuary in the middle of a very ordinary office.

I stayed for about a year and a half. There were so many things I learned, and I’m grateful for them, but I also knew I had to move on. After returning from a trip to Africa, I put in my two weeks’ notice. I was in my early twenties, living in an old house with friends, painting our bedrooms in bright colors—goldenrod for mine, crimson red for the living room, and a floral Goodwill sofa at the center of it all. There were a lot of parties—and it wasn’t the life I needed.

“Her Wings Spread Light”

I felt an overwhelming pull to get off the roller coaster. I called my mom. Without hesitation, she dropped everything, drove five hours, and came to get me. She helped me pack my futon, my desk, and the few clothes I owned. I don’t even remember saying goodbye to anyone. The environment had become too toxic, and I needed out. My mom was my lifeline.

I moved back into my parents’ house for a few months, unsure what came next. I wasn’t painting, I didn’t know what I wanted—but those months became a slow, gentle reawakening.

My mom and I went to the gym together, took long walks, and little by little, I began to remember myself.

Then came an unexpected phone call. Brian, a friend from high school—now my husband, with whom I just celebrated our 20-year anniversary—invited me to see The White Stripes in Detroit. We hadn’t spoken since the summer after graduation, but back then, he had been my Ferris Bueller: skipping school together so we could visit an art museum or a French café. I had a car, he had the tickets. After weeks of settling back in with my parents, I longed for a little freedom and fun. That spontaneous adventure marked the start of a new chapter—one filled with love, creativity, and possibility.

Looking back, I see that summer as a turning point. A moment saved by my mom’s love and instinct. A life change that led me back toward painting—and toward joy.

I wonder—have you ever had a moment like that? Someone showing up for you in a way that changed everything? The moments filled with love, courage, and connection—the ones that often arrive quietly, or sometimes with the flutter of wings in the sun—stay with us forever.

Returning to painting changed my life. Over the next few weeks, I’m sharing a series of free mini-classes. If you’d like to join me for the full series, you can sign up for my newsletter here: Join my 7 Weeks of Creative Celebrations. I’d love for you to join me.

You can also watch the first mini-class on Substack.

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All photos and artwork by Juliette Crane