The Beauty of Not Knowing

Letting go of the timeline and embracing what is meant for you

Sometimes, life unfolds in ways we never could have planned, arriving in moments that seem ordinary at first but, in hindsight, shift the entire course of our path. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately—not just in life, but in my creative process as well. The way a painting takes shape in its own time, how each brushstroke leads to the next, how the most beautiful moments often happen when I stop trying to control the outcome. It’s something I return to again and again, both in my art and in the way I move through the world.

I’m fascinated by the ways art mirrors life. All the layers that go into a painting are so similar to the stories and experiences that shape our lives. So often, we have no idea how important a single moment is until much later.

Some of you may know that I met my husband, Brian, in high school. We never dated back then—we were just really good friends, especially in our senior year. I remember one day, we skipped out of school and went on our own little adventure to the Milwaukee Art Museum, followed by a long lunch at a French restaurant. We met in theater, though I was too afraid to be on stage. I auditioned for a play, made it to callbacks, and then lost the courage to go to the second round. But the people I met encouraged me to join the backstage crew, where I found a place to belong. It was through theater, and through these small, unexpected choices, that Brian and I crossed paths.

After high school, I moved away for college, and he stayed in Wisconsin. I remember thinking, I’ll probably never see him again. We kept in touch here and there through mutual friends, but life moved on. Seven years passed before we reconnected. By then, I had ended a long-term relationship, was unsure of what was next, and had no plans to move to Chicago. But then, out of the blue, Brian called. He knew I had a car and asked if I wanted to go with him to see The White Stripes in Detroit. That one phone call set everything else into motion. Looking back, I never could have planned it. It happened in its own way, in its own time.

That theme—of things falling into place in ways we least expect—has continued throughout my life. I never imagined I’d become a professional artist. After Brian and I got engaged, we were both working at the University of Chicago, but I hated my office job. I felt stuck, boxed in. I remember sitting at my desk, asking myself, What am I supposed to do with my life? When we got married and moved to Wisconsin, I took on a series of different jobs—some I loved, some I didn’t. One of my favorites was landscaping. I adored working outside, but when that job ended, I found myself lost again. And yet, losing it was what led me back to painting. What started as a personal outlet turned into a creative business, and eventually, an entirely new life.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about this in my creative work, too. With my latest collection of abstract pieces, I’m really slowing down with every mark, allowing the painting to unfold rather than trying to force it into something too soon. I’ve been working on many pieces at once, mirroring my marks on each one so they evolve together, letting movement and color guide the way. I’ve been leaving space for beautiful mistakes, letting the supplies do the work, watching as unexpected layers and overlaps create something more magical than I could have planned.

And now, I find myself on the edge of something new again. Next week, I’ll be heading to my France Retreat. I’ve never been to Paris before, and I can already feel the inspiration bubbling up—the museums, the wandering, the slow mornings in cafés with a notebook and a croissant, dreaming up what’s next. It feels like one of those moments where life is unfolding in its own time, leading me somewhere I can’t yet see.

Learning to surrender and let my art guide me is something I’ve come to trust in my creative practice. It’s a lesson I return to again and again—one I’ve shared often in the online classes within my membership.

Looking back, I can see how each moment connected to the next—how things I once thought were roadblocks were actually redirections. But in the moment, it never felt that way. It felt uncertain. Messy. Frustrating. And that’s where I find myself again now, standing at the edge of something unknown. Maybe you’re there, too.

So, today, I’m reminding myself to slow down. To breathe. To trust that things don’t always arrive in the way or the timeline we expect. The more we loosen our grip, the more space we create for the right things to find us. And in the meantime, the only thing to do is fall in love with where we are right now. Because this—this exact moment—is shaping the future in ways we can’t yet see.

What if, instead of trying to force the answers, you simply allowed the next step to reveal itself? What would it feel like to trust that everything is unfolding just as it should?

Painting, even if it’s just for five miniutes in my sketchbook, always reminds me to slow down and see the big picture. If you want something to help you get started, I’ve put together some Free Painting Classes and Resources:

*Join My Free Sketchbook Class

*Join My Free Mixed Media Painting Class

Wherever you are right now, trust that you are exactly where you’re meant to be. Inspiration is never really gone—it’s just waiting for you to notice it. Let yourself be carried. The path is unfolding around you, even if you can’t see the whole way yet.

All photos and artwork by Juliette Crane