It’s a quiet Friday night in North Vancouver as I write this, just home from a long but joy-filled day at Granville Island Market. I’m tired, but my heart is full. I had one of those conversations today—the kind that reminds me why I love what I do. Whether people buy something from me or not, the market is this beautiful little pocket of the world where I get to meet people and have real, meaningful conversations. And today, I met Adam and Eve. (Yes, really.)
We talked about everything. Politics, the energy of the moment, the wild idea that the entire universe might exist inside a black hole (I’m still reeling from that one). And then the conversation deepened—as they often do—and we got into the feeling so many of us are having right now. That buzzing, disorienting, urgent sense that something huge is happening. Something we can’t quite put into words, but we can all feel.
It hit me so clearly when I was reflecting on this conversation: “This moment feels like active labour.”
There’s this collective unravelling happening. Systems are failing. Leaders are drunk on power. The oligarchy is real. And yet, through it all, there’s this unstoppable sense of awakening stirring in people everywhere. We’re birthing something new. And just like labour—real labour—it’s painful, messy, disorienting, and wildly transformative. You don’t get to be the same person on the other side of it.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how creativity prepares us for moments like this. When we sit with a canvas or a lump of clay and push through the uncertain, awkward, ugly stages, we are practicing how to trust. How to stay. How to become. Our creative practice is more than just self-expression—it’s training for transformation.
For me right now, that’s happening through pottery. It’s been calling to me for years and I finally answered last fall. I signed up for a class—and then another, and another. I’ve moved all my paints out of the main part of the studio to make space for the wheel. I'm looking into kilns. I’ve fully surrendered to it. And it’s changing me.
Pottery is the one place I go where I’m not doom-scrolling, or strategizing, or worrying. I’m not thinking about how to sell what I make. I’m not thinking at all. I’m just being. Hands on clay. Listening. Feeling. Letting something flow through me. I think it might be saving me.
So I wanted to bring this to you. If there’s something that’s been quietly nudging you—sketching, writing, learning an instrument, trying watercolours or life drawing or collage—this might be the time to finally say yes. Not to perfect it, not to sell it. Just to do it. To fall into it. To let it hold you.
Because we are doing big, hard, important work right now. And we need places that help us stay open. That remind us of who we are. That reconnect us to wonder and meaning and joy.
This moment we’re living through? It’s not the end. It’s the middle. It’s active labor. And something beautiful is on the other side of it.
We’ve got this. We really do.
If you want to see what I’ve been up to in the pottery studio, I’ve shared a few reels on Instagram @kateshepherdcreative. Come say hi. And if you’re diving into something creative right now, I’d love to hear about it.
For more on this and other amazing resources to get through this "ugly stage" join me inside my Patreon
With all my heart,
