I love unconventional ways of approaching creative problems. Sitting in a conference room staring at a creative brief feels like a proctored exam, not a fun field trip.

My newest fascination is using tarot cards for igniting my creative practice. To be clear, I’m not a trained tarot card reader, but I’ve long appreciated the open-endedness of watching others interpret a spread of cards.

There are thousands of tarot decks — all works of art and creative in their interpretations.

The symbolic meaning behind each card remains largely the same over centuries, yet the visual interpretations modernize and dimensionalize.

Two books to consider adding to your creative library:

Tarot: a comprehensive look at over 500 cards and works of original art, dating back to medieval times and tracing them to modern times.

Tarot for Creativity: by Chelsey Pippin Mizzi

I took up her challenge of a tarot card a day. You draw one card each morning and ask yourself:

What does this card remind me of in my life right now?

What action does this card inspire me to take?

What does this card inspire me to let go of?

What’s the biggest lesson I can learn from this card?

Today, for instance, I drew the Seven of Swords. A warning card about who to trust. Very timely given a personal situation that unfurled this week. So I use it to journal about the emotional takeaway of this experience and how I want to proceed.

Yesterday I got the Empress card, a message of matriarchal authority. That inspired some work on an outline that’s been in my brain about motherhood.

I stack this tarot practice on my Morning Pages, a meditative chaser after exfoliating my own thoughts.

Sometimes if my creative muse seems to have her Out-of-Office message on auto reply, I’ll take matters into my own hands. Prop the Empress card on my desk — symbolizing fertile creation, magnetic manifestation, and limitless abundance.

Have you ever used tarot as a creative tool? 🌙 What’s stopping you? Feel free to leave a comment asking me to pull a card for you. Happy to oblige.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

My son and I went to see “Operation Mincemeat” on Broadway last week. Wow.

The show tells the stranger-than-fiction story of a World War II scheme in which British Intelligence officials dressed a corpse as a Royal Marines officer to trick the Germans into thinking Sardinia — rather than Sicily — was their next target.

As part of the ruse, the British drafted fake military documents, bank statements and love letters from a fictional fiancée: all meant for the Germans to find with Bill’s body.

The song that put the world’s biggest lump in my throat was “Dear Bill.” Sung by an elderly secretary in the MI5, the lyrics illustrate how — in order to be believed by the Nazis — letters written to soldiers overseas must sound shockingly ordinary and everyday:

Dear Bill,

I’m afraid I’ve not got long to write
I’m off to Mary’s
You know how she feels about bridge night
It’s been a few days
I thought that I’d send a few lines

Next door’s greyhound came into the garden this morning
I think he likes the roses
They’re doing fine, I used some twine
To tie them up and rein them in
I hope they’ll bloom next spring
But you’ll see that for yourself

I’m following the instructions you left in your note
“Please devote all your time to their care”
And I have done, I swear
Except from the talking, I’m not going to do that
‘Cause talking to roses is mad and you knew that
When you whispered sweet nothings to flowers
To make my dad cross, and me laugh
And it did

And why did we meet in the middle of a war?
What a silly thing for anyone to do

Your sister sends her love, of course
And your mother is the same as ever
Diana’s piano is getting much better
Well, I say better, I really just mean louder
But as she tells me
That’s pretty much the same
Well, it makes a change from all of the noise and the sirens
And sometimes from all of the silence

With six rounds of “Jingle Bells”
And “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” even though it is June
And it’s been a long summer
But she wants to be perfect for her older brother
She hopes you’ll be home again soon, no
She knows you’ll be home again soon

And it’s fine, and we’re fine
It’s nice to watch her get better with time
I suppose they just miss you
I know they just miss you
And I’m not going to argue with that

And why did we meet in the middle of a war?
What a silly thing for anyone to do

And I’m trying my best to write everything down
To fill in the gaps so that when you’re around
It’ll be like you’ve never been gone
As if you’d been here all along
‘Cause you can’t just miss out on the songs

And to tell you the truth, Tom
Your roses aren’t thriving
Without you, they’re dull
Don’t worry, they’re surviving
But I’ve tried all the tricks that you put in your note
And I’ve watered the soil ‘til it started to float
And no, I’ve not talked to them
I’m not going to talk to them
There’s something you have that I just don’t have

And since you’re off gallivanting, it’s only fair that you know
That your roses, quite frankly, were the first things to go
And no, you’re not gallivanting, I don’t mean gallivanting
It’s just frustrating for you to be right
When I have to do both the sides of this fight
But it’s good to hear you
Even just in my head

And the roses just miss you
I know they just miss you
And I’m not going to argue with that
There’s so much to do when you come back

And I know that they say that it’s all for a cause
Our brave boys out fighting a war to end wars
But it’s like they don’t see that when you’re far from me
Our roses don’t get the conversation they need
Which just seems unfair
I’m stuck here and you’re there
I suppose I just miss you
I know I just miss you
Even now I still miss you

And why did we meet in the middle of a war?
What a silly thing for anyone…

By the time the final line is sung, the audience has concluded that the proposed letter is only somewhat fictional. It’s an echo from Hester’s own youth: “a war to end wars” (WWI instead of WWII) and the use of “Tom” instead of Bill in one line, her own beloved.

She is reminiscing about words she penned to her own fiancé 20 years prior. And there wasn’t a dry eye in the house when she sang the final refrain.

Casting matters

Sung in a simple spotlight on stage, Dear Bill stripped away all visual distractions and put the focus entirely on Hester’s heart. The fact that Hester is played by a male actor only added to the poignancy of the moment.

With 5 actors playing over 80 characters, Operation Mincemeat’s gender-fluid casting was both a necessity — with role changes communicated through minor adjustments to costumes and posture — and also a creative unlock. More of this, pls.

Should you see the show (and you should), it will bogle your mind that the wildest parts — the fake identity, love letters, and secret plans—are not theatrical inventions. They are historical artifacts. That’s what makes the story so unforgettable.

Don’t mind me — I’ll just be rewatching this Dear Bill video on repeat, with my Nana’s handkerchief nearby.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

And on Thursday to be taking my son to see a Broadway show called Operation Mincemeat: a musical comedy about World War II.

That’s right — a musical comedy about war.

I’ve written on this newsletter before about my love of genre mashups, or what I call hybridtizing. And I got a double dose when watching The French Open this week. The spectacle of choreography on the Parisian clay before the finals was an amuse bouche that drew roaring applause.

Then there was Naomi Osaka who brought the catwalk right onto the clay with high-couture outfits that she pared down like a bride removing her train to hit the dance floor. Just gorgeous.

Even the Knicks are getting their fair share of creative tributes this week. I passed this stoop on 78th Street and had to stop to appreciate the artistry…

…and some fans who stopped to sniff it out.

Just when I thought my art cup was full, I stumbled upon Austin Bell. He’s been photographing all full-size outdoor basketball courts in NYC since 2021: 1,441 courts and counting.

The result? Drone shots arranged by color like this one. I can feel my breathing slow down when taking this in — like a rainbow quilt made with a different kind of hoop. Yummy as all get-out.

Just sharing some of the artsy eye candy I’m loving this week. Visual proof of the line I always sign off with…

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

posted a quote this week that read: “The people who tapped out for many years to build themselves and become who they came here to be, are now tapping back in.”

Yep.

Not only is this true for me, but for many in my orbit, including several of my coaching clients. I can only describe it as a readiness to reengage with the world after a period of cloistering, disillusionment, and introspection.

Is it a post-Covid gestation that finally reached its birth point — impossible to have measured or forecast? Possibly.

Could it be the rising awakening of women to decenter men and focus on making themselves comfortable and happy? Likely so.

Might people’s seeking meaning, community, and present-moment fulfillment be a very natural response to environmental and global uncertainty? Seems self-evident.

It just feels like a moment of cosmic congruence.

Here are 3 shifts I’m watching that bode well for humanity… and for creativity:

#1 Disillusionment with swipe culture : Bumble’s stock is down 95% since its 2021 peak. Instead people are prioritizing friendships, family, personal growth and hobbies. Relying on many things instead of fixating on finding “the one.”

#2 Wanderlust: With so much economic uncertainty, it’d be understandable if people were holing up at home. But nooooo. Global tourism is higher than pre-pandemic levels. I see this as related to #1. Instead of waiting for a mythic mate, folks are taking solo trips, organizing their lives around personal meaning instead of adhering to a predetermined sequence of milestones or socially approved timelines.

#3 Body wisdom

Nervous system awareness, regulation, fight/flight/freeze/fawn, Polyvagal theory. I’m guessing none of these terms are new to you. They’re now on Best-Seller shelves at the bookstore instead of hidden in niche corners. Not only are people tuning into their physical selves, they’re questioning the need for wearables to translate what their bodies are saying.

I like imagining how these shifts will unlock more authentic living, wild creativity and overall optimism (spoken like a true Enneagram 7). How about you?

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

I recently attended my first silent retreat. Friends responded with genuine curiosity — way more than I anticipated. Seems people know about silent retreats almost like a foreign cuisine: something they’re curious to try but tend to default to more familiar fare.

If that’s you, I offer some takeaways to encourage you to seriously consider it.

• The day is way longer than I realized. Because a silent retreat is also device-free, there’s no scrolling or vegging out to distract yourself. And I’m here to report that the day is very spacious — definitely long enough to make serious progress on that novel, painting or song you’re working on.

• Silent communication is beautiful. Just a simple smile or touch on the arm as you pass someone can convey more than lots of chatter.

• Setting matters. My retreat was held at an ashram in Fort Bragg, on the California Coast, just north of Mendocino. The gardens, birdsong, redwoods, wind, and the beach itself were full of nature’s soundtrack, making me realize it was more of a wordless retreat than a silent one. And it left me speechless. I mean — come on…

• An intentional reentry matters. On the four hour drive home, I did not call anyone or listen to a podcast or book. I kept the moonroof open and the reiki music on loop, letting my brain keep integrating new thoughts that came up over the three days.

Those are my top takeaways. I’d love to hear from some of you: is a silent retreat on your bucket list? Have you done one?

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

It punked me the other day — showing up wildly differently within the same morning.

First, at the Starbuck’s drive-through window, the cashier chirped “see you soon!” to mark our brief separation as I rolled forward between windows. An overeager parting greeting to mark a hiccup in our caffeinated love affair.

A couple hours later, I received an email from someone whose name was not familiar to me. The sender stated that upon cleaning her inbox she discovered an email intro between us that she failed to respond to… from October 22, 2019.

6 years, 6 months and 19 days later, she replied.

With a quick apology for the lapse, but right back into a hello and kind message.

I love this.

That we can pick up after a long silence AND over-acknowledge each other in the everyday. Both are real and human and welcome.

So the next time you think “I’m behind” — remember that someone way wiser than I (Albert Einstein) declared “time is an illusion." And get right back to it.

Short and sweet today. Just thought you should know.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

I’ve been lucky to call Nilofer Merchant a friend for well over 10 years, always admiring her grasp of the human part of business and how to unlock innovation. The picture above was shot in Los Gatos at the book launch party for “Our Best Work,” Nilofer’s 4th book. Guests flew in from all over the world to celebrate her/it — no surprise when you see the breadth of her bio:

Nilofer Merchant is the co-founder of Intangible Labs. She spent over 25 years leading tech companies (Apple, Autodesk, GoLive/Adobe) and personally launched over 100 products and services, netting $18 billion in revenues. She is ranked among the top 50 influential management thinkers in the world (one of her TED Talks has been referenced 300 million times).

After reading and digesting this amazing book, I did two things:

1). Gifted a copy to my son, Ben, just starting off on his corporate career

2). Interviewed Nilofer for my own readers (you!)

Ready? Here goes.

KG: The subtitle of OUR BEST WORK is “Break free from the 24 invisible norms that limit us.” My copywriter brain zeroes in on the heavy lifting of the word “invisible.” Norms are so pervasive they usually go undetected. How can we fix what we can’t see? Now that your book makes the invisible visible, how are leaders responding to it -- with surprise, relief, resistance?

NM: That’s the key word — keen eye. The response has been a mix of all three: surprise, relief, and yes, resistance. A retired SVP from one of the big chip companies wrote to say he now realizes that what he believed was world-class leadership had real blind spots — and he wishes he could have had this book decades earlier. Now he’s passing it to the students he mentors. A leader in Australia working with indigenous communities is using it to ask entirely new questions about what metrics even belong in their world. She’ll report back, she said. That’s the relief — people finally having language for something they felt but couldn’t name.

The resistance is real too. Some would rather have a book that says everything is basically fine and here’s how to optimize your way forward. I understand the appeal. But I finished writing this knowing two things: we can’t fix what we can’t name, and — especially now, when AI and quarterly results seem to dominate every conversation — what will actually create lasting value is what makes us irreducibly human. That’s not a soft idea. That’s the economic argument for transformation.

KG: Many of my readers work in creative fields. Which of the 24 norms do you feel is most important for them to break free of to do their best work?

NM: For creatives, I’d say the norm around personal branding — because it hits them hardest and they rarely see it coming. Creatives are told early: develop your voice, claim your niche, be findable, be consistent. And they pour themselves into it. But here’s what that process actually does — it flattens a complex human being into a single sellable narrative. Once you’re branded, you’re only as valuable as your continued usefulness to that brand. And usefulness has an expiration date.

Wendell Berry wrote that we’ve replaced the old market on which people were sold with a new market on which people sell themselves. That line hasn’t left me. Because what branding asks of us — the constant pitching, the self-packaging, the performing of a version of yourself — does something to the soul. Creatives feel this acutely. The work starts to serve the brand instead of the brand serving the work.

The alternative isn’t invisibility. It’s integrity. We don’t need to market ourselves — we need to be ourselves, and trust that the depth of that is what actually creates lasting value. That’s a harder sell than “optimize your LinkedIn.” But it’s the one worth making.

There’s more on that in Chapter 16, in a chapter entitled You Are Not For Sale.

KG: I love how you center joy in many of your chapters. That alone is a revelation -- that our best work should be joyful. As many companies begin to unhook from hierarchy, control and capitalism, how is joy showing up in their people and products?

NM: Let me start with what joy actually means, because the word has been so abused. Joy is not happiness theater. It’s not the ping-pong table, meditation classes, or a wellness stipend. In my framework, joy is closer to vitality — it’s evidence. It tells you whether a system is life-giving or life-draining. Generative or depletive. Whether people are becoming more fully themselves inside their work, or slowly disappearing into the machinery.

That distinction matters enormously for innovation. My theory—and remember, I’ve been an innovation expert for a very long time, and this is my fourth book—is that new ideas don’t emerge from control but from creativity. They emerge relationally—through curiosity, through the freedom to dissent, through people who feel alive enough and full of themselves to bring something original forward. There’s real neuroscience behind this. Barbara Fredrickson’s broaden-and-build research shows that positive emotional states expand cognitive range, creativity, and openness, while threat states do the opposite. So when I look at most workplaces, I see systems unintentionally engineered around oppression, and then leaders genuinely baffled about why originality has gone missing.

Fear narrows. Joy expands. That’s not sentiment. That’s structural.

Which brings me to what I think is the larger argument underneath this book. We are moving into an economy where the things that make us irreducibly human — intuition, care, imagination, dissent, courage, the capacity to connect — are precisely what AI cannot replicate. And those capacities only emerge fully when people feel fully alive to access them. Not just their logic. Not just their efficiency. The whole of their intelligence. Joy is the signal that the wholeness necessary for innovation is still intact.

So when I talk about aliveness at work, I’m not drifting into sentiment. I’m making an economic argument. A society that cannot produce joy from its work will eventually produce neither innovation nor freedom.

For me, it was a real joy to write this work, because I’m able to hold a vision that better, even the best work is possible. But it will take a real reimagination by many of us to build. Together.

KG: The chapter I underlined more than any other was chapter 13: “Don’t Mistake Paternalism for Leadership.” You describe the old model as one leader adapting to the follower (servant leadership). The new model is “many leaders adapting to the work” (situational leadership for modern work). Rather than asking “who’s the leader?” -- we should instead ask “what is needed now?” This seems like one of those shifts that people fear will slow down a central chain of command, but actually opens up true solutions and innovation. This chapter 13 can literally prevent the other chapter 13. How do you get “speed of business” people on board with situational leadership?

NM: I want to start with empathy for the speed-of-business leader, because they get misread. They’re not heartless beings who’ve decided that creativity and innovation don’t matter. They’re simply trying to solve a genuinely hard problem: markets shifting at an unprecedented pace. Not that long ago (within our work lifespan, Kat), companies used to be able to hold an advantage for decades; now, sustainable advantages are a thing of the past. So every leader is simply trying to keep up by doing more and faster. They can’t imagine how not to optimize for speed.

And what I want to ask them is this: in this time of deep uncertainty, what actually creates adaptive capacity?

And I mean something specific by that. Adaptive capacity isn’t agility in the Silicon Valley sense. It’s the ability to respond to the permanent absence of structural advantage — because that advantage is now temporary by definition — and be ready for what you can’t yet see coming. That’s a different kind of readiness than speed. Speed is motion. Adaptive capacity is intelligence.

Here’s where the AI data gets interesting. A recent management study found that AI helped a consulting company (BCG) work 25% faster, and have 12% more output — but got 19% of things wrong. AI gets you speed. But it cannot tell you which 19% is wrong before it scales. That’s the judgment problem. And judgment lives in people and their distinct perspectives. The person closest to the customer who notices something is off. In the team member who disagrees and doesn’t feel safe saying so. In the the cross-functional conversation that never happens because everyone is moving too fast to have it.

This is where situational leadership stops being philosophy and becomes an operational answer.

An aliveness-centered organization may look messier. More rough at the edges. But it learns faster. And in volatile environments, learning speed beats execution speed. Organizations can sprint directly off a cliff. Like Wile. E Coyote, going ever faster only to learn a beat too late, there’s no ground underneath them.

So I’m not asking the speed-of-business leader to slow down. I’m asking something that is both harder but far more useful: you don’t have enough intelligence in one room, one role, or one mind to navigate this era. And once leaders see that—really see it— aliveness stops being a soft idea. It becomes the way we build the next.

KG: Each of your chapters can be digested on its own, with the limiting norm and leading indicator listed right as the chapter kicks off, plus an innovation practice at the end. The coach in me immediately sees huge value in companies offering a book group/discussion each week that tackles one chapter. Is that in the works?

NM: You’re the second smartie pie person to ask me that, and my answer is... let’s do it. As I’ve written in prior books, the future is not created, the future is co-created. So, I’m ready to co-create that with you and yours.

What a wonderful place to end. The ball’s in your court, readers. Buy this book, share this book, host a book group at your workplace to make these 24 invisible norms visible. Our best work won’t happen without it.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

The most direct download I’ve ever received from the universe came one morning when I awoke with 2 words reverberating in my mind.

Self Notary.

I inherently knew that they were the title of a poem. And that I was meant to be the poet. Never having written a poem, I was perplexed by this cosmic overnight delivery, but I signed for it nonetheless.

What happened next?

I sat down and wrote a poem in 15 minutes. About how we live in a society that anoints others as professional witnesses to important things. That validates these crucial matters with ink pads and thumb rolling and driver’s licenses.

But that some things — often the most important things — we can self-notarize. We know what went down and who was involved. The dates are time-stamped on our hearts.

There’s no shortcut to self validation. You get there when you get there.

I wish I had a 10-easy-tips list about getting to these nuggets of truth. I don’t. But I do have an incentive to stay patient and open. Because miraculous things happen once you pass the sign welcoming you to Youville. The universe winks at you in crazy ways. The right people show up in alignment to welcome this new version of you. Hard things become child’s play. Even food tastes better.

And, even more than ease and flow, you’ll get verbatim confirmation.

Case in point: a recent new truth that landed in me was the simple phrase “I have everything I need.” It was the antidote to a scarcity loop that I had been playing for years.

This new thought was so alien that I began saying it out loud to myself, enjoying the feeling of these new words in my mouth. And lo and behold, my friend Jenny sent me this IG post yesterday. A validation of my newfound truth, word for word, with an echo of my recently lost dog’s magic in the reverberation.

You can’t make this shit up. So surrender to the grand experiment of life and be an open target for your own wisdom. Let it land.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

(Image credit: @selflovebyjma)

Driving home from Mendocino on Monday, I stopped mid-trip to get caffeinated.

My phone echoed a directive…

PROCEED TO THE ROUTE!
PROCEED TO THE ROUTE!
PROCEED TO THE ROUTE!

…like a frantic sea-captain muffled inside my pocket.

My need for iced tea and a bathroom did not register as a conscious choice, but a potentially grave detour.

How many times do our own minds serve as well-meaning but rigid GPS?

I host a quarterly women’s circle at my home that launches with a New Year’s intention-setting gathering. We write out our hopes and dreams, speak them aloud, and cheer “may it be so!” in unison.

Yet what happens next is the true magic. Not the meticulous pursuit of each wish, but rather the paying attention as deep truths morph, month by month:

• an almost-realized goal that isn’t delivering the hoped-for feeling

• a reshuffling of priorities due to heartfelt body attunement

• a swapping out of one goal for another that has crept into her heart and psyche

• a complete about-face she never saw coming

• a desire to meander and take a more scenic route

Sitting in community as each woman shares out how her 2026 is mapping is positively exhilarating. Because adjusting your sails in real-time is an inherently creative act. It’s not formulaic — it’s spontaneous and brave to be willing to change tack and try something new. Every course correction is correct when it’s guided by truth.

Wherever you are on your own 2026 journey, remember to stay hydrated and enjoy the ride.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

Last week I spoke at the OWN IT Women’s Agency Ownership Summit in Chicago. I was the last speaker of the day, tackling the topic of “Constant Reinvention.”

I decided to officially launch a new offering to the 400 women gathered there.

Creiki.

A combination of a reiki energy-clearing session, followed by a deep dive 90-minute coaching session. Two women purchased from their phones while sitting in the audience. Several more followed in the hours and days after.

Yet again I am reminded to stop referring to things as woo-woo.

In 2026, if you’re not exploring new modalities, you’re woo-deficient.

After all, Google has been teaching employees meditation through their Search Inside Yourself program since 2012. Salesforce built meditation rooms on every floor of their headquarters in 2018. Today, 60% of the Fortune 500 offer mindfulness programs.

The optics of University of Michigan quarterback J.J. McCarthy meditating on the field hours before the game drew commentary… and other players joining him there. The team’s 2023 National Championship win was a proof-point of sorts.

Proof is piling up

I’m bi-lingual, able to speak both “energetic” and “evidence-based” language as needed. To the skeptics, I share details about studies that keep on rolling in. As recently as this month, the scientific journal Cancer Medicine published a landmark study from MD Anderson Cancer Center showing energy healing slows pancreatic cancer growth and spread in pre-clinical research.

“The Telepathy Tapes” — a top podcast — does a good job explaining reiki, plant communication, and other subtle energies. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

I predict:

• more quiet rooms and fewer war rooms.

• more nervous system regulation, stress resilience, burnout prevention, performance optimization being merchandised as “Somatic Leadership Labs.”

• more neuroscience, psychology and performance science being the Trojan horse that brings reiki, breathwork and meditation to the masses.

• more groups like the 3% Coaching Coalition bringing somatics into executive coaching.

Woo-hoo!

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

This one’s deeply personal.

The thing I’m working on now — like really, really working on — is my distress tolerance. (And to be fair to myself and all of us, there is a ridiculous amount of distress in the world right now).

But still.

Think about how many times you reflexively reach for your phone. This is my distractive drug of choice. It’s me taking leave of myself. If the feeling I’m dodging is especially gnarly, distraction alone won’t cut it. That’s when I up the ante and head towards my favorite patterned destination: someone else’s needs.

I share this as a PSA about self-abandonment. It’s not noble or selfless. It doesn’t mean you’re low-maintenance or chill — it means you’re emotionally malnourished and disconnected from your own truth. It builds resentment and leads to unhealthy codependency.

If you are leading teams or parenting kids, building your emotional stamina is even more worth the effort. And self-presence doesn’t have to be a huge overhaul — it’s doable doses repeated daily.

Here’s how the practice looks for me:

• Notice the moment I think “I want out of this feeling”

• Take 3 breaths

• Name the feeling. “This is sadness.”

• Stay with myself. “This is uncomfortable but I’m okay.”

• Ask what I’m afraid will happen if I linger here. Being swallowed by emotion. Not recovering. Having something painful confirmed about me.

Yet, I’m here to report that these things rarely — or only fleetingly — happen. My emotional interval training increases my ability to sit in the suck.

And in practicing self-companionship, my capacity to truly be there for others expands. As a coach, this is literally a business investment. There’s more of me to give because there’s less of me I’m denying.

Try it and see. It just might be the most important 90 seconds of your day.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

The very first thing you learn in coaching training is how to really listen. Which is a good thing, because most times the ultimate springboard for change comes from a client’s own words.

Such was the day when my client, Mike Ruiz, used the words “the big nope.” I had a hunch these 10 simple letters could tell a longer story. So I gave Mike a homework assignment to journal about the big nope. What did it mean? When did that energy present? How did it impact his days? What would The Big Yes look like in comparison?

Suffice it to say, Mike aced his homework assignment. So much so that he was invited to speak at CreativeMornings/Sacramento about The Big Nope. You can watch his talk here.

I also asked Mike to share a bit with my Substack readers about this philosophy. Here’s what he had to say.

KG: How did the idea of the big nope come to you?

MR: I wouldn’t say the Big Nope was an idea, but more of a recognition of something going on with my mindset. After I was laid off in the summer of 2023, I made a point to become more active in my network, reaching out to old connections on LinkedIn and attending industry meet-ups and events.

But as the months dragged on with no new work prospects in sight, putting myself out there became more of a forced exercise than something I did to help myself. I have a great network of industry friends and past collaborators who knew and understood my situation, but it killed me that every time I saw them, there was nothing new to share. No new work, no sign that anything was changing. Eventually, I started questioning myself: “Why are you doing this? If you have nothing to offer, should you even be here? No, you probably don’t.”

That’s when the Nope pushed itself to the front of the line. Like anyone, there have always been moments of doubt throughout my career, but never something so deliberate, telling me that I can’t. And it left a massive ripple effect across my entire outlook on where I was in this place and time. I lost motivation and self-confidence, and while I still continued doing outreach and appearances, it was now just going through the motions because I had to.

It wasn’t until I began working with you, Kat, that I put a name to the thing holding me back. Through our conversations, I not only gave this thing a name but also realized that it was entirely self-imposed and something I owned and had influence over. Not the other way around.

KG: You outline the Nope Spiral. Can you walk us through each step + offer a healthier route?

MR: When I don’t catch it, the Nope doesn’t just stay in my head. It starts changing how I move and respond to the situations around me.

• I assume instead of asking

• I isolate instead of reaching out

• I rehearse failure instead of testing reality

• I wait instead of acting

And the worst part? It feels like I’m being thoughtful or productive. But, the reality is…I’m not. I’m just stuck.

For me, the best way to manage all of this is to just stop. Take a pause. And reset.

In the CreativeMornings talk, I gave the analogy that when you feel like something needs more control, we tend to squeeze harder, like holding a piece of clay in our fist. And the harder you squeeze, the more you actually end up losing.

Most people, myself included, trick ourselves into thinking that when things feel out of control, we need to act immediately to gain more control. But when I’m able to take a step back, it gives me the opportunity to explore different approaches, or even better, realize that what I’m assuming is the problem isn’t the reality of the situation.

So instead of forcing control with a closed fist, taking pause allows me to study the thing at hand and learn what I can do to influence and mold uncertainty into something I can work with.

KG: I loved when you said “You can’t control the weather, but you can grab an umbrella.” Can you share a recent rainstorm and what your version of an umbrella was?

MR: I recently came off a creative project that involved working with a particularly difficult client. My team and I went through multiple rounds with them to develop a concept, and every time, our work was rejected, because we “just weren’t getting it.”

Needless to say, everyone on our side was completely frustrated. And then the uncertainty started creeping in.

Why weren’t we able to crack this?

Are we not capable of understanding what was being asked for?

Do I not know how to lead my team properly?

Are we just bad at this kind of work?

That was the moment to take a breath and stop to think through what was happening. My team and I regrouped to discuss exactly what was going on from our perspective, and decided to have a direct conversation with our client, armed with a short list of questions to try and get to the heart of why things weren’t working out.

In that talk, we were able to express some of the challenges we had with their feedback, and, upon digging deeper, it was revealed that there was a specific brand guideline we were meant to follow for the project that had not been provided to us.

Knowing we were facing the storm of a frustrated client, we armed ourselves with the umbrella of a thoughtful approach to respond to their issues, rather than continuing to spin and react, which led us to a better solution and a working relationship.

KG: What did you mean by the slide that reads “The Nope Shouts, The Yes Waits?”

MR: For me, those Nopes, the uncertainty stressors, tend to start out small. Tiny little, spidey-senses that are easy to ignore, and push off until I get around to them. The problem is that the longer this goes on, the louder those feelings of doubt become until they force out any other points of view.

The Yes, on the other hand, is always there. It may not be obvious in the moment, but solutions or alternative approaches are always waiting to be found. I just need to get out of my own head long enough to understand and recognize the options that are sitting in front of me.

KG: It looked like a young crowd gathered for your talk and I know you regularly mentor junior creatives (thank you). If you could go back to your 20-something rising creative self, what would you tell him?

MR: “Mike doth protest too much, methinks.” This was the opening line to an infuriating email sent to me from one of the best account directors I’ve worked with. I was mid-20s, at my first major advertising agency, and like a lot of early creatives (and some older ones), I had the opinion that my way was the only one worth following.

Looking back, not only was that a hilarious way to shut down the “my way, or the highway” rant I’d just sent out to push back on some client feedback, it’s been a solid reminder that understanding how to study and influence a situation is always a better approach than forcing control. Especially in team environments.

Now, the major tip I would tell myself, and something I share with people I mentor, is to slow down, and not be so quick to argue outside opinions. Your coworkers, especially your managers, will remember the hills you chose to die on. So be smart with how you decide what to respond or react to, and the steps you take after that.

Thanks, Mike, for being such a great coaching client and someone who generously turns your own ahas into teachable moments for others.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

As someone who put on conferences for 10 years, I’ve always been decidedly anti-swag. I wanted attendees to spend time absorbing ideas, not trying on tees.

Swag reminds me of an insecure ex-boyfriend who not only gave me his fraternity pin, but insisted I wear it every day. If the only way you think you can get me to remember you — and that you gifted me this water bottle/tote bag/hat — is by ruining said item with your oversized logo, you’re advertising the emptiness of our connection.

The stuff of ideas

Now that I’m in the world of coaching, there’s less stuff, but no shortage of wares. Free or low-cost webinars, checklists, toolkits, worksheets. And there’s a whole sales funnel to pressure coaches to learn from master coaches how to get more clients.

Even if these items won’t end up in landfills, they often feel like pixelated pollution. How many things have you signed up for and never downloaded or completed? The value of the thing isn’t always in question, but inertia and life overwhelm get in the way.

Given my stance on stuff, I debated how to handle an upcoming women’s wellness event where I’ll be speaking. The organizers gave me the green light to gift something to attendees, which raised a red flag in my own mind.

To answer my dilemma, I did what any advertising creative would do: I wrote a mini creative brief in my head.

Who’s coming?

What do they know/not know?

What do they need — really, really need?

And only from that singular focus on my audience — not myself — did I find my answer. I identified something of value that I offer in coaching sessions — a way for women to regulate themselves in moments they typically abandon themselves.

Then I recorded a series of 5-minute reset audio messages: a real-time system for women to return to themselves in moments of emotional hijack. I call it “The Self-Trust Reset Protocol.”

My wisdom is the content. My voice is the product. And I’m trusting that this pattern-interrupter will build more goodwill than if I gave away something shiny.

What wisdom are you sitting on that is your calling card? What’s stopping you from releasing it into the wild?

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

I feel closer than ever to my friends lately. And I have a hunch about why.

Friendships are often slotted in like appointments: a one-hour lunch here, a slightly longer dinner there.

Breaking through those prescribed timeframes has been a game-changer. I bring you my two favorite options: the extended hang + the micro message.

The extended hang

It started with the vague “meet at my house at noon” text confirmation. But six hours later, my friend Tara and I still had not run out of things to talk about. We parted only when all had been unpacked. And when she left, there were no promises to “do it again soon” so we could finish off our conversation or get to other topics we ran out of time for. It was a full download.

Kind of the adult version of a sleepover.

Weeks later, another extended hang. This time my friend Laurel and I met for a reiki session that turned into a walk that turned into champagne and brie once the sun was setting. And I had that same feeling when she left: all caught up and loved up.

Even my friend Shasta, who lives a 2-hour drive away, and I hatched a plot to see each other more. Rather than rely on one of us to do the drive and spend the night (lots of advance planning required), we agreed to meet in the middle and spend 4 hours together at a coffee shop. We even made an agenda for our time together: one hour of catch up, one hour each for masterminding a business issue, and one hour to eat lunch. Heaven.

Perhaps remote work (and many out-of-work friends) opens up the Google calendar for friend recess in new ways. Or perhaps attracting the right tribe lends itself to deeper dives. Whatever the reason, I’m here for it.

The micro message

While the extended hang is the French Laundry of friendship, the voice note is the In-and-Out-Burger: fast, but still yummy. I regularly text friends voice notes of varying lengths. Hearing a friend’s voice narrating the latest in their lives is like a mini love podcast. And the more you start leaving these messages, the more you start receiving them. And so it begins…

Given how disconnected the headlines remind us we feel these days, it’s time to break free of old friendship confines and co-create new togetherness routines. My focus in this newsletter is creativity and I can think of no better place to apply your creativity right now than on your connections.

Wishing you and yours a happy hang.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

A friend didn’t get a job they really wanted. I asked how they were feeling and they replied: “Disappointed. But not discouraged.”

And in that simple exchange, I saw my friend at a sturdy place that makes me believe 100% in his eventual success. Because, as the business coach Jon Sinclair reminds us, failure is a bruise, not a tattoo.

When I think back to my own life, especially the last five years, I’ve had lots of experience with setbacks. Most times, I looked for the lesson and kept moving forward. Yet sometimes my pity party raged on long beyond its allotted 5 minutes. And that wasn’t a second failure, but a testing of my emergency broadcast system.

Telling the difference

The key, as I see it now, is this: to be so deeply attuned to yourself that you know the difference between a temporary emotional response to unmet expectations (disappointment), and a deeper, long-term loss of hope or confidence (discouragement).

And when discouragement arises? Don’t silence it. The worst thing you can do in times like this is to try to actively regroup and re-energize. It’s gaslighting to think that you can pep rally yourself out of a dark night of the soul.

If you’re not sure where you — or a friend — are on the disappointment/discouragement spectrum, here are some tells:

• Disappointment says “that didn’t go how I hoped.” Discouragement says “I’m not sure it’s worth trying anymore.”

• Listen for phrases in your self-talk that erode belief: “I guess this is just how it is” or “I don’t have it in me anymore.”

• See where you’re taking a specific setback and giving it global meaning.

• Fear of being “back to square one” — instead of seeing that when we face ourselves we start again at square two.

And if you find yourself truly discouraged, don’t be discouraged by your discouragement. It’s information. Your soul is talking to you. This is sit-on-the-mat time. Clear your (emotional) calendar, see your therapist, let your inner child take the mic.

We are so conditioned to race back to okayness that we miss the memo. Pain always precedes progress. And sometimes pain signals that we need deeper reinforcements which, thankfully, are gaining recognition and losing stigma.

My friend is still searching for a job. I’m still rebuilding after divorce. Whatever disappointments you’re facing, I wish you luck. And whatever discouragement may arise, I wish you the courage to turn towards it and greet it by name.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

Today I tried something new.

I devoted the entire day to a hideous to-do list.

I’ve been on the phone with the IRS, downloaded and scanned forms, changed car insurance companies, visited the DMV, and sold a family car at the Nissan dealer.

Each one of these items is like gum surgery to me. I’m embarrassingly allergic to the administrivia of life.

Or so I thought.

By doing all of these items in succession, the suckage of it went way down. And I think I’ve figured out why.

It’s not so much these individual tasks I hate, it’s the transition away from creative work that feels punishing. It’s being asked to stop eating ice cream mid-bite and transitioning to broccoli.

And I wonder how much our procrastination is really about transitions. If we can group all the gross stuff together, and keep our brain in a factory line productivity mode, maybe we’d resent it less.

Normally I would assign only one of these tasks per day, thinking I was parsing out the drudgery. But I see now I was interrupting my creative flow multiple times, like painful hiccups.

Lesson learned. And now shared.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

One of the most profound experiences of my life involved a horse.

During an Equine session, our retreat group discovered the power of our own vibes via the astonishing attunement of a mare. One by one we were brought into the ring to lead the horse to follow us in a circle, without using a lead rope.

I was last in our group and the previous person had mistakenly left the gate open. The horse began moving towards it, only to be led back to the center of the ring by the guide. So when I invited the horse to follow me, she walked back to the closed gate and stood facing away from me.

I was unsure what to do. The guide, wisely, asked what I was thinking.

I replied: “I think she’s ready to go back to the stables with her friends and is not wanting to be here with me.”

The minute I turned my attention and empathy to her, and revealed my own self-doubt, the most miraculous thing happened.

The horse turned and walked back and stood at my side, ready to engage.

This is energy sensitivity at its highest form.

Because horses are prey animals, they read non-verbal cues, muscle tension, and emotional states to determine safety. And every band of wild horses has a lead mare.

This female horse is responsible for leading her band to water, food, and shelter, and deciding when to move and where to graze. She also helps maintain order, resolving conflicts and ensuring the safety of the herd.

Emotional regulation is everything.

If you come into a horse’s space negatively charged, the animal makes an assessment. They may draw you into their large electromagnetic field and receive your charge, leaving you feeling calmer, happier, and more peaceful.

But if your energy presents too much of a threat, they innately want to flee.

A friend who’s taken up beekeeping shared that bees are much the same. A beekeeper must self-regulate before entering the hive because bees will sting anyone bringing negative energy into their colony.

Guess what? We’re nature, too.

When someone comes into our space with negative energy, our defense mechanism goes on high alert, just like with horses and bees. Except somehow our species has misattributed bigness — intimidation, swagger, bravado — as leadership. We have lost our tie to the ancient wisdom of tribe safety and cohesion.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately during my coaching sessions. About how the ability to self-regulate makes the difference between people who manage and people who lead.

And how the women I coach, in particular, have the wisdom to be the super noticers that create safety for those around them. They’re the lead mares of their families and work teams.

My job? To bear witness to this wisdom and help my clients center it in all choices, in all contexts. Sometimes the world is ready for it, sometimes not. But the real world, the one that is being born at this very moment, receives this energy as a sacred gift.

Happy Year of the Fire Horse, everyone.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

2026 is not messing around. It’s hit me twice with big losses, back to back.

My dog Trixie died unexpectedly while I was out of the country in January. And then right after the calendar flipped to February, we lost my beloved brother-in-law, Bob, to cancer.

I feel a bit like a prizefighter who just got back on their feet, all dazed and bloodied, only to be decked again.

The term “down for the count” means you’ve lost the fight. But I’ve decided to stay down on purpose. Rushing to my feet too soon feels dishonoring of these losses.

The medicine won’t be medicine.

What will make me feel better isn’t a quick-fix. Grief relief is a slow-drip of community, nature, stillness, sleep and… eventually the holy grail that is laughter. (This post tickled me today and it felt good to feel my face work its upward muscles for a change.)

Hurt, hurt, everywhere.

I tentatively signed up for a pet loss grief session, half expecting it would just be me and the therapist who was facilitating the meeting.

There were 68 people on the Zoom.

68 brokenhearted people who blew up the chat with stories and pics of their treasured cats and dogs. It was perhaps the most concentrated experience I’ve ever had of sadness. Proof of love at the highest proof.

And it reminded me, yet again, how many wounded souls are performing normalcy while walking around without skin.

What next?

I’ll pick up the book “As Long As You Need” that I bought when Bob was diagnosed. And reread its wisest words:

Before becoming a chaplain, I thought grief was about missing the past. About reflecting on all the things before, the stuff we had until mortality crawled through the window. It's true. We grieve the past.

But mostly no one gets a chance to grieve the future. It doesn't seem to read as a real loss.

I need to tell you about this because nobody told me:

The dream that didn't happen is as much of a loss as losing the one that did.

Then I will allow myself to do the agonizing accounting of the many years my sister, niece and nephew won’t get to share with their amazing husband and father. It will sting, but pushing it inward would hurt more.

So for all of you grieving the things you thought you’d get to do — with irreplaceable people and pets — I see you. And I sign our collective permission slip to take as long as we need.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

Recently, two women I know told me that watching me reinvent myself as an Executive Coach and Reiki Master — after a 30-year career in advertising — gave them confidence to take a sharp turn in later life. One’s enrolling in Law School and one in Yoga Teacher Training.

The power of suggestion is real. And seeing someone else cut a new path from the well-trod road is compelling.

She’s doing what?

On her own?

At her age?

The importance of living out loud.

We never know who’s watching. And how our actions may be the yeast in a secret recipe someone else is concocting in their own life.

I recently heard Hoda Kotb interviewed. She shared that many years ago she chance-listened to news that Sandra Bullock had adopted a child on her own at age 46. And that one fact ignited a thought in Hoda: it wasn’t too late for her to realize her own dream of motherhood. She now has two daughters.

There’s a difference between exhibitionism and authenticity. One seeks an audience, one invites a connection. And often the tell between the two is whether you live out loud even about things that fail.

When I’m invited to address a group of younger women, I make a habit of mentioning my divorce. Statistics tell me that several of the group are likely in unfulfilling partnerships. Seeing an older woman happily on the other side of a brave choice can feel like a life raft.

In creative circles, we’re also watching.

She made what?

On her own?

With what budget?

We notice what our creative peers are up to. Yet one part of the creative appreciation cycle that rarely gets completed is this: the speaking aloud part.

At the very first 3% Creative Retreat, we did an exercise I named Creative Generosity. We handed out postcards that were already stamped. Each attendee wrote out a message of support/admiration for another’s creative work. We then mailed them. It served to normalize compliments over competition.

Whose career or life have you admired from afar? Who might be admiring yours? You never know. So be sure to live out loud — and speak aloud.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.

Exploring Quito, the Galapagos and the Amazon reminded me, yet again, why travel is catnip for creative minds.

Buzzing in my brain:

• jaw-dropping amazement at nature’s ingenuity. Female tortoises can store sperm for extended periods, sometimes years — releasing it when conditions are favorable for egg laying. Another reproductive shocker: male iguanas have two penises for favorable angles and sperm replenishment.

• macabre fascination with the ancient practice of shrunken heads — trapping an enemy's soul, preventing vengeful spirits, and transferring power to the killer or community for protection and strength.

• awe at the geothermal wonder that is the active Sierra Negra Volcano, featuring bright yellow sulfur deposits, steaming fumaroles, and otherworldly lava landscapes. Hiking to see it up close made the view even sweeter.

• a newfound understanding of darkness during a rainforest night hike. At one point, we all turned our headlamps and phones off and stood in complete blackness, serenaded by an symphony of cicadas, tree frogs, and nocturnal birds.

• a solar system love affair, sparked by a night drive in an open-air Jeep

• pride in myself (an arachnophobe) for going on a night hike in the Amazon (and yes, we saw tarantulas). Plus, for being one of only 2 in our group of 17 who successfully balanced an egg on its head at the Equator. Given that my coaching and Reiki work is all about balance, I just may frame the official certificate they issued me.

Oh, and when they bring you a flaming shot for your birthday, you drink it with a straw because the glass is so hot. Who knew?!

Travel forces your brain out of autopilot. Absorbing new languages, dishes, animals, topographies — it’s a form of improv. Doing things for the first time makes memories that last. And creative connections that are like Pop Rocks for your imagination.

Until next time, remember that creativity knows no bounds.