Navigating Creative Direction When You Can't See the Whole Map | By Becky Murdoch

I love that we're talking about finding our creative compass this month. I appreciate that we're not just jumping straight into vision board workshops and all the plans. I like that we're having conversations about our "why." That's something I need to ponder, and honestly, I haven't had much time to sit and think this season.

Here's the thing: I was out of town for all of November and felt a bit out of sorts when I returned. Then, I only had a couple of weeks before my mom arrived for a month-long visit. She's been helping me pack my house for a big move. It's an emotional move, and I haven't wanted to reflect. I want to spend as much time as possible with my friends, and I don't want to sit and be quiet.

Also, my flow is completely off. My mom is sleeping in my room, so I'm in the guest room. There's stuff everywhere. I've had to resign myself to not having my year planned out as much as I would like.

When All You Know Is "Head East"

So here's what I do know: the compass is pointing in a literal sense. Head east. Back to Detroit. That's all I know right now.  (Ok, Detroit is northeast, but that doesn’t sound great in the title…so we’re going with east.)

Sometimes we only get the next step.

There's this really old Amy Grant song that I've been singing in my head…okay, it's actually based on a Bible verse, but this isn't a Bible study. The line is about being "a lamp unto your feet," and it's stuck with me because that's exactly what this feels like. Just enough light to see the next step, not the whole path. 

All that to say, sometimes we only get the next step. The compass points in a direction, we go, and then we ask for the next step. I normally pray for my next steps. I don't know what you do, and I'm genuinely curious to know what that process looks like for you. How do you navigate when you can only see one direction forward?

I also think that some things are going to open up when I'm back in Detroit. I have to believe that. But right now, in this season of boxes and goodbyes and my mom organizing my kitchen cabinets, I can't see what those things are yet. And that's incredibly uncomfortable.

The "Why" That Went Missing (Or Did It?)

I feel like my “why” has been lost for a while. In one of the many discussions I've had with Epiphany friends this week, I think it was happy hour, I gave a half-hearted answer to the "why" question: I love connecting people. It was a true answer: I do love to connect people. But I felt like I haven't been doing that lately. Like that's the overall goal, but it's not really happening.

When your life is in boxes and you're sleeping in a guest room and you're avoiding sitting still because sitting still means feeling things you're not ready to feel, it's hard to feel connected to your purpose. It's hard to feel like you're living into your "why" when you're just trying to get through the day without having a meltdown in the cereal aisle of Trader Joe's.

But then something happened.

The Stilt Walker and the Revelation

I was out to dinner with friends, and one of them mentioned that she wants to learn how to stilt walk. And without even thinking, I said, "Oh, I probably know someone who does that."

Sure enough, Shelby could help her find someone. Connection made.

It was such a small moment. We kept eating, kept talking, and moved on to other topics. But later, I realized: that's it. That's the thing I said I’m not doing. That's my "why" showing up when I wasn't even looking for it.

Your creative compass isn't broken just because you can't sit down and meditate on it for an hour. Sometimes your "why" operates on autopilot when you're too disrupted to consciously pursue it. Sometimes it's woven so deeply into who you are that it keeps functioning even when you're convinced it's lost.

I've been so focused on the fact that I'm not doing the big, intentional connecting: the events, the introductions, the carefully curated gatherings, that I missed all the small moments where I was still doing exactly what I'm meant to do. The text that says "you should meet this person." The offhand comment that leads to an opportunity. The friend who wants to learn to stilt walk.

Permission to Not Have It All Mapped Out

So here's what I'm learning in this season of chaos and cardboard boxes and sleeping in the wrong room: maybe finding your creative compass isn't about plotting the whole journey. Maybe it's about trusting the direction you can see, even if that's just "head east", and recognizing your "why" when it naturally emerges, even in a conversation about stilt walking.

I don't have my year planned out. I don't know what's opening up in Detroit. I haven't had time to sit quietly and journal about my intentions or make a vision board or do any of the things that feel like "real" creative compass work.

But I know which way to go. And I know that my "why" is coming with me, packed somewhere between the winter coats and the coffee mugs, ready to show up in unexpected moments when I'm not even looking for it.

Sometimes the compass only points east, and you have to trust that more will be revealed when you get there.

Sometimes the next step is all the light you get, and you have to walk anyway.

What about you? How do you navigate when you can only see one direction forward? What does your process look like for finding the next step? I'd love to know, because I think we're all figuring this out together, one step at a time.