The Creative Circle of Life.

Six months ago marked a dark period caused by a sudden, unpleasant and visceral death within my family. This, followed by long phases of rage, exhaustion and confusion for all members, has highlighted the weird, treacherous and oftentimes deeply misunderstood feelings grief can generate. We could not scatter the ashes and hold a service until last week for logistical reasons. Coming together again after an intense time to finally say goodbye and release, both physically and metaphorically, some of the pain that had engulfed us all in various ways.  Within the same week, I am delighted to hear that my dearest friend and her husband welcomed their newborn son – an immediate inspiration for this blog post. Not to mention a visit with another friend who welcomed her second son before this. Both events have provided a sharp yet equally visceral contrast to the numbness I've experienced until now and a welcome respite from the shock I endured during that fateful Christmas period.

These events have prompted me to get Stoic and think about the value we place on living and how we come to make sense of life's intense periods of darkness and light. In much of the lead-up to my family member's death, as often is the case, there is so much that is taken for granted, so much loosely applied or mundanely considered (when will his flight land, what food shall we eat tonight, shall we go to the RAF museum this weekend?). You seldom consider that your life will be turned entirely on its head where nothing, absolutely nothing else, matters in that moment other than ensuring their survival and the subsequent psychological survival of those closest to them. There is absolutely no bloody way whatsoever to know when death will visit. For my family member, it was on the couch with us, watching a documentary after a Thai green curry in a foreign country at Christmas.

As an existentialist, I have much to say about death, having long studied it and been closely exposed to its radiation. We frequently talk about it, analysing philosophies by great thinkers such as Heidegger, Nietzsche, Camus and Sartre (among others), all of which centre death as a core tenet for reflecting on life. As therapists, we help those suffering from its impending arrival in palliative care or those who have come as close as possible to it with adverse experiences, suicide attempts or the loss of closest loved ones in bereavement support. All the great philosophers draw from similar roots of Stoicism. This classic ancient Greek philosophy has kept me afloat these past 6 months, allowing me to finally wake up this week after an extended reprise of obliterating nothingness. For the Stoics, death is accepted as a natural part of life, not something to be feared or avoided, but rather a catalyst for living a more mindful and meaningful life. 90% of me is inclined to agree. The other 10% now accepts all of this is true until it blindsides you on an idle Friday and thrusts you and your loved ones into complete chaotic disarray for weeks to come. Now, don't get me wrong, nothing has been more beautiful than my spring flowers blooming after such a dark time. Every blossom is a reminder of the preciousness of life and the beauty in noticing everything around you. But, in the moments of death, you are there, in the rawness of it all. There is little dignity. There is nothing that money or power can do. Nothing. You are alone (or, depending on your beliefs, with God). You are vulnerable to the same catalysts of change and biology as anybody else. Death is levelling. It reminds us that we are not special. That life is short and relatively meaningless. It tells us that our legacies are all we have to leave behind. So, what do we do to ensure them?

Well, we create.

I feel deeply. I sense every gesture, intention and slight. I am intuitive and often respond accordingly. I don't like liars, even though, like everyone else, I am one. I love deeply and honestly. I am also aggressive, violent and honest. Brutally honest. I will protect myself and those I care about. I do not shy away from conflict; I welcome it. I work incredibly hard for what I want but falter, procrastinate and flounder under my own standards. I set my bar high. It is the only thing that keeps me moving. I am flawed, multifaceted and colourful, so my life is embedded in a need to create, protect, fight and love.

In a past life, I was a product developer and designer specialising in leather goods - mainly footwear. The job took me worldwide, working for some of the biggest global footwear brands. I could make you a pair of shoes with my bare hands or instruct a Chinese factory to produce luxury footwear on par with anything you'd find on Sloane Street - partly because those shoes were made by my factories and the teams I managed. In fashion, travel is just part of the job. Before I turned 25, I had completed a bachelor's at Cordwainers, lived and worked in China and Canada, and regularly travelled across Asia, Europe and North America. At one point, I was managing a sample room in Dongguan while juggling multiple collections between our offices in Shanghai, Hong Kong, London, Montreal and New York. I worked on everything from children's shoes to popular sneakers, luxury capsule collections to multi-million-dollar fast fashion projects. I worked both in-house and supplier-side - visiting every major material, trend and wholesale fair worldwide: Expo Riva, Lineappelle and Première Vision, as well as the Canton Fair and Yiwu Market. I picked up basic Mandarin, Italian and French - enough to direct a taxi, argue with the driver, count to ten, order food, tell people my name and age, and, of course, swear. So, where am I going with this, you ask? Every decision and step I have taken to embolden my life and keep mental anguish at bay has been one of creativity.

Sartre believed in the importance of creative freedom and our responsibility to define our essence. We are free to create who we wish to become. I wanted to become a footwear designer – so I did. This is not in absence of the givens that limit us - for example, location, abilities and obligations (family, kids, etc.). For me, London wasn't enough. I knew what I could do and what I couldn't. I took big steps and asked questions later. Moving to China wasn't easy, but adapting was a given. We are born and designed to adapt; it is what makes us creative. We just have to allow it. Creativity is the solving of problems in abstract ways. My problem was a hunger and drive to feel, experience and live, so I did. I went, I felt, I lived, I worked, I suffered, and I did it all over again and again and again. Footwear was an interesting time in my life. It put me in the path of my now previously mentioned dearest friend (who gave birth this week). She and I have grown together and flourished together. We have fought and cancelled one another, only to reconnect stronger than before. I trust her as much as I can trust anyone. She has been an absolute rock of support through my life and these difficult months especially. I owe her, her husband and her son endlessly in return.

With the arrival of all these new babies, I am thrust to consider the important role of birth and its power in our relationship to life. Through birth, we are reminded of our ethical responsibility to others, that we are not the only life on this earth, and that the precious preservation of youth can evoke an essential and sacred quest to better ourselves in the process. Life is ahead, and life is behind; where we position ourselves along that spectrum is entirely up to us and flames the relevant fire that accompanies it. Whether you pick up a paintbrush, squeeze pieces of clay, solve puzzles for the government, draw shoes, create intricate code for video games, decorate a house and make mean-packed lunches or whether you are creating new life or working tirelessly and intelligently to defend the ones that already exist – creativity is the ultimate release for any of which cannot be contained - whether that's music or machines, pottery, painting or gaming. It is a way to make order of chaos and chaos of order. It is the ultimate human purpose.

As I think Stoically about the feelings that death and life can evoke, I'm drawn to conclude on the intensity it can provide. Life and death are intense. They charge us up and simultaneously drain us. In no particular order. They exist in both balance and disarray and, in some way, remain spectacularly magical. My dear friend and I are big Pearl Jam fans, and on that note, I will conclude with the magic of Eddie Vedder's mesmerising voice. 'Release' remains one of my top songs of all time. Its beautiful melody, Vedder's seductive and powerful voice, and the song's timing, length and stages are all captivating. It is raw, unpolished and truly magnificent. It is a fantastic example of unfettered creativity. The song derives from struggle and pain, yet out of the manure of life's struggles; beautiful blooms germinate and round and round we go.

As much as the horrors of that terrible December evening will remain in my memory. My decision to re-frame its meaning, accept its random, chaotic unpleasantness as a tragic fact of life (one frequent to many in its presentation and all in its absolute truth) and reject any notion of 'trauma'; to choose a Stoic position where we are not victimised nor nefariously or solely targeted by natures force but instead humbled and reminded of its facts not just for me but for every human on earth, has been liberating. Taking this experience and many others and applying the wisdom learnt in future choices is the bedrock of creativity. My next life project will exist in a slightly different realm, on a slightly different plain and with slightly different motivations. Many other things will remain the same, have more clarity and calmness, and offer tools to aid the process As my two pals face a new whirlwind of change, their lives will never be the same again. They face uncertainty, newness and adaptability, and I say thank God for that.

"If at noon you sit down and there's just silence or blank tape, in an hour if you have a song that didn't exist an hour ago. Now, it exists, and it might exist for a long time. There's something empowering about that." – Eddie Vedder