So, I knew this little girl, who taught me how to turn work into play, and dead ends into breaks, and breaks into joyful rediscoveries of creative wellsprings.
The girl enjoyed playing and experiencing the world in all the many ways. Each day she would choose her work and character for the day and then dress up accordingly.
She’d sit at her little makeshift workspace, in her little makeshift outfit, and do completely meaningful work of some kind.
When she was tired or bored, she took a tea break.
She’d meet with her stuffed friends, Bear, Unicorn, Pink caterpillar, and imaginary friends too, who all happened to possess wise and ancient souls and who gave grounding and affirmative advice.
She would pose her questions and sip her tea.
She told me—the answers were never as important as the questions.
After her tea break (which she admitted sometimes lasted for days or weeks…there’s no knowing how long a tea break with friends should be.) When she felt full and fabulous and revived, she would return to her creative work.
That little girl was me… a me who operated from her spiritual center.
A me who trusted the direction of her delight.
A me who wore whatever hat she liked and knew it was perfectly right. Who didn’t think about what other people think.
A me that I miss…more than I care to admit.
She showed me how to work in the sense that the Hebrew word for work implies—Avoda means work, it also means serve, create, worship, reward…
She took her work very seriously. Which is to say…she played.
In her playing she wasn’t just working… she was praying, paying tribute, and remembering the creative cycle without even trying. Breath in. Breathe out.
If you feel like you are hitting a wall, you might be missing a more appropriate opportunity—to sip tea in silent admiration of existence, or play dress up, or reconnect with your wise inner circle.
Don’t try to force your way through the wall, but loiter until a lamppost appears.
And whilst you loiter, do not scrunch up your soul into a ball and twist and writh in the uncertainty. Tell the truth, “I am uncertain.” (and it’s alright). It is enough.
Then, for goodness sakes find something that brings you joy, put your energy there for a while. Joy can always lead us back to our creative and authentic selves.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how often clarity doesn’t come from pushing harder—but from offering differently. Asking honestly. and receiving readily.
Not just what should I offer next?
But what is mine to give?
What do I actually want?
What is already here supporting me?
I’ve been exploring all this through a small experiment I call Offer • Ask • Receive. A week-long interactive “tea party” with friends and readers of Kenzie’s Desk. And you are invited!
If you’re in a season of loitering, questioning, or quietly reorienting, you might find it playfully divine.
Ps. What is something you did better as a kid than you do now?
Kenzie’s Desk 