The Things We Cannot Fit in an Envelope

Hello curious friends,

There is something wonderful about sending and receiving pieces of ourselves across oceans.

You might know that I have been participating in a cross-ocean collaboration with another artist and writer here on Substack… Debs Stott. Because of our schedules and the busyness of summer, it has stretched out a bit longer than we originally imagined.

But now we have each received the other’s packages, and I am finally getting around to sharing my experience so far.

I will link our companion articles below if you would like to learn more about how this happened.

When I was packing up my envelope, I kept going back and forth between explaining each item and letting them reveal themselves.

Some things felt very obvious, and I was okay with that. Some things carried more meaning through my own creative lens and life experiences, and that felt right too.

Ultimately, I decided to let her experience them without my intervention. Without attaching every meaning. Without explaining what she was supposed to see.

I wanted to leave room for her own discoveries.

One of our prompts was “what I’m currently noticing.” I didn’t have anything for that one.

I kept thinking about it and eventually accepted that maybe I would just leave it empty.

Then I realized something. It wasn’t empty because I had nothing to say. It was empty because the answer was too big to fit in an envelope.

When Deb’s package arrived, it was a busy week and I knew I didn’t want to open it while I was distracted.

So I waited a few days. And then those few days turned into more time.

Once I was finally able to sit down and be fully present, I was excited.

Actually, I was a little nervous too. I’m not even sure why.

There was just something about knowing that someone had gathered things, created things, and put thought into something that was now sitting in front of me.

But then I stopped. I found myself waiting for the perfect time.

And, not surprisingly, the perfect time never came.

I’m going on vacation. I’m in the middle of packing. I can’t concentrate. It’s too soon. I want to give myself more time.

Then I came home from vacation and had laundry and work piled up.

I’m going to wait until I can really focus.

I have family commitments. I’m rushing. I want more time. I’m getting ready for another trip. Maybe I should wait until I get home.

The circle just kept going.

And eventually I stopped and thought, is there something underneath all of this?

I think I was worried I wouldn’t absorb it the right way…whatever the “right way” is.

That I wouldn’t experience some imagined version of the moment that I had created in my head.

And this is the funny part.

All morning, I had been writing about belonging without conformity. About redefining my work. About inviting people to explore what happens when we look beyond assumptions and unexpected labels.

I had been writing about rethinking creativity, curiosity, identity, and what it means to find and follow what you love.

And yet here I was, afraid to open a package.

A package. A beautiful, thoughtful, creative package.

I thought I needed to give it my full attention. I needed the right moment. The right table to photograph it on. The right lighting. The right mental space. The right amount of time to absorb all the thought and feeling that went into it.

But none of those things really mattered.

On a rainy afternoon, while ignoring the other things waiting on my to-do list, I opened the package.

Before I did, I said a little private prayer to myself. Just something simple. A reminder to be present. A reminder to appreciate this gift.

And something shifted.

A weight lifted when I removed all of those self-imposed barriers and expectations.

In 12-step programs, there is a saying that expectations are future resentments. Because expectations can influence an experience before it even happens.

Sometimes the weight of expecting yourself to have a very specific experience can take away the experience that is actually waiting for you.

I realized I was definitely doing some comparison too.

The photographs Debs took of the things I sent her were breathtaking. And I think somewhere in my mind I had created this pressure that I needed to do it like she did.

That I needed to reach some level of aesthetic beauty.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was the exchange.

The connection.

The curiosity.

The noticing.

I will say this though.

I had a physical reaction when I touched things that she had drawn.

I thought that was pretty amazing.

There is something about holding something another person made by hand.

Something that carries their attention, their time, their choices.

It feels different.

The last thing I opened was a curious little envelope filled with shells and special things.

I particularly loved the tactile nature of it.

The feeling of discovering small treasures one by one.

Then I opened a tiny map.

And there it was.

East Lothian. Edinburgh train station.

I actually stopped.

Wait, did we talk about Scotland?

I couldn’t remember.

Had I told her that Scotland is my favorite place on earth?

That Edinburgh is my favorite city?

I don’t know.

Maybe I had.

Maybe I hadn’t.

Either way, it was a beautiful ending to this spectacular package.

Or maybe not an ending.

Because this is only the beginning of what I can make with these things.

I’ll share that in another post.

For now, I’m sitting with the reminder that some things are meant to be explained.

And some things are meant to be experienced.

Some things can fit inside an envelope.

And some things are much too big.

Until next time,

Pam

Everything I write, record, and create grows from the same ideas explored in my book, The Key to Creativity.

I invite readers to rethink creativity, curiosity, identity, and what it means to find and follow what they love. Let’s see what happens when we look beyond old assumptions and expected labels.

Buy - The Key To Creativity