from scratch for 50 days: a creativity challenge

Starting from scratch. Oh Lawdy, how we love etymology and we looked this one up.

To start from scratch means: Begin (again) from the beginning, embark on something without any preparation or advantage. The phrase originated in 18th century sports when marks (scratches) were made on the ground and used to define the starting position of the game.

That turn of phrase elicits a peculiar combination of ideas. All of a sudden we're thinking failure, rebirth, discipline, determination, impossibilities, and potential. In just three words no less.

Think about it. You have had countless conversations with friends where the idea of starting from scratch - in a new job, a new relationship, a new apartment, a new city - just seems less than ideal. A struggle. An inconvenient waste of energy. And yet, time and again we still recognize that starting from scratch never becomes the energetic wasteland that we assume it will be. Starting from an absolute zero, without any advantage and riding on pure grit, holds more energetic potential than trodding along the beaten path.

As a culture, we value things more when they come from scratch. When we make something out of nothing. When it seems impossible and we do it anyway. When we start with no advantages and just go for our goal or our creation without reserving ourselves. For example: Cake. Better from scratch. New theatre. Better from scratch. Knit hats. Better from scratch.

What if starting from scratch wasn’t just something we only thought about when we got out of college? Or started a new job? Or moved to a new city? What if we released our dearly held perfection and our unacknowledged complacency? What if we started from scratch every day?

Unadulterated abandon.

Whimsical potential.

Free fall.

There is potential in every moment to create. Creation is not reserved for those with the advantages. The best, juiciest, most energetic creations come out of what the rest of the world might see as nothing. But you on the other hand, you see something. And no matter what that something shapes up to be, the fact that you saw it makes it your never-to-be-duplicated act of creation.

Here at Little Red’s Well, we know a thing or two about starting from scratch. This entire blog was built off of one conversation about clothing. Look around you, you know a thing or two about starting from scratch, too. Did you always live where you live? Were you always surrounded by the people you are surrounded by? Are you waking up every day and living the exact same life, or are you learning something new, meeting someone new, seeing something new each time the sun rises?

The answer is yep, you are. Sometimes, we’re just asleep to it. So in the spirit of creation being a deeply necessary color to our lives - we’re sending out a challenge to our readers and friends. A challenge we believe could change all of our lives for the better.

From Scratch for 50 Days: A Creativity Challenge

Starting on February 19th, you’ll start from scratch and create one new thing a day, documenting it via Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook, for 50 straight days.

What this is NOT...

...a competition to be the most creative.

...a test to finally create something perfect.

...a process open to judgment or criticism (from yourself or others).

What this IS…

...a challenge to habituate the act of creation in your life.

...a chance to find your own aesthetic.

...an opportunity to affirm your and other’s work.

Creations (could) include (but are not limited to): food, friendships, photographs, a new outfit, energy, poetry, art, music, design, rearranging your apartment, a scarf, making your bed, a fit life, change, and the list goes on...

The point is: there are acts of creation everywhere and you are already participating in them. When we open our eyes to this, we can create with more intention. Do you have a project you can’t get started? Or a relationship you need to mend? Or a crockpot you’ve been meaning to figure out how to use? There are no limitations and no requirements. Anyone can do this.

And there are prizes. (More on that soon.)

To get started - simply create something. Post it via IG, FB, or Twitter. Mention us @littleredswell and use #scratchfor50 so we can see your participation. Each week we will be giving you some inspiration in the form of a hashtag that you can feel free to use or not and to see what other Wellers are creating that week.

We start February 19th. You in?

being alone in new york city

“There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter — the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something...Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity; but the settlers give it passion.”  - E.B. White

I walked down 59th Street, just below the park. I wore big, clunky, black shoes, tuxedo pants, a faded white t-shirt and various layers of huddled warmth because it was one of those blisteringly cold days and I was coming home from a catering job. It was February of 2008. Literally and metaphorically, I was in the dead of winter.

“One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years.” Tom Wolfe

But something happened to me as I walked. I looked up and felt embraced - by the trees, the buildings, even the strangers that passed by without even glancing in my direction. I had no shows coming up, hell, no auditions coming up. It was the first time in a long time that I wasn’t dating anyone. I had very little money in the bank, I might have even asked my parents for a hundred bucks for groceries that month. For all intents and purposes, I should have been upset. But I wasn’t.

I had this exact thought:

“I’m in New York City. All my life I wanted to be here, and now I’m here. And no, not everything is exactly how I want it to be. I want a show. I don’t want to cater anymore. But in this moment, I’m okay. It’s okay. I’m happy.”

There was something about my complete and utter loneliness in that moment that was capsized by the city. I was alone, but I was in flow. The city had swallowed me whole and made me part of it. So much so that my loneliness became thoughtful solitude, my anxiety became unfettered calm. I truly believed that if anything of significance was going to happen to me, it would be here. And that thought made me feel more alive and more embraced than any previous job or relationship I had ever had.

I know it’s a little presumptuous to talk about being alone in New York from a married woman’s point of view. How alone could I actually be? But I think there’s this delicate and isolated part of every New Yorker’s heart that needs to be a little bit alone. Even though I have someone to come home to, I’ve never stopped collecting these tiny moments of loneliness to keep my New Yorker heart in tact.

It’s the moment when you are on the subway coming home from work and you see someone you know but don’t say hi. It’s not that you dislike them, it’s just this is your time - this is when you ritualistically get on the train here, get off the train there, read this book, listen to this song. You dig into the lonely. It's a daily plan, and it's yours and it's masterful. Granted you’re stuffed into the train car like a sardine and edged between a Greek woman with six plastic grocery bags and a young student whose music is turned up so loud that you can sing along with every song. But you’ve all agreed to travel home, in your own way, and it’s a ritual now.

“I love New York City. The reason I live in New York City is because it’s the loudest city on the planet Earth. It’s so loud I never have to listen to any of the shit that’s going on in my own head. It’s really loud. They literally have guys come with jackhammers and they drill the streets and just leave cones in front of your apartment; you don’t even know why. Garbage men come; they don’t pick up the garbage, they just bang the cans together.” Lewis Black

It’s the moment when you go see a show, or movie, or just wander around a museum by yourself. Yes, those are all beautiful things to share, but every once in awhile - you want to wander or choose all by yourself without asking, is this okay? You want to form opinions without having to own up to them later, not because they’re offensive in any way (although maybe they are), but because they are your pockets of knowing your singular opinion is enough. No outside validation required.

It’s the moment when you go to a restaurant, utterly alone, presumably the loneliest of places to be just one. And you sit and eat, and maybe read, or maybe write, or maybe just savor your food, and something about this feels like a spiritual act. Like you are identifying in every bite that nourishment can come as much from spending time with yourself than it can come from this food.

Again, let me say that I also love sharing these moments with my family, my friends, and my husband. But there is a sort of self-therapy that happens, at least for me, when I venture into the world without the social protection of another person. It’s a little bit dangerous. Not because of who I might meet out there, but who I might meet in here. It’s those moments that my thoughts and feelings bubble to the surface and some serious life choices start to be made.

This article, Alone Together from New York Magazine, gives such a detailed and nuanced look at the way lonely New Yorkers function. It posits that although strong connections (marriages, families) are generally good indicators of overall happiness, the weak connections (communities, strangers, acquaintances) are actually better indicators of safety. That the more alone everyone is, the safer we all are. That loneliness is a sort of, protector.

This pretty much sums it up: 8,366,615

I had to pass through this feeling for a long time before I got to 59th Street. But knowing that complete loneliness was not a special event, that this was a somewhat stock New York experience, carved light into the dark just a little bit. Maybe I seek out reminders of that strange and wonderful rite of passage because I know it's where the good stuff gets revealed. Soon after that day on 59th Street in 2008, I worked with one of the most revered directors in the theatre industry, made more money on a show than I had ever made before, and met the man who would turn out to be my husband. But I knew I didn’t need any of it. It was all just icing on the cake.

What is your favorite alone in New York moment?