Dear Creative Diary,
Some days I sit here and wonder… did I build this entire wild, glitter-smudged, soul-soaked dream just for me?
I mean, I didn’t pour my soul, a ridiculous number of thumbtacks, and my last ounce of chill into this place so it could just sit here looking cute. No ma’am. I built this space for the misfits, the mess-makers, the sparkle addicts, the anxious crafters, the doodlers, the glue-gun cowboys, and yes, even the “I’m not really creative” folks who are absolutely lying to themselves. (You. Are. Adorable. Now pick up the paintbrush.)
And then I laugh to myself, because honestly—what kind of sign are they waiting for? There’s a literal giant sign on the porch now. Yep. Right there. Pointing to Amy’s Friday night intuitive readings. So if someone’s been stalling, waiting for the universe to tap them on the shoulder? Surprise. It’s tapping. Your guides are calling. And yes, they said you should come.
Or maybe they’re meant to wander in tonight for the Itty Bitty Committee—this adorable new little crew of miniature-lovers and itty-bitty crafters and people who get excited over tiny furniture. It’s free. It’s friendly. It’s fun. What else do you need—a tiny marching band? The Itty Bitty Committee meets tonight—free, fun, and dangerously cute. Think miniatures, tiny art, and new friends who speak fluent “oooh, look how little!”.
I didn’t call this place The Creative Jam because it was tidy. I called it that because it’s messy, sweet, a little sticky, and unexpectedly delightful—like a wine-fueled paint night with Ryan. Ohhh Ryan. Our brand-new, cheeky-as-hell male model who’ll be gracing us June 20 at Paint Misbehavin’. Red wine. Art. Cheeks. Like, literal ones. The kind that make me drop my paintbrush if I’m not careful. I mean… is that not the definition of a creative sign from the universe?
So maybe this isn’t a plea for people to come running. Maybe it’s just a quiet truth: this place is ready when they are and there is something for everybody here at The Jam. And in the meantime, I’ll be here—making, rearranging, dreaming up the next beautiful mess.
Because even when it’s quiet, this space hums with something real. People do show up. Not always on cue, but always on time. The right time. And I’ve learned to trust that rhythm.
So I’ll keep showing up too. With the lights on, the glitter out, and the glue gun warm.
—Me, the one who’s still here, still building, and still believing.
