With an Ear to the Dirt
Listening as a Practice, a Presence, and a Path to Creative Transformation
This long weekend I enjoyed a lovely staycation. Being fully away from work is still kind of a new thing for me. After years of running a product based company I spent many vacations communicating with customers here and there or doing back end work as orders continued to come in while I was elsewhere. Luckily technology made that possible, but to be honest it never really felt like I was fully stepping away from work. Even when I had handed everything off to someone else I would still get pings when I made a sale or had to reply to an urgent media request. It didn’t seem like much at the time, but whenever I step away from work now, I can see just how different being away from work feels. Even though I said goodbye to my product based business in 2023, I suppose I still have a bit of a spiritual hangover.
I spent a good amount of time this extended weekend looking at the mountains. Trees. Water. All against a very blue sky. The world looks so big in nature. Or maybe it is that we understand just how small our bodies are. I held a pinecone the size of my head.
The space really gave me time to think about my work. I’ve written before about being a keeper of secrets. It is something in my energy that enters a room before my body does. People tell me things. All sorts of things. It took a long time to really understand this phenomena as an actual happening, but it most definitely is. And it has kind of always been. There is something about me that lets people know I can hold them. Listen. And listen without judgment.
My daughter often asks me as a keeper of secrets what the most unusual thing I’ve ever heard. And to be honest it would be hard to choose. After working with kids experiencing psychosis, I’ve heard all sorts of interesting things. I’ve worked with kids who are certain they are Jesus. Kids who identify with Hitler and spit out racist propaganda all day long. Kids who think they are the devil. Kids with such deep paranoia that they hear people scratching at their bedroom windows at night to read their minds. It’s a spectrum and one that reminds me of the fragility and resolve of the human condition. Sanity is not a constant. Sanity is not a guarantee.
Regardless of the narrative being shared in those moments I guess I’ve always been able to see the person underneath it all. And maybe that perspective is what enters the room around me. I’m a big picture believer and seeing the world from this perspective has a somewhat gentle effect. I seem to suggest the idea that we are more than a single moment reflects.
As we drove through the towering trees and ocean highways, I reflected on my current Mentorship clients. They totally light my fire. I feel like this work is where I have always wanted to be and it was a nice reminder to know just how much I was looking forward to seeing my clients as the weekend came to a close. If there is one thread that remains throughout my professional career - from fine artist, to psychotherapist, to entrepreneur and jewelry designer, to mentor - it’s that in every variation of myself, I have been a listener. Each style of listening has been different. The fine artist listens differently than the psychotherapist, from the mentor, etc. But in all endeavors I have embodied the listener role in some way, shape, or form.
What I’ve noticed about being a listener as a mentor is that my clients come to me with a specific need or role for me to fill. And I love this! My clients are creative powerhouses. They are seasoned. Inspired. Beyond asking permission. They know who they are, what they want, and know exactly how they want me to guide them. For most, I am a thinking partner. A deep listener. Someone to gather all the loose threads, point out where they join, and support ambitions, intention and desire. But underneath the diverse goals, challenges, and ambitions, lies a place where all my clients join.
And this place is very quiet.
Every person who has invited me to listen - even as a fine artist honoring the materials that speak through my hands - wants to change. When I think about all the ideas, problem solving, challenges, strategizing, and planning that I work on together with my clients, each task is born from a desire to change. An inspiration toward growth. And for that desire and inspiration to be recognized and brought to light. Sometimes it is a simple shift like hiring out a daily task or switching to a more aligned supplier or more manageable schedule. Other times it is a deep desire for change. To recognize the self in a new way, fully step into a role and intentional embodiment, or the confidence to free themselves from what they know and jump with fear and enthusiasm into something entirely new. The creative process asks a lot of us.
When I get still and listen to the quiet of change, I hear seedlings. Tiny little lovely things gently placed in shallow soil. Working hard to burst through the outer shell and push through the dirt. It is quiet yet profound work, this pushing. Sometimes so quiet that it is entirely overlooked and kept buried by things less quiet. But quiet is different from unknown. Quiet is wisdom. Quiet is inner truth. And this is the difference I illuminate.
One of the things that comes to mind when I think about this difference is an art piece a fellow student presented for final review the last semester of my time at SFAI. The project, quite simply, was to listen to dirt. At the beginning of the semester, a compost pile was delivered to the back of the school outside the photography lab. My classmate placed microphones and recording equipment throughout the pile of dirt and amplified and then recorded the sounds. The art of the piece was to listen to the dirt and over the course of the semester. To discover the melody. It was a beautifully subtle exploration and one that offered learnings that could be easily lost if approached with assumption. The question wasn’t what does dirt sound like, but can we be spacious and still enough to really hear it? To witness subtle and small transformations that we cannot see. How small of a change can we recognize? Cool, right?!
I see this action lived through my houseplants so often. I’ve learned that in my home when it comes to plants, the more the merrier. They like to be near each other. To witness. Softly listen. Change. The more I group them together, the more they thrive. The plants that thrive the most are the ones that share space with the doggie while she sleeps. This togetherness absent of intention does wonders for the growth of the plants. And this spaciousness and freedom from intention is a magic that the dog provides quite beautifully. She does not have wishes for the plants. Only to breathe together. To be together. To allow for change together. It is in stillness that they bear witness and allow for growth.
There is a similar deep listening and witnessing that occurs in psychotherapy - the reparative experience. I had a client once, a teenage girl who was hospitalized on and off for the better part of a year. She was 16, lived in a group home and survived a horrendous early childhood. Her parents were absent physically and when present physically, absent emotionally. She wanted to change. Worked hard to change, but lacked a quiet ear. My work with her was to listen without an agenda. Mostly in a quiet way and wait for the change to unearth, the desire for growth to develop. Our sessions consisted of me watching her color with markers in a coloring book. Seemingly simple, but there was so much in that room. Anxiety, anger, sadness, excitement and desire. I could feel it all. But this kind of listening doesn’t require action. And this is HARD. To not be motivated by the anxiety of silence or strength of the emotions, the pressure of the ego or an outside agenda of expectations. To not fill the space. To not disrupt the unknown. Just to sit and watch the seed. Water the seed. Allow the seed to feel safe in their own dirt. Safe enough to have wishes. Safe enough to unearth the desire for change. Safe enough to burst through the soil. Even if only a small bit. This quietness and gentle tending to is a kind of love.
Change and growth seldom occur as we imagine. Somewhere in the ether there exists a narrative that change is big. Like a giant wave that sweeps us away. A ground shattering earthquake. A lightning strike. A Thunderous roar. But this is rarely the case. Change FEELS big. But in reality, change occurs in much smaller steps and slowly grows to crescendo. In fact, the seemingly smallest and simplest changes foster the greatest potential for growth. It’s not magic, it’s maintenance.
The quiet move toward change I witness with my clients might feel like an earthquake, but with an ear to the dirt one can hear the small moves toward growth that have already been planted. All this time change has been occurring. Under the soil. Within the roots. Of the stalks.
The lightning strike of my work is not to change everything my clients are doing. Rearrange systems or turn them into a certain kind of leader or creative. But to listen, be still, and illuminate the changes they have already begun. To guide them toward honoring their growth, individuality, and the unfolding of their unique creative process. To have patience in the unknown. This is when the sky really breaks open. The shock isn't in the big, loud, changes. It is in the quiet. Illuminating what still lies beneath the soil. With an ear to the dirt.
Hearing the dirt?
If you sense something shifting beneath the surface an unnamed change stirring in the foundation of your work, you’re on the precipice.
In 1:1 Mentorship, we listen with intention, trace the signals, and build a spacious, supportive structure for your next big thing, before it asks more than your current process and systems can carry.
Book a discovery call below.
Let’s tend to what’s growing, together.
xx
Lisa
In Practice
A weekly rhythm for the creative season you're in
Starting this week, I’m introducing a new way to follow the rhythm and flow of your creativity in real time.
In Practice is a weekly reflection designed to meet you exactly where you are: in your process, in your leadership, in your life. Each week offers a theme drawn from deeper seasonal and emotional currents translated into insight, embodiment, and sustainable action.
Think of it as creative weather pattern for your inner world.
A grounding cue to return to all week long.
Starting soon, In Practice will be for paid subscribers only. I’ll be sharing it freely for a short time so you can receive its rhythm and depth before it transitions.
If it's been meaningful to you, now’s a great time to upgrade and stay connected.
This week’s theme: Friction + Fuel
Tension does not have to be a problem solve. In the creative process tension creates beauty, direction, and a sense of aliveness. Tension is what makes visuals and words jump right off the page. Tension in creativity is what gets out attention.
Yet initially, tension can create discomfort. The discomfort you feel right now whether it is emotional, creative, or relational, maybe all of the above may not be a detour. What if it is providing direction?
In tension a part of you awakens: something wants to shift.
Beneath the friction, the tension, you’ll find a deep, determined drive. A pull, or even a swift push toward purpose. Friction can help cultivate the kind of ambition that knows what is possible, who you serve, and why it matters.
This week is an invitation to move forward with discernment and rely on your skills to determine and refine your focus. Honor the friction, sit with the tension. Take it slow. Practice acting out of your readiness rather than pressure. Sometimes, pressure means you’re ready.
Reflection
Where are you feeling internal pressure? Is it pointing you toward a change you’ve been avoiding or a direction you’re ready to claim as your own?
What old version of success no longer fits? What deeper ambition is waiting taking its place?
Let yourself feel the full weight of your biggest desires, this can be tension too. Then ask: how do I want to move forward with this?
In Practice: Wherever You Are
Each of us moves through the creative process differently. These cues are designed to meet you where you are. (Soon, I’ll share more about the full framework that supports this).
If you're gathering inspiration
It’s easy to stay in motion but much harder to choose. This week, choose. Let tension guide you to the essence of your work. Focus your attention on what’s at the core, not what’s new.
If you’re visioning or dreaming
What idea feels too bold to say aloud? Let it surface. Give it space. Tell someone else. Then ground it with one small, concrete, action.
If you’re building or refining
Notice where control is becoming rigidity. This week asks for structure and responsiveness so don’t get stuck in things having to be a certain way before they are determined valuable. Instead, let discomfort reveal where you’ve outgrown your own systems.
If you’re challenging the status quo
Your clarity is sharp this week, use it with care. Provocation doesn’t need to exist for its own sake. Be intentional with impact and where you strike a match.
If you’re integrating or feeling tender
This week may stir old pressure or patterns. Listen. Move slowly. Everything can be felt, but you do not have to be in it. You can be with it and instead and still grow.
Cue for the Week
Let tension refine you and desire direct you. Allow clarity to move you forward.
You don’t have to rush or react from pressure, but you don’t have to
stay where you’ve been, either. When tension and friction present, responding from clarity is your greatest ally.
Inside this week's These Three Things:
Reflections on overwhelm, forward momentum, and the profound clarity of stopping. Including what happens when passion becomes regulation, and how invalidation shows up right at the edge of breakthrough.
These weekly reflections are where I share what I'm noticing beneath the surface, where intuition, energy, and creative practice meet.
These Three Things is available for paid subscribers only. A quiet, focused space for thoughtful prompts, honest process, and building a reflective creative rhythm, even when the world feels chaotic. The necessary act of co-regulation with a group of creatives with the shared goal of curiosity and ritual noticing.
Come take your seat at the table. We begin again each Sunday.
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