The flight was long.

I slept in fits.

And when I finally walked out into the Paris morning air, I did not reach for a plan.

I reached for my sketchbook.

I’ve been here before.

I know this city a little.

But this trip I made a decision before I ever left home.

I was bringing almost nothing.

A small pack.

A few things I trust.

No trying to be prepared for every possible creative moment that might arise.

Just enough to begin.

I want to share with you why.

When we give ourselves too many options, our brain goes to work on the options instead of the work.

Which pen?

Which paper?

Should we use the watercolors or the ink?

And suddenly we’re managing a supply situation instead of making something.

We’re deciding instead of seeing.

I’ve done it.

I’ve packed heavy and arrived heavy and come home with half of it untouched.

So this time I brought what I actually use.

What fits in one small bag I don’t have to think about.

And when I sat down this morning at a little table near the window, I didn’t have to choose.

I just started.

Here’s what surprised me.

Somewhere between my first cup of coffee and my first marks on the page, I noticed a thought.

The old one.

The quiet one that shows up when we sit down to make something after a long stretch of not making.

Who are you to just sit here and draw?

I know that thought. Maybe you do too.

And instead of fighting it or arguing with it, I did something I teach in my coaching work.

I asked myself a better question.

Why is it okay that I’m here?

Why is this exactly right?

And my brain, given something useful to do, answered.

Because I made the trip.

Because I brought the bag.

Because I sat down.

Because the window is beautiful and the coffee is good and I have a sketchbook and something to say with it.

Because this is what returning looks like.

Small, quiet, imperfect, and enough.

The art pack doesn’t have to be fancy.

The practice doesn’t have to be perfect.

And the thought that says we haven’t earned our place at the table?

We don’t have to dismantle it.

We just have to ask it a better question.

I’m here.

I’m making something.

Day one.

More from Paris soon.

I need to share with you what happened this year.

Not because I have it all figured out.

But because I’ve been walking around asking myself how does that happen and I think I finally know.

Fourteen months ago I had a mastectomy.

A small, dark time.

Scary in ways I won’t minimize.

And yet, lying there before surgery, I had this belief.

Not a wish.

A belief.

That I was going to beat this.

That I was going to love my new body.

That I was going to get a tummy tuck out of the deal, go to Paris, go to Scotland, attend art retreats in Idaho, and celebrate turning 70 in the most beautiful way I could imagine.

I just got back from Scotland.

I beat breast cancer.

And I leave for Paris on Wednesday.

How does that happen?

Here’s what I believe: I set my expectations big.

Really big.

Expansive capacity.

I let myself want what I actually wanted, not a smaller, safer version of it.

And then I matched my energy to that belief.

I think when most of us are about to try something new, something scary, something that matters we instinctively set our expectations low.

We do it to protect ourselves from disappointment.

From failure.

And I get it.

That makes complete sense.

But here’s what happens when we match your energy to those low expectations.

And maybe we don’t fail.

Maybe we don’t get hurt.

But we also don’t get the thing you actually wanted.

That big, beautiful, best thing?

We never even give it a real chance.

I’m not special.

Not in any way that makes me immune to hard things.

This year had obstacles.

In January, after I was declared cancer-free, I bled on the table during reconstruction and had to be transfused.

I got an infection.

I’m scheduled for my fifth revision surgery when I get home from Paris.

There were hard days.

There were scared days.

But I never gave up on the big belief. Beat breast cancer. Live another 30 years. Draw on the streets of Paris.

I kept coming back to it. Again and again.

What’s the belief you’ve been keeping small?

I’m not asking so you’ll share it with me, though you can.

I’m asking because I want you to feel the difference between a belief that protects you from disappointment and a belief that actually has room for what you want.

Your creative practice.

Your art.

The work you keep circling.

What would it look like to believe in it — really believe in it — and match your energy to that?

Don’t shrink what you want so you don’t have to feel the disappointment of not getting it.

Expand.

Set the belief so big that your energy has no choice but to rise to meet it.

And when obstacles come and they will come you walk through them.

You face them.

You don’t give up on the belief.

I’ll be in Paris later this week, drawing in the streets.

I’ll keep sharing from there.

Because these beliefs create things.

I’ve seen it.

I’m living it.

And so can you.

With love,

Lynn

This week I read a story about myself.

Halfway through, I realized I didn’t recognize the woman in it.

The article was written after an interview about my reconstruction journey at Hoag Hospital, after not getting the results I had hoped for at another prestigious health center.

I felt grateful they wanted to tell the story.

So I sat down with coffee and began reading.

She sounded broken.

Wounded.

Like someone life had simply happened to.

And I remember pausing and thinking, that’s not quite how it felt.

Because what I remember most is kindness.

Great nurses.

A hug when I walked into the room.

A surgeon looking at me and saying, “I’m going to take care of this. I’m going to take care of you.”

Care everywhere, actually.

Nothing in the article was wrong.

But something in it belonged to an older story my brain knows how to tell.

Years ago, when I was a principal, I often felt unseen. I worked hard. I carried a lot. Somewhere along the way my mind learned a familiar shape for things.

Endure.Push through.Handle it yourself.

Apparently that voice took the interview call.

I didn’t notice at the time.

So I rewrote the article.

Not to fix it.

Just to come back to what felt true.

Because life is rarely this or that.

It’s this and that.

I have known suffering.And I have been deeply cared for.

Both live in me.

But I still get to choose which one leads.

Sometimes nothing changes except the story we decide to live inside.

I was out for a walk today.Same pond.

Same path.

Different body.

Different life.

Almost exactly one year ago, I was here too.

But then, I was walking with a walker after a bilateral mastectomy. One breast removed.

One rebuilt using a flap surgery where they take fat from your belly and rebuild the breast.

I had no idea what I was getting into.

I only knew one thing.My health mattered more than anything else.

This time last year, like so many of us, I was thinking about goals and wishes.

New year energy.

Fresh starts.

But, when your health is shaky, you don’t have a long list of wishes.

There’s an old proverb that says:When you have your health, you have a thousand wishes.When you don’t, you have one.

I had one.

I wanted my health back.

At the time, my thinking wasn’t lofty or poetic.

It was survival thinking.

I just wanted to get better.

I wanted to feel like myself again.

And honestly, there were moments when I lost hope.

People would sometimes say things like, “Don’t get your hopes up.”

I remember thinking, Are you kidding me?I want my hopes all the way up.

Hope was the thing that kept me moving.

I thought it would be one surgery and done.

It wasn’t.

It was a process.

A long one.

A humbling one.

One that asked more from me than I expected.

But inside that wish to get my health back were real actions.

Not affirmations.

Not pretty intentions.

Actual steps that came from managing my mind.

Walking.Changing how I ate.Losing thirty pounds.Managing stress. Writing down my thoughts each morningShowing up to every appointment.Paying attention to my body in a new way.

My driving thought or goal was I am going to beat this.

At the moment I like the word wish more than goal.

When you’re a child and you make a wish, you believe it can come true.

Goals have always felt trickier to me.

Like something I might fail at.

And I know I’m not alone in that.

So many women avoid goals because they don’t want to disappoint themselves again.

A wish feels different.A wish comes from the heart.

And mine came true.

Today, I am in the best health of my life.My relationships are richer.My life feels bigger.My work feels more meaningful.

I’m deeply grateful.

So this year, my wish has changed.

My wish for 2026 is to fulfill my purpose.To have a bigger impact on women who are trying to come back to themselves.To come back to their art.And to stay.

One thing last year taught me is thisHope matters.Gratitude matters.And action matters.

Wishes don’t come true by accident.

They come true because we keep showing up, even when it’s hard, even when we’re scared, even when the path isn’t clear yet.

If you’re holding a wish in your heart today, especially one that feels tender or big or slightly impossible, I want you to know this.

I’m walking proof that wishes can grow into real lives.

Thank you for being part of mine.

With love,Lynn

If this speaks to you

If you’re ready to stop circling your art and actually come back to it, The Practice waitlist is open. It’s a guided space to return to your creativity and learn how to stay. You’re welcome to join us here.

Become a paid subscriber to get the full experience, in-depth guides, printable art practices, behind-the-scenes studio lessons, access to live workshops, and member-only gatherings that nurture consistency, confidence, and joy in your art.

Thank you for being part of this circle. Whether you’re reading for free or supporting as a paid subscriber you help make Make Art Be Happy possible.

SHARE THE WEALTH: Have a friend who does not think they are an artist or fellow artist struggling with a consistent art practice? Gift them a month of paid access with this special link:

I just got back from my grandson’s transitional kindergarten classroom.

There was art.There was relationship.There was that soft, steady feeling that happens when people are making something together.

And it stirred up a memory I haven’t shared in a long time.

My art practice began in 1989.

I was married with a newborn. Elizabeth was just a couple of months old. My oldest son was four. My husband was a hospital administrator in Los Angeles. One afternoon he called and told me he’d had a deep needle stick from a dialysis needle. Because of insurance, he had to be tested.

He tested positive for HIV.

My world went dark.

This was long before rapid tests. It took six months to get results back. Six months of waiting. Imagining. Spiraling. At that time, HIV felt like a death sentence.

People were dying.

We all thought we would.

We didn’t all die. He passed away in 1992.

God was not done with me.

But during that stretch of time, something kept me going.

I didn’t have an art practice yet. I came from crafts and projects, but nothing steady.

I was also in a program for people whose lives were deeply impacted by alcoholism. It was a beautiful program focused on relationships, and relationships have always mattered deeply to me.

There was a woman there, about the age I am now, who said something simple that changed everything:

While you’re going through this, you need something you enjoy. Something that’s just yours.

She told me how ice skating had carried her through her own grief.

That’s when I decided to take up art.

There was a local woman in Costa Mesa who taught watercolor out of her home on Tuesday nights.

What she taught wasn’t just technique. It was body and soul work. It was mindset. It was relationship.

Looking back, it’s strikingly similar to what I teach now.

At night, when everyone was asleep, I would lay big sheets of watercolor paper on the kitchen floor and paint. Completely abstract. Nothing that looked like anything. I wasn’t trying to make art. I was painting feelings. Turning my head off. Letting my hands move when my mind couldn’t.

That was my art practice.

It saved my life then.And it has saved my life many times since.

This is why I care so deeply about art practice now.

We tend to think art is about technique. Taking classes. Learning skills. Watching someone else do it “right.”

And then we wonder why we stop.

Why we hit obstacles. Why we don’t finish. Why we feel disconnected or dissatisfied.

Often, it isn’t the technique that’s missing.

It’s the relationship.

An art practice isn’t just about making something beautiful. It’s about having a place to land when life gets heavy.

A way to stay connected to yourself when your world feels uncertain.

A rhythm that holds you when everything else feels unsteady.

Every time I’ve had an art practice in place, creativity has stayed with me.Every time I haven’t, it has quietly slipped away.

That’s not an accident.

This is why I believe so deeply that art is not a luxury.

It’s a relationship. And when you tend to it, it tends to you right back.

If you’ve drifted away, you’re not broken.You don’t need more discipline.You don’t need more talent.

You just need a way back.

If you are desiring to...

• return to your art consistently

• stop starting and stopping

• create without pressure, guilt, or self judgment

• build a relationship with your art that lasts

I created The Practice for you (and me too)!

If your heart is quietly whispering, “Yes, I’m ready to come back to my art, but I want to do it gently,” then you are warmly invited into the circle of The Practice which begins this Saturday.

If you know of another women who would benefit from having an art practice pass this information on to her.

Love youLynn

P.S.. Whenever You’re Ready

Become a paid subscriber to get the full experience, in-depth guides, printable art practices, behind-the-scenes studio lessons, access to live workshops, and member-only gatherings that nurture consistency, confidence, and joy in your art.

Thank you for being part of this circle. Whether you’re reading for free or supporting as a paid subscriber you help make Make Art Be Happy possible.

SHARE THE WEALTH: Have a friend who does not think they are an artist or fellow artist struggling with a consistent art practice? Gift them a month of paid access with this special link:

Let’s talk about something almost every creative woman has done at least once.

We buy the course.We feel hopeful.We feel excited.We feel like “THIS is the one.”

And then…

We don’t start.Or we start and disappear.Or we finish… and still don’t implement.

And we quietly wonder what’s wrong with us.

Why we buy courses in the first place

Most of the time we’re not buying information.

We’re buying relief.

We’re buying a feeling.

We’re buying the moment our nervous system whispers,“Okay… maybe I’m not stuck forever.”

We buy courses because we want:

A fresh startA new version of ourselvesA promise that this time will be differentA shortcut out of confusionA path that feels safe

Sometimes we buy the course because we miss who we were when we used to create.And buying the course feels like buying our way back.

Why we don’t start (or don’t finish)

Starting is vulnerable.

Starting means we have to meet ourselves again.Not the fantasy version of us who is motivated and organized and calm.

And when we open the course, all kinds of stuff shows up:

PerfectionismOverwhelmFear of doing it wrongComparisonDecision fatigueThe pressure to “do it right” since we paid for itThat familiar voice that says, “If I can’t do it well, I shouldn’t do it at all.”

Plus, real life is loud.

Kids.Work.Health.Family.Appointments.Dinners.Laundry.Text messages.News.A body that wants a nap.

Why finishing still doesn’t mean implementing

This one is sneaky.

Because finishing feels like it should equal change.

But finishing a course and implementing a course are two different muscles.

Sometimes we finish because we’re responsible women.We finish because we’re good students.We finish because we don’t quit.

But implementing requires something else.

It requires repetition.Messy reps.Practice in real life.Awkward early attempts.Discomfort.

Courses are not the problem.

Pressure is the problem.

You don’t need more self discipline.

You need a way back to yourself that feels safe.

A way to practice without performing.A way to return without punishment.A way to do it in small, real life steps.

If this is you

Come spend 90 days with me as you become the woman who makes art through the challenging times in life.

Your mind will become quiet through confusion of when and how to make art and you will feel that joy again of being in the moment.

You will have pride in yourself as you show up for yourself and your art.

The relationship you and your art have will become like visiting an old friend.

After 90 days, your art practice has changed for good, because you finally have the right roadmap.

You will become someone who has the tools to work through any resistance.

You cannot wait to get into the studio or sit at the table and make art.

A steady practice becomes natural.

When you look down at what you made, it feels like coming home.

Your art practice is as daily as brushing your teeth.

If you want to start this year differently, and you want to come back to your art, this is for you.

The practice is now open at the early registration price.

This price is only available for one more week and there are limited spaces.

If this is not you and yet it reminds you of someone else please share this information with them.

With love,

Lynn

Most women who are drawn to art carry a quiet belief.

I am not an artist.Art belongs to other people.I missed my chance.

It often feels like a fact.Something settled long ago.

But that belief did not appear out of nowhere.

It was shaped by childhood moments.A comment in school.A comparison that stung.A paper that did not look right.A teacher who moved on.A feeling of being behind.

So you learned to hesitate.To hold back.To apologize for your work before it even exists.

That does not mean you lack creativity.

It means you learned to leave yourself when things felt uncomfortable.

Most women do not struggle with art because they are untalented.

They struggle because art stopped feeling safe.

Safe to begin badly.Safe to make something small.Safe to stop and return.Safe to stay when doubt or shame shows up.

So the answer is not more motivation.It is not discipline.It is not waiting until you feel confident.

The answer is safety.

Safety to take five minutes instead of an hour.Safety to make one mark instead of a masterpiece.Safety to notice your breath instead of judging the page.

When the stakes are low enough, something soft happens.

Your shoulders drop.Your breath slows.The voice that says you do not belong gets quieter.

Not because the art suddenly looks better.But because you stop asking it to prove anything.

If you think you are not an artist, you are not alone.

And you are not late.

Art does not come back through pressure.

It comes back through permission.

One small honest mark at a time.

Love ya,

Lynn

Thanks for reading Make Art~Be Happy/ Art! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Thank you to everyone who tuned into my live video!

Join me for my next live video in the app.

Most creative women think they need to feel motivated, calm, confident, or inspired before they sit down to make something.

So when they feel tired, anxious, sad, flat, or overwhelmed, they wait.

They scroll.They clean.They overthink.

And the art table stays empty.

What I shared in today’s video is simple and important.

You do not need the right mood to create.You need permission to bring your feelings with you.

DOWNLOAD PRACTICE PAGE

Your art table is a safe place for all of it.Grief.Joy.Anger.Numbness.Hope.

Five minutes is enough.

In the video, I guide you through a gentle feelings check in and a tiny art practice that helps you move emotion through your hands instead of carrying it alone in your body.

Nothing fancy.Nothing performative.Just honest marks on a page.

If your art has felt far away lately, this is your invitation back.

No pressure ever.

Warmly,

Lynn

Most creative women think they are the problem.

Not consistent enough.Too scattered.Too late.

What if the problem is not you but the way it has been named?

Low quality creative problems sound likeI am behindI am lazyI never finish anything

They create shame and very little art.

High quality creative problems sound kinder and more useful.

I want a gentle practice that fits my real lifeI want to rebuild trust with myselfI want to pay attention to what lights me up

One shuts you down.The other opens a door.

I made a short video for you today to help you reframe the creative problem you are actually working on.

No pressure.No fixing.Just a way back.

Download the Practice Page here

Five minutes counts.Returning counts.

You are right on time.Lynn

Thanks for reading Make Art~Be Happy/ Art! This post is public so feel free to share it.

2025 was the hardest year of my life.

Breast cancer.Surgery.Infection.Family layoffs.Illness.

It felt like wave after wave after wave.

There were days I was scared.

Days I was exhausted down to my bones.

And for a while, my art practice slipped away.

But then something quiet happened.

I found my brush again.

Not from motivation.Not from discipline.Just from a gentle pull inside me that said come home.

And when I painted, it didn’t feel like pressure anymore.

It felt like refuge.

So in 2026, I’m laying down the old, torn up brush that tried to prove somethingand picking up the brush that helps me breathe.

Yes, there will still be obstacles.But I’m stronger now. Softer, too.And my art feels like home again.

If your year was heavy, I’m right here beside you.

Here’s to beginning again lightly.

love ya,

Lynn

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