Not Every Opportunity Is Yours (and That’s a Gift)

When urgency quieted, my work got clearer

There was a time when I felt that every opportunity had to be taken.
Every open call, every deadline, every possibility carried a quiet pressure: If I don’t say yes now, I might miss my chance.

Lately, something has shifted.

Not because I suddenly have everything figured out, but because urgency has softened its grip. And in that softening, I’ve started to hear something else — a quieter, steadier voice that asks a different question:

Is this actually mine?

Recently, I chose not to submit to an art call I would normally have jumped at. On paper, it made sense. It fit my medium. It fit my skills. It even fit my interests.
But when I paused and checked in — really checked in — there was no pull. No spark. Just a familiar tightening that comes from doing something out of obligation rather than alignment.

So I didn’t take it.

And instead of guilt or panic, what surprised me most was the feeling that followed: space.

That space didn’t turn into inactivity. Quite the opposite.
It turned into play.
Into arranging patterns simply to see how they speak to one another.
Into noticing color stories across years of work.
Into reconnecting with why I create in the first place — not to keep up, but to stay true.

I’m learning that saying no isn’t a failure of ambition.
It’s a refinement of it.

When urgency quiets, focus sharpens.
When pressure eases, creativity breathes.

This doesn’t mean I won’t ever take deadlines seriously again, or that opportunities don’t matter. They do. But I’m beginning to understand that discernment is part of creative maturity. That not every open door is my door. And that walking past the wrong ones leaves more energy for the right rooms.

There’s a strange trust that comes with this — trust in timing, trust in self, trust that what’s meant to meet my work will do so without force.

For now, I’m practicing listening.
Letting things unfold at a pace that supports both my creativity and my nervous system.
Choosing depth over breadth.
Alignment over accumulation.

Not every opportunity is mine.
And somehow, that feels like a gift.

I’m learning to trust that clarity doesn’t come from rushing — it comes from staying present long enough to feel what’s true.

For now, that’s enough.