and how it soothed this anxious writer’s heart
My fourth wedding anniversary is two days away. Over this past weekend, my husband surprised me with an introductory couples pottery class.
When I asked him why he chose a ceramic-making class as our celebration, he replied, “Well, you’re supposed to gift flowers for year four, and I already do that, so I thought I’d make you a vase to put your flowers in.”
Three thoughts simultaneously crashed into my head—that is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard how did I get so lucky I’m going to suck something awful at this.
Here’s the thing: I’m not a particularly steady person. There’s a reason Operation was my least favorite board game to play growing up. But my husband is a thoughtful man. He planned the entire night around this class; plus, he’ll never tell anyone if I had a total meltdown in the studio because of, well, spousal confidentiality.
I’ve also heard that it can be a mind-soothing and magical activity. Which is greatly welcomed because my first-ever read-aloud and author-signing event is on October 18th (!!!!!!) and I’m crashing out. My mind needs quite a bit of soothing.
Pottery is Sorcery
I mean, really stop and think about the act of making pottery. You’re turning an amorphous lump of wet sediment and turning that into the most gorgeous vessel known to man.
It really is magic to think about it on a philosophical level, but it was just short of cosmic watching the instructor demo various techniques. With the squeeze of his palms, a lump becomes a vase. A slight shift in his body weight has a baseball transforming into a dinner plate. Right before my eyes, he transfigured various objects like a magician, all while explaining where to pick up our tools and giving a pep talk to anxious onlookers (me).
“Now there’s one last thing I want to say before I cut y’all loose for the next two hours. Unless you’ve done this before, you’re probably going to suck, and that’s okay. In fact, that’s expected. If you mess it up, just try again. If you like what you made, keep going. Try a different shape or a different clay. There’s plenty of it, so have fun.”
With a clap, he sent us off. So many questions tumbled through my mind like clothes in the dryer. What’s the difference between the brown clay and the white clay? How much pressure is too much pressure? Do different clay types require different pressures? Is there any hack for keeping even pressure between both hands? Which fingers are the best for making something taller? What about wider? Will I know if I’ve used enough water? What if everything I make is ugly?
Looking over at my husband, who was absolutely tickled pink, the voices in my head lowered. This is supposed to be precious quality time with the person I love, celebrating our wedding anniversary. It’s actually not that serious.
Taking a deep breath, I decided to have fun.
Full Body Activities Silence Mental Chatter
The clay, it turns out, demands your whole body and mind. It requires a relaxed posture and four physical points of contact: elbows to thighs, wrists to wheel, both palms on the clay, thumb centered. Mind focused on creation.
A slip in concentration and your bowl is a plate. Too much pressure on either hand and your vase is a miniature version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Spend too much time contemplating what to make, and your clay will dry out. Oversaturate with water, and the structure will collapse in on itself.
Now, an activity that has multiple, equally responsible priorities would usually stress me out, especially if all of this is happening while the object is spinning.
Except that there’s more clay. And nobody is looking at me. And this is just for fun.
My mental chatter ceased for the entire two hours. I ended up using about five pieces of clay to make a plate-shaped bowl and a very short drinking glass. My husband made a bowl-shaped vase and a bowl-shaped bowl. And yes, I had a great deal of fun.
On top of that, I found that the instructor’s gentle instructions could be applied to my creative writing process and—despite the fear of sounding a little too hippy dippy—life.
Here me out:
Don’t compare my work to my neighbors: How many times have I held a ruler and scale to an indie author’s career trajectory up against my own? How many times did I come out on top? Or feel better afterward?
Don’t spend too much time getting centered: Sometimes, research serves as a replacement for experience. There is such a thing as watching too many children’s book tabling set-up TikToks. I won’t know what I need until I actually have my first tabling event.
I’ll learn what enough pressure is: If I’m not noticing a new shape, then I know that I’m not supplying enough force. Go too hard and I risk ruining all the progress I’ve made. A book signing is a big deal, and I should take time to create a thoughtful strategy. However, my entire career isn’t contingent on this one event.
I can always grab more clay: Why do I act like opportunity is a finite resource? This will not be my last read aloud, and I’m allowed to learn from experience. I’m allowed to tweak my strategy. I’m allowed to change my mind.
Permit Yourself To Learn
Now, diva, I’m not saying you should go and book a six-week pottery course. What I am saying is that the art of ceramic-making is a perfect example of rigorous discipline. It’s a skill where you only get better the more you do it.
No shortcuts. No substitutions. No skipping to the end.
These lessons are utilitarian.
There are an infinite number of ways to create. Be brave enough to create version one and commit to creating another version if the first doesn’t fulfill you. Put yourself out there. Try something out of your comfort zone. Permit yourself to learn.
And when you really boil it down, aren’t we all just lumps of clay spinning in circles, hoping to transform into something new?
Think About It
As the evenings grow longer, the flash sales get noisier, and the panic to buy all your holiday gifts gets bigger, I invite you to take up a full-body hobby. One that requires both your hands, your eyes, and your brain. Here’s about a dozen to try:
The following prompts give you, diva, the opportunity to muse throughout your week:
When was the last time you tried something new in a low-stakes environment?
What lesson did you learn?
Can you find time this week to try again?
If you’re feeling brave, share your musing via a comment ❤
This space is built in the margins of my full-time job. “Buy Me a Coffee” is my virtual tip jar, helping sustain the writing (and the writer) behind it.
Authored By Alyssa 
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