Micro Creations

My tiny ingredients for a bigger life recipe

Creators inspire me. Creative people motivate me.

In suffixing my name with “the third”, my parents (probably…mostly my dad, “Frank Jr.”) might’ve felt some inner obligatory nod toward my grandfather, "Frank Sr.,” only to end up naming me…. Rob. Otherwise, that’d frankly be too many Franks.

In calling me Rob (shortened from Robert), they probably didn’t know the meaning behind the name itself. Illustrious, shining, bright, famous. Starting with the last adjective, I’m (in)famous for what seems to be a lot of f*ckery in various places. That’s mostly because I just tend to think outside the box. Per my parents, I have way too many “why” questions. They labeled me “a handful” and “rebellious,” explaining a couple of years ago that, “we just didn’t know what to do with you.” The response was to put more pressure on me to “behave” and conform.

But there’s this uncanny thing about pressure on a child. It ends up producing an unwieldy child. And an unwieldy child might tend to become unconventional. Unconventionality often forms the foundation of creativity. Pressure produces beautiful things. Like diamonds. Which create value and resource. Pressure produces necessary things. Like bedrock. Without which we’d have no buildings.

So I tended to be illustrious, shining, and bright in my own ways. Creativity showed up in behavior, invention, and hobbies. All of which were driven by curiosity. I think that’s in the DNA of creativity. The perpetual, very-childhood-boyish question of, “I wonder what would happen if I….?” Add to that the childrearing culture of the south (including south Georgia), and my redneckery blossomed. Sometimes quite painfully.

In my 50’s now, I noticed a couple of years ago that somehow, somewhere along the line, I’ve managed to (barely?) wrangle that creativity into some of the seemingly smallest places. I make my bed creatively. I decorate my place creatively. I purchase creative things. I wear lots of colors. I arrange my clothes creatively. I create love notes for my partner. I ideate creative events. Inconspicuous beauty catches my eye. (In my journal back in 2021, during a year in which I challenged myself with “I AM” statements, I wrote, “I AM easily distracted by beauty.” And it churns the chi of creative energy inside of me.)

From all these little things, simple profundity hit me. These ingredients are small. Some even tiny. Small and tiny ingredients are a part of recipes. I like to think all my micro creations are simply ingredients for my recipe of life. Where I just get to play in the kitchen of my heart and head, throw some sh*t together, see what it tastes like, maybe offer it to others (or maybe not) to try (and spit) out.

So this is sort of a big shout out to my best friend Jonathan Chambers for encouraging me to setup a metaphorical camera in my “kitchen” for others to see here. At my core, I feel creative. I guess that’s where creativity has to start, right? And I like to put myself and my stuff out in the universe, just because that's what the universe does to us. As a result, my core tends to show up as a compassionate coach, consultant, and/or counselor... and sometimes comedian (who generally seems to entertain only myself). The (sometimes vain) hope is that myself and my stuff lands with whomever it should, when it should, however it should toward the vast safety and stability of love, belonging, and transformation.

(Rubbing hands together, biting bottom lip, while repeatedly raising eyebrows in mischievous f*ckery and soulful passion….)