I’m currently on a binge-fest of one of my favorite films, Frances Ha. Even though the film centers around the angsts and insecurities we often feel in our twenties, many of those uncomfortable feelings don’t disappear as we get older. At least for me, the relentless and mysterious path to self-discovery is endless, but it’s also energizing. Frances is searching for magic (a word she uses repeatedly). She’s a romantic, and she’s disappointed that her reality doesn’t live up to her fantasies (Who can relate?).

This pursuit of magic propels me to be a lifelong learner. But it also makes me feel disappointed when my work doesn’t live up to its full potential or isn’t as good as the idea I have in my head (which is always). This got me thinking: When do you ignore these so-called inadequacies, and when do you take time to regroup and reevaluate? When is it time to let go of one dream to discover a new one?

The relentless and mysterious path to self-discovery is endless, but it’s also energizing.

This past year, I’ve slowed down. I made a conscious choice to take on less work. While this sounds admirable, it’s actually terrifying and stressful. These choices affect my livelihood and the livelihood of my team. It’s not something I take lightly. Deciding to change the brand’s direction has inevitably lead to ramifications. Last year, we made a pivot to focus on the creative process. We want to encourage your creative energy and share an honest look at the creative process. It’s fulfilling to work on something connected to my interests — that feels heartfelt. But tweaking the ethos of a brand that’s almost a decade old is hard. We’re speaking to a much smaller audience and trying to find our place in a noisy industry.

On top of that, I’ve felt very little creative energy during this editorial shift. I’ve been timid about taking on new projects and partnerships while we’re going through this transition. I’ve chosen to focus on our values, our voice and our connection to our audience. But I’ve spent the past ten years in a constant state of busyness: multiple photo shoots a month, collaborations on products and attending events. This stillness is uncomfortable.

I’m calling this my “creative incubation period.” On the surface, this fallow period looks inactive—like nothing is happening, but I’m storing up ideas. I’m absorbing bits and pieces of things I’m reading, watching and listening to like a sponge—and when it comes time to wring them out, my art will hopefully be much richer because of it.