The Creative River, the Shadow, and a Birch Tree

Hi friends!

I just wrapped a deeply resonant conversation with Rob Bell on the latest episode of Good, True, and Beautiful—and it felt less like an interview and more like floating down a river with no map, only the current, and the courage to follow it.

If Rob's name rings a bell, you probably already know: he’s been a creative compass for me since I was 18. The kind of person who whispers, “Come on, come on, let’s go,” when you’re tempted to stay comfortable. And in this conversation, he did just that—inviting all of us to step deeper into our own creativity, curiosity, and humanity.

We talked about everything: how real creation comes from stillness and emptiness, how “should” is the enemy of your deep knowing, how fantasy must die in order for real art to live. We explored what it means to follow your curiosity even when it doesn’t look like a “career.” Rob reminded us that you don’t need to make sense to others—sometimes, you don’t even need to make total sense to yourself. You just need to stay in the game.

There was a moment where we hit on grief and the creative process. Rob offered this truth: there’s a direct relationship between grief and imagination. The unspoken, ungrieved endings in our lives? They clog the creative flow. Sometimes clarity isn't a new idea—it’s the tear you didn’t let fall, the ache you didn’t name. Grief unblocks the dam.

And then came the shadow. Oh man. We got into the Jungian depths—how your shadow self isn't your enemy but a buried map to your wholeness. How the things you refuse to look at tend to run the show anyway. And how, with enough courage, facing your shadow becomes less about fear and more about integration—and ultimately, expression.

As Rob said: “The further I go into me, the more I find you.” That line stuck with me. Creativity isn't performance. It's invitation. It’s saying: Here’s what’s going on in me—maybe it’s going on in you too?

So, if you're in a season of uncertainty, tired from carrying too many “shoulds,” or wondering why you feel stuck—it might not be confusion. It might be ungrieved endings. It might be a shadow asking to be seen. It might just be the birch tree dropping its 250 million seeds, and only two taking root—but doing it anyway.

That’s the work. That’s the beauty.

You can catch the full conversation here or wherever you listen to podcasts. It's one of those episodes you might want to hear twice.

Grace and peace,

Ashton

P.S. Try this: next time someone asks what you do, just tell them what you did today. Start from the beginning. You might both be surprised by what it reveals.