What Twyla Tharp taught me about creativity, resilience, and the things that keep us moving.

What is the one thing you return to when life feels like it’s falling apart?

Not the thing you should do. Not the thing someone else tells you will make everything better.

The thing that reminds you who you are.

I just finished reading The Creative Habit: Learn It and Use It for Life by Twyla Tharp, and while there were plenty of moments that made me think, one of the final passages stopped me in my tracks.

Tharp recounts a remarkable experience surrounding September 11, 2001.

On September 8, her dance company performed at the World Trade Center. Just three days later, the towers were gone, and the world had changed.

In the aftermath, Tharp questioned whether rehearsing was even possible. She contacted her dancers, checked on their well-being, and made it clear that no one was obligated to attend.

But they came.

Every single one of them.

They arrived from across New York and the surrounding communities, navigating a shaken city whose bridges and tunnels had only just reopened.

And Tharp wrote something that I haven’t stopped thinking about:

“What came back to us was the instinct to dance.”

There it is.

Not the instinct to pretend everything was fine. Not the instinct to ignore the unimaginable tragedy unfolding around them.

The instinct to return to something that was deeply, fundamentally theirs.

To dance.

Sometimes Resilience Looks Like Returning

We talk a lot about resilience as though it’s a forward-only process.

Keep going. Push through. Adapt. Reinvent. Overcome.

And sometimes that’s exactly what resilience requires.

But what if resilience also means returning?

Returning to the practices that ground us. The passions that energize us. The parts of our identity that exist independently of our circumstances.

I’m a singer. A performer. An artist. A writer. A coach.

Creativity isn’t something I occasionally schedule into my life when I happen to have extra time. It’s part of how I understand the world.

And when life gets complicated—and goodness knows it does—those creative instincts don’t simply disappear.

Sometimes they’re the very things that help me make sense of what’s happening.

I’ve experienced the way music can give shape to emotions that don’t quite have words yet. How painting can create space for thoughts to settle. How stepping into a character onstage can offer a completely different perspective on something happening offstage.

And how writing can turn a tangled mess of experiences into something that finally makes sense.

None of those activities erase hardship.

But they remind me that hardship isn’t the entirety of who I am.

There’s a difference between being changed by an experience and being completely defined by it.

Creativity Is More Than Making Something Beautiful

One of the things I appreciate about Tharp’s book is her insistence that creativity is a habit.

It’s not simply a mysterious gift bestowed upon a lucky few.

It’s something we practice.

We show up. We experiment. We try things that don’t work. We try again.

And over time, those practices become part of how we approach life.

That has enormous implications beyond the arts.

Because creativity isn’t limited to what happens on a canvas, a stage, or a page.

Creativity is also how we solve problems.

How we navigate uncertainty.

How we see possibilities when our first instinct is to focus on limitations.

And, perhaps most importantly, how we imagine a future that looks different from our present.

That’s where creativity and resilience begin to overlap.

When the familiar becomes unfamiliar, our ability to imagine alternatives matters.

We may not get to choose what happens to us.

But we can explore what happens next.

And that’s a choice worth remembering.

The Connection to Resilient Optimism

Lately, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about optimism.

Not the everything-is-sunshine-and-rainbows variety. Not pretending something difficult isn’t happening or insisting there’s a silver lining to every painful experience.

I’m talking about resilient optimism.

The ability to acknowledge reality, including the uncomfortable and painful parts, while remaining open to the possibility that something meaningful still lies ahead.

And I think Tharp’s story offers a beautiful illustration of that distinction.

Those dancers couldn’t undo what had happened.

They couldn’t restore the lives lost or make their city whole again.

But they could return to something that connected them to themselves, to one another, and to their shared purpose.

Their creative practice gave them a place to begin.

And isn’t that what we’re all looking for sometimes?

Not a perfect solution.

Not a guarantee that everything will work out.

Just somewhere to begin.

In my coaching work, I often return to three questions:

1. What can I control?
2. What are my options?
3. What is the worst-case scenario?

These questions aren’t designed to eliminate uncertainty. They’re designed to help us find our agency within it.

And creativity is one of the tools that helps us see those options in the first place.

It reminds us that the story isn’t necessarily finished just because one chapter ended differently than we expected.

You Don’t Have to Be a Dancer to Find Your Dance

Maybe your thing isn’t dancing.

Maybe it’s gardening. Cooking. Writing. Building something with your hands. Singing loudly in the car when nobody is around to critique your questionable song choices. Maybe it’s gathering people around a table, volunteering, teaching, or getting completely lost in a book.

Whatever it is, I hope you make room for it.

Not because it will fix everything.

But because the things that make us feel alive deserve a place in our lives, even when—or perhaps especially when—life gets difficult.

We don’t have to earn joy by first resolving every problem.

We don’t have to wait until everything settles down before allowing ourselves to create something meaningful.

And we certainly don’t have to abandon the parts of ourselves that bring us fulfillment just because our circumstances have changed.

Sometimes the most resilient thing we can do is remember who we are.

And then give ourselves permission to be that person again.

What’s Next? A Little More Optimism

Finishing The Creative Habit has given me plenty to think about, but it’s also left me excited for what comes next.

And fittingly, my next reading adventure is all about resilient optimism.

I’m preparing to launch a virtual book club where we’ll explore these ideas together—not just as interesting concepts on a page, but as practical ways to approach our everyday lives.

We’ll talk about perspective, possibility, resilience, and what it actually means to choose optimism when life isn’t exactly cooperating.

Because I don’t believe personal growth has to happen in isolation.

Sometimes the most meaningful discoveries happen when we get curious together.

More details on the book club are coming soon, and I’d love for you to be part of the conversation.

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a question:

When the world around you changes, what brings you back to yourself?

Whatever your answer is, I hope you make time for it.

As for me, I’ve finished one book, found another perspective worth exploring, and already have the next one waiting.

Cue the Foo Fighters.

Done, done, and I’m on to the next one. 🎶

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What does resilience look like in your creative life? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. And if you’re interested in joining our upcoming virtual book club on resilient optimism, stay connected. There’s more to come.

— Megann Wither
Executive Coach | Speaker | Author | Leadership & Professional Development Facilitator

Turning Chaos into Capability