Find Your Unicorn Space

In a cramped New York apartment, a fourteen-year-old girl practiced dance moves with relentless enthusiasm, choreographing routines between the television and sofa. Her dream was simple yet burning: to become one of the In Living Color Fly Girls. Years later, that same passion would be buried under the weight of law school, marriage, and the endless demands of raising three children.

This story isn't unique. Across the world, countless women find themselves asking the same haunting question: "Where did I go?" Between managing households, advancing careers, and nurturing families, the vibrant parts of ourselves often disappear. We become so skilled at caring for everyone else that we forget how to care for the dreams that once made us feel alive. The result isn't just personal loss—it's a crisis of identity that ripples through our relationships, our children's understanding of what a fulfilled life looks like, and our own sense of purpose. This book offers a path back to yourself, not through abandoning your responsibilities, but by reclaiming the creative expression that makes you uniquely you.

When Jessica found herself on a disappointing Tinder date, asked about what she did "for fun," she felt exposed and empty. Her response revealed a painful truth many women face: somewhere between raising children, juggling careers, and managing households, the concept of personal joy had become foreign. Her date's simple question felt like an accusation—who past twenty has time for fun when life demands constant responsibility?

Yet across the globe, in a Tokyo community center, seventy-two-year-old Shige-boh was discovering the opposite truth. After retirement, he had embraced hip-hop dancing with such passion that he formed a group called the Senior Monsters. His radiant smile during performances told a different story about aging, creativity, and what it means to stay alive at any stage of life. "I am very happy when I'm dancing," he explained simply, embodying a truth that many have forgotten.

The contrast between Jessica's resignation and Shige-boh's joy illuminates a critical choice we all face. The pandemic forced many into an involuntary pause, and within that stillness, some discovered what had been missing. Women began baking interactive cakes, launching improv classes, and opening feminist bookstores—not because they suddenly had more time, but because they finally gave themselves permission to prioritize their creative spirits.

Creative expression isn't a luxury reserved for those with endless free time. It's essential infrastructure for weathering life's inevitable storms. When we dismiss our need for creative outlets as selfish indulgence, we rob ourselves of the very thing that could help us dance in the rain instead of drowning in it. The question isn't whether we deserve creative space—it's whether we're brave enough to claim it.

The salon was supposed to be sanctuary, but even there, judgment followed. When one mother mentioned leaving her children with their father for a full day, another woman's shocked response revealed the double standard that haunts women everywhere: "You left him with the kids for the full day?" The question carried decades of conditioning that positions women as the default parent, always on duty, perpetually available.

This moment crystallized a larger truth about the barriers women face in claiming creative time. It's not just about finding hours in the day—it's about dismantling the internal and external voices that tell us we don't deserve those hours. The same society that celebrates a father's weekend golf game questions a mother's evening art class. We've internalized these messages so deeply that we sabotage our own creative aspirations before they can take root.

Permission to be unavailable means recognizing that your time has value equal to anyone else's in your household. It means understanding that your creative expression isn't stealing from your family—it's adding to it. When children see their parents as whole people with passions and pursuits, they learn that adulthood doesn't mean surrendering joy. They witness what it looks like to honor both responsibility and personal fulfillment.

The path forward requires burning guilt and shame like the destructive forces they are. Guilt says "I did something bad" while shame whispers "I am bad"—but neither serves your highest good or your family's wellbeing. When you give yourself permission to pursue what makes you feel alive, you model for everyone around you what a rich, full life actually looks like. The woman who dances in her kitchen while making dinner isn't neglecting her family—she's showing them how to find joy in everyday moments.

The question seemed innocent enough: "What makes you feel most like you?" Yet for successful CEO after successful CEO, the inquiry produced uncomfortable silence. In a culture that rewards efficiency and productivity above all else, we've lost touch with the simple pleasure of following our interests wherever they might lead us.

Curiosity begins where passion feels too overwhelming. Instead of demanding that you immediately identify your life's calling, curiosity asks gentler questions: What catches your attention? What would you explore if no one was watching? For one woman, it was the ancient art of Hindu astrology, connecting her to family traditions while providing meaning during stressful times. For another, it was the surprising discovery that her gift for styling could become something larger than personal satisfaction.

The most fulfilling creative pursuits align with our deepest values, not society's expectations of what we should want. When we explore what truly matters to us—whether that's connection, beauty, justice, or discovery—our curiosity finds direction. The woman who values storytelling might find herself drawn to podcasting. The person who cherishes family history could discover joy in genealogy or traditional crafts.

Perhaps the most radical act is giving ourselves permission to begin again at any age. The narrative that creative exploration belongs only to the young is a cultural lie that robs us of decades of potential growth. Whether you're rediscovering abandoned dreams or uncovering entirely new interests, your curiosity deserves cultivation. The goal isn't to become the best at something, but to become more fully yourself through the act of engaged exploration.

Sandy Zimmerman stood at the starting line of American Ninja Warrior at forty-two, the oldest woman and first mother to compete. But the real victory wasn't hitting the buzzer at the top of the Warped Wall—it was the moment she refused to dim her light for anyone else's comfort. When her husband questioned her choice to wear a beautiful black dress to a charity auction, she chose self-respect over accommodation.

This decision illuminated a fundamental truth about creative expression: it's not enough to pursue our passions in isolation. The magic happens when we share our gifts with the world, whether that world consists of our immediate family or a global audience. Creativity without connection becomes hollow; creativity without completion remains forever potential rather than actualized joy.

The act of sharing transforms both creator and witness. When Lacy Freeman displayed her animal paintings at her first art festival, she discovered something unexpected: people were drawn not just to her art, but to the authentic connection she made with each visitor. Her willingness to match customers with their spirit animals created moments of recognition and joy that transcended the simple transaction of buying art.

Completion doesn't demand perfection—it requires courage. Every time you share your creative work, whether it's a handmade pie, a carefully tended garden, or a vulnerable piece of writing, you're offering a piece of your authentic self to the world. That offering creates ripples of inspiration, permission, and possibility in others. Your willingness to be seen in your creative truth becomes an invitation for others to honor their own unexpressed gifts.

The path from drowning to dancing begins with a single, revolutionary act: giving yourself permission to matter. Throughout these pages, we've witnessed transformation after transformation, each beginning with someone brave enough to reclaim time that belonged to them, pursue curiosity that called to them, and share gifts that only they could offer.

The Three C's—Curiosity, Connection, and Completion—aren't just a framework for creative living; they're a blueprint for revolutionary self-respect. When you follow your genuine interests, connect with others who share your values or appreciate your gifts, and complete projects that bring your inner world into external reality, you're not just improving your own life. You're modeling for everyone around you what it looks like to honor the full spectrum of human potential.

The world desperately needs what you have to offer, but it will remain hidden until you decide you're worth the investment of time, energy, and courage required to bring it forth. Your creative expression isn't selfish—it's essential. It's how you weather storms, build resilience, and leave a legacy that extends far beyond what you might imagine. The little girl who once danced between the television and sofa is still inside you, waiting for permission to move again. Give her that gift, and watch as your whole world begins to transform.