After I finished Rick Rubin’s book, “The Creative Act: A Way of Being,” I flipped back through the pages and laughed. They were covered in yellow highlighter. Rubin writes about the process of creating work: how to think about it and how to act on it. Some of the tools he suggested, I’ve used for years. But what really intrigued me were the ones he mentioned that I’ve only played with from time to time. I don’t think I ever fully appreciated them or took them seriously. I wish I had.

Here’s one:

Rubin believes that the universe sends us messages as we create. He writes, “The transmissions are subtle.; they are ever-present, but they’re easy to miss. If we aren’t looking for clues, they’ll pass us by without us ever knowing. Notice connections and consider where they lead…An integral part of the artist’s work is deciphering these signals. The more open you are, the more clues you will find and the less effort you’ll need to exert.”

I, too, believe that the universe is on our side and gently nudges us forward. Where I sometimes run into trouble is when I wait for signals I think I need, and I miss different, unexpected messages the universe sends me. That can happen when I’m faced with a deadline, and I begin to doubt my talents. I tell myself that if only I had another week, the play would be so much better. Or I read a draft and suddenly fixate on a single plot point. Some cringey lines of dialogue. I stop working on the script for a few days, maybe even weeks. I’ve seen other writers abandon great projects because they think the script is no longer working. The universe isn’t giving them what they think they need to “fix” their work and they lose faith. So, they bolt.

What Rubin reminded me is that sometimes nothing at all is missing. I need to keep writing, that’s all. It could be that I’m not getting what I need from the universe because I’m looking in the wrong place for the wrong thing. Maybe “wrong” feels too heavy, but I think it’s the right word.

When my little cat Gypsy Rose Lowe became sick, a friend who is a veterinarian told me to look for three signs that would indicate she was in her final decline. But what happened was this: it wasn’t until I stopped looking for the signs the vet mentioned that I picked up on the ones that Gypsy was sending me. She let me know she was ready to say goodbye by giving me signals she knew I could decipher, that were particular to her. Ultimately, it was Gypsy who guided me.

Here’s what I need to remember:

1. Be open to signals first and ask questions later. Skepticism counts for nothing. It serves no function except to block creative thinking.

2. Signals have nothing to do with wish fulfillment. They are purer. They have no skin in the game, they aren’t trying to steer me in a direction, they are merely … there. It’s up to me to use them or toss them. Find meaning in them or not.

3. If I’m open to signals, they will continue to come. But they come in their own time.

Last night, at Rubin’s suggestion, I took down a book, opened it to a random page and read the first sentence my eyes fell upon. As he predicted, the words met me exactly where I was. It was a clear message of confirmation I needed from the universe. Rubin writes, “…it’s as if the universe is nudging you with little reminders that it’s on your side and wants to provide you with everything you need to complete your mission.”

Amen to that.

Happy writing to you all.

Rest in peace, little Gypsy.