The Sacred Gift of Rest

Tending to the Creative Fire (a lesson from Alysa Liu)

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve watched Alysa Liu’s mesmerizing free skating performance during the Winter Olympics. And yet, no matter the incessant number of replays, each time stirred something deep within and left me in a puddle of crinkle-nosed, full-on, unabashed ugly crying.

Pure joy, in a single photo.

Growing up in New England, I watched countless Olympic figure skating performances with my mother. As a little girl who had been enamored with playing dress up from a very young age, the appeal of the sport was immediate: frothy, ephemeral costumes of mesh and chiffon studded with sequins and rhinestones, donned by skaters floating effortlessly across the ice and through the air with each triple axel and toe loop. I secretly longed to be a ballerina, but I’d gladly settle for living vicariously through Kristi Yamaguchi as she gracefully twirled like a delicate music box figurine to “Malaguea” in Albertville.

The glorious Kristi Yamaguchi in 1992

It has been a good many years since I’ve watched figure skating. A week from last Thursday, that all changed thanks to a certain halo-haired, golden goddess gliding across the ice to Donna Summer…and the would-be little ballerina inside me came alive from the moment Alysa Liu’s skates hit the ice in Milan. Quite honestly, I have not been the same since, and it took a moment for me to pinpoint exactly why her performance resonated with me on such a profound level (and clearly had the same effect on millions of other viewers).

Alysa’s impact is already deeply felt here in California. Street artist Gustavo Zermeño Jr. (top) is working to complete a mural in her honor on Crenshaw in Gardena, and ILLUMINARIES (bottom) has completed their own tribute on Telegraph and 43rd in Oakland.

The Olympics never fail to provide their fair share of awe and wonder, and yet, Alysa’s routine felt profoundly different. “Routine” even feels like a wild disservice of a term- it was anything but. It felt…free. Unrestrained. Easeful. Full of trust and inner knowing. I quickly realized that the visceral connection I felt to Alysa was as a fellow creator- it was a performance in the truest sense. For just over 4 minutes, she gave herself over to the Muse, allowing a creative electricity to flow through every inch of her body, from her expressive dancer’s hands all the way to the crown of her halo-haired head.

In interviews, Alysa even confirmed it herself- she was there to share her art. And as a fellow live performer (music being my earliest Muse and, by far, the one that still basks in the glow of my favoritism), I felt her art. More than that, I felt the fire of her soul- she was sharing her creative voice with us, without saying a word.

By far, one of my favorite moments captured during Alysa’s performance. Not only for her expression of pure creative flow: on a costume level, look how the handkerchief hem chiffon skirt panels flay out and echo the Sun’s rays. A brilliant design choice for a fire sign ruled by the Sun!

Yet, four years ago, Alysa sensed that something was off- somewhere along the line, the fire had been dying. The challenge for a performer can often be to keep things fresh and continue to tap into the magical state of flow, where you are simultaneously completely present and yet somehow completely lost in the beauty of the art you’ve created.

Flow can be an elusive state for creators, elusive as the Muse herself sometimes. But oh, when you find yourself in it…you feel that first blush of love you felt for your chosen medium rush into your heart all over again.

Sadly, so many of us can lose that sacred connection (especially in this day and age when creators are commodified and expected to churn out “content” at a fever pitch, only for hungry content consumers to respond at an equally rapid-fire pace with “So…what’s next?”) And then, there is the fear. The pervasive voice in a creator’s head that whispers we cannot ever stop churning out our art, we mustn’t. Because if we do…will our Muse decide never to return?

When I was in my 20s, it seemed like any period I deemed to be “too long” between my last creation and my latest hit of creative dopamine caused an avalanche of insecurity and doubt to flood into my already overactive brain (thank you, neurodivergence). The questions crashed like waves in my head: was that the last song I would write? Did I have nothing else of worth left to say? It seems slightly cringeworthy for me to admit, but that fear still exists inside, even to this day. Insecurity still has a small corner carved out in the pit of my stomach, even after the numerous ego deaths that resulted from a barrage of personal and professional challenges I faced in 2025.

Nearly seventeen years ago with self-doubt that felt crippling at times. I have a world of compassion for her.

But here is where Alysa Liu offers a slice of solace and a masterclass in self-trust, no matter our age nor the stage of our career. Unspeakably wise beyond her years at age 16, Alysa had the wherewithal to sense that she was in danger of losing the precious love for her art for good. And so, even more wisely, she made the decision to walk away. Sometimes, they say, you don’t really realize how deep the love runs in your veins until you’ve taken a step away from it.

Two years later, Alysa felt the creative fire return once again. She had let herself live a full life outside of the rink, and in doing so, cultivated an unshakeable sense of who she was not only as a woman, but as an artist.

It turns out the time away allowed her to crystallize the vision of exactly how she wanted to present her art to the world. For one, she began collaborating with former figure skater turned costumer (and fellow Angeleno) Lisa McKinnon, finally competing in costumes she actually wanted to wear. Alysa’s bejeweled golden ensemble in Milan was an iteration of a similar design McKinnon cooked up for Alysa’s appearance at the 2025 ISU World Figure Skating Championships (which, incidentally enough, also resulted in a gold medal.)

Perhaps this is why Leos are told gold is our color ;) Alysa in 2025 (top) and 2026 (bottom), both costumes by Lisa McKinnon.

(As a side note, I can confirm that the right costume absolutely makes a world of difference before hitting the stage; hence why I’ve been designing and refining my own Heathen Apostles garb for years now…but more on that in another post!)

However, the intentional shifts Alysa made did not merely apply to the surface level. In the interviews she’s given since her return, you can’t help but notice a pattern of optimism, gratitude, and a sense of deeply grounded confidence. To me, the true icing on the MacArthur Park cake came as she sat in the judging box, framed by her coaches Phillip DiGuglielmo and Massimo Scali. Her calm expression and comparatively modest smile and nod of acknowledgement as the final score placed her decisively atop the Olympic podium telegraphed everything: that she truly knew her worth, and that she did not need the gold (or any medal, for that matter) to validate it.

The deeper lesson here is palpable: contrary to the message society and social media dictate to us as creators, we are not always meant to be doing. Sometimes, we need to allow ourselves the space to rest and to simply be. Following the divine guidance of nature, life progresses in seasons and cycles…and what are we, if not a part of nature?

Last week, I felt my own creative fire quietly returning with the start of the Fire Horse year after a long dormancy that began at the end of last year. Admittedly, there were times during my hiatus that I felt intense sensations of guilt for taking an “extended” (or so I perceived) leave of absence from the very things that arguably make me feel most alive. Guilt for needing to rest. But, just like Alysa, I knew I needed to take this sacred time. For one, I needed space to begin processing the multiple layers of grief that last year afforded me, and for a time...I found myself without my usual outlets. But last week, inspiration started to find its way back to me, delicately floating back in the form of poetic phrases and design imagery. And so, it would seem the time away has served me well.

During my hiatus, I decided to try something new and took a beginner chinoiserie painting workshop. Trying a new skill without the pressure of being “good” did wonders to recharge my battery.

So…all this to offer my most profound gratitude to you for the inspiration, Alysa. Golden NorCal Leo Queen that you are. May we all take your shining example that ultimately, we know what is best for our journey and that we are inherently worthy simply for the miracle of existing exactly here and now as the unique and perfectly imperfect beings that we are.

And of course…thank you for the very wise reminder that if our heart has been whispering for a break…we can summon the courage to grant ourselves exactly that, knowing that our lives (and, by extension, our art) will be all the better for it.