One day, a photojournalist—eyes twinkling, wielding a Leica camera that sees straight to the soul—spots Bob among the elephants. Click, click, click. “Excuse me, Mr. Cheetah,” she says, looking right at Bob. He glances around, confused. “Who, me?” he mutters, mid-chew on a bamboo sprout. “Yeah, you,” she persists, her voice warm but firm. “Can we talk?” Bob shrugs, “Sure, but make it quick—I’ve got bamboo to finish.”She grins, “That’s the thing, Bob. You’re not an elephant munching on bamboo. You’re a cheetah, one of the fastest creatures alive.” Bob scoffs, “Lady, I’m no wildlife expert, but I know my herd.” Undeterred, she shows him the photos she had just taken. There is Bob, sleek and spotted, next to his lumbering elephant family. “Look,” she says, “you’re a cheetah.”

Bob freezes. His jaw drops. He stares at the photo, then he lowers his gaze, looks at his own paws, and then looks up to see his herd grazing nearby. His breath quickens, labored, his tail twitches, his ears flatten. His whole life, he has been kicking himself for failing at elephant-ing—too slow for the hundred-mile trails, too quick to finish his bamboo before dessert. Tears well up, water flowing out of his eyes. He sits beside the photojournalist, body trembling. “I thought I was an elephant,” he whispers, “but I can see from your photo – I’m built to be a trailblazer.”

The photojournalist takes Bob’s paw in her hands and simply says, “Exactly. Now go be you.”

Bob strides to his herd, heart heavy with love. For days and nights, they share stories—laughing over watering hole splash-fests, reminiscing about back-scratching trees. But Bob knows what he must do. “I’m sorry, and thank you,” he says, voice cracking. “Please forgive me, but I gotta run. I gotta be me.” They weep, they hug (as much as elephants and cheetahs can hug), and with gratitude flooding his heart, Bob bounds into the highlands. He runs and runs, legs a blur, Air lifting him, Fire igniting his soul. He pauses to drink in the view—stars above, savanna below—then sprints again, even sleeping in a tree that night, just because he can. He’s living his full cheetah life.

Every spring and fall, during the great migration, Bob trails the elephant herd from afar, a guardian with a Cheetah’s heart. He’s not an elephant, never was, but he honors them. He’s a cheetah, first and always, sprinting into his truth. So, I ask you: Are you a cheetah raised by cheetahs, or a cheetah raised by elephants? Either way, you’re a cheetah—built to be and express yourself in a very unique way.

This is why, when we create together, I’ll always ask two simple, not-so-simple questions: Who are you? What do you want? They’re the keys to your art and he-art, your Creative Life.

Maybe you’re a chaos creator, all Fire and Air, leaving wild ideas in your wake. Or an order lover, Earth and Water, mapping every step. Both are beautiful, but both have shadows—chaos scatters, order stifles. Knowing yourself—your gifts, your downsides—lets you lean into your strengths and stretch toward the “other side.”

Knowning what gives you your spark of life and your unique perspective makes your creative gifts truly one of a kind. ”

So, Breathe 360, feel your Skin-In, truth, connect with The Other, create in your Created Space. Answer those questions, and you’ll run like Bob, free, connected to your power and fully you.

Try this now: Inhale 360, feel your Fire spark, your Earth ground you. Ask, “Who am I? What do I want?” Write one sentence for each. Are you a cheetah chasing wild dreams or trudging like an elephant? Share it with The Other (a friend, a collaborator) via text or chat. Exhale, let it flow. That’s your (s)he-art waking up.

With a cosmic high-five and a Cheetah’s sprint,

Joshua Townshend

Townshend Studios, where creativity comes to breathe