The first day back to work after a long break feels a little like being in the red on Jeopardy. You’ve just had precious, necessary time away from your regular routine—time that’s genuinely good for your mental health. Then you return, and before anything else, you have to re-enter that routine… even though it immediately demands the same level of attention and focus you were sustaining before the break.
There’s the logistics: the workout, getting the family out the door, the mental checklist. But more than that, there’s the internal shift—the transition from right-brain to left-brain thinking. From intuition and spaciousness to structure and output (though I believe there should always be room for both). I don’t usually sleep well on Monday nights, and I can feel the resistance in my body before I even name it.
What I’m noticing, though, is that this transition doesn’t have to be harsh. This week didn’t feel overwhelming. There was space to catch up, to move through emails, to finish reviews, to feel competent and grounded. I found myself hoping that something ordinary—or maybe even something unexpectedly good—might happen.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how creativity fits into all of this. Not as something separate from work or life, but as a practice that needs its own care and structure, especially when my energy is limited.
For me, creativity benefits from gentle, rather than rigid, planning. I want my creative practice to build on itself, not feel scattered. I also want to stay connected to something bigger than myself—what I think of as intuition, guidance, and discernment. I don’t ask for miracles so much as daily support. Help staying steady.
Earlier this week, I had a painting session that felt frustrating on the surface. I was working on a few abstract pieces that I couldn’t quite move forward. The palette was beautiful: turquoise, pink, cadmium yellow dark, all lightened with gesso white. I limited myself to white instead of adding darker tones, and while I loved how the colors blended, the pieces didn’t land the way I wanted. On paper, especially with marks underneath, too many layers quickly become muddy.
What I realized is that this isn’t failure—it’s information.
Next time, I’ll try the same palette with darker tones. I’ll start with white instead of trying to cover later. I’ll save heavier layering for canvas. While the session initially felt frustrating, these insights are already helping me the next time I sit down to paint.
I also noticed how easily I slip into urgency when I’m painting. Fear creeps in. There’s a desire not to waste paint. An impulse to push through instead of stepping back (this one matters). I realized I need to bring back a “dump sheet”—a place where excess paint can go without pressure.
There’s also the reality of time.
I painted too late one night and missed our family reading and wind-down time, and we all felt it the next morning. So I’m experimenting with boundaries: setting an alarm, winding down earlier, choosing focused 20-minute prompts instead of open-ended sessions (though there are important places for those, too). Constraint, I’m learning, can protect creativity rather than limit it.
The following night, I returned to a piece I’d gone too light on and added just a few darker marks. Suddenly, it looked alive again—back in the game. On a larger piece, Prussian blue shifted the energy completely. Other works in progress still feel unresolved, but they simply need a break. I had one, so it’s only fair they do too.
By the end of the week, I’d tried a smaller, fine-point brush and loved it. I stayed within a reasonable time window. I didn’t leave my space frustrated.
I’m learning that I can’t force outcomes. This should be obvious, but it’s worth repeating. Creativity is about staying with the process long enough to learn from it—and being kind enough to yourself to notice when something is working.
I came across this quote and felt it belonged here:
“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”—Howard Thurman
Yours in creativity,
Maria
