Dear Reader,
So I built a system. A system that helps me to show up little and often. A system that helps me to show up even when I don’t want to or need to but sadly, also a system I feel loyal to even when I need to put it down for a bit. It’s become increasingly clear to me that I need a creative break. Time away from the canvas, piano, laptop in order to fill my creative cup. I have no problem with this other than knowing that the second I stop creating I can, and always have, slipped into a dark space quickly. I become lethargic, moody and I’m generally not too much fun to be around. The way I work around this is that I put my creative work down BUT I pick my pragmatic practice up. I’m still moving the pencil but I’m not drawing upon any huge ideas. I’m just practicing my shading, I’m getting some extra piano lessons, I’m doing some writing exercises to wrestle my god-awful grammar into something legible. I go from the fire of inspiration to the labour of practice.
And honestly, there’s something strangely comforting about that shift. When inspiration leaves the room—and let’s be real, she doesn’t leave quietly, she slams the door and takes the snacks with her—practice becomes the steady friend who stays behind to help you clean up. Practice says, “It’s okay, we’ll just do something small today.” And even on the days when I’m dramatically flopped on the sofa like a Victorian poet with a mysterious illness, practice whispers, “Fine… then just do five minutes.”
The thing is, creativity isn’t meant to be a constant bonfire. It has seasons. Some days are flames and some days are embers, and some days are just the quiet warmth of coals under ash. When I try to force myself to stay in “flame mode,” I burn out fast. But when I allow myself to slip into the slower, more deliberate pace of practice, I stay connected without being consumed.
What I’ve learned is that creative rest doesn’t have to mean creative abandonment. You can step back from producing without stepping away from your creative identity. You can soften without stopping. You can rest without disappearing into the void where Netflix asks, with judgment in its eyes, “Are you still watching?”
Pragmatic practice keeps the gears oiled. It reminds your body what it feels like to move in the direction of your craft. There’s no pressure to be brilliant. No expectation to share anything. No high stakes. It’s creativity with the heat turned down to a gentle simmer.
And something magical happens there. In that quiet, low-pressure space, you start to notice things again. Instead of trying to invent ideas, you begin to absorb them. You find yourself looking a little closer, listening a little deeper. The world becomes interesting again because you finally gave yourself the space to let it.
So if you’re in a season where inspiration is hiding under a blanket somewhere, don’t panic. Don’t assume you’re broken. Just switch modes. Let practice take the wheel for a while. Your muse will wander back eventually, probably at an inconvenient time, but she always does. And when she returns, she’ll find you ready, grounded, and already moving.
Stay in motion,
You’ve got this.
Big Love
Ryan James x