After I get my work done

Tasks that were once the chores of the pre-industrial world are now outlets for creative expression. (The U.S. National Archives)

This spring, when I had a long and complicated commute in a sprawling city, I found myself looking forward to being back in Maine, able to create my own schedule.

I spent several hours a day at work, serving as the director of the microschool I founded ten years ago.

Solitude was scarce, and free time was limited.

And now, I have returned to Maine. And I’m feeling just as busy as I was when I had that job and commute.

How is this possible? Why do I feel a constant need to “catch up”? Why do I find myself longing for creative time instead of enjoying plenty of it?

I knew that I could only do so much creative work this spring, so I made it a priority. I set aside as much time as I could, and then I was as efficient as I could be with the rest of my work.

This summer, on the other hand, I had hours every day. I made creative work my primary focus and let household and administrative tasks fall by the wayside so that I could spend even more time creating.

Now, I’m reaping the fruits of my creative labor — new clients, new programming — and taking care of some long-deferred personal and business housekeeping.

But the pendulum has swung back a little too far that way. I’m seeking order. I want to check all of the tasks off of my list before I sit down to write. I want a clean house, a tidy office, and an empty email inbox. I want to have no outstanding obligations. I want a beautiful space in which to do creative work before I do any creative work.

That is simply incompatible with actually doing creative work.

Just as there will never be an end to my creative impulses, there will never be an end to the chores that need to be done, the messages that are waiting for a response, and the refinements I might want to make to my surroundings.

I can’t wait until after I get my work done to create. The creative work is work, too. It needs to be slotted in from the beginning, not deferred until there’s nothing else pressing.

Obviously, I won’t make anything if I don’t spend time making things. But there’s another, deeper problem that comes along with a pattern of putting off creative time: The longer I go without, the harder it becomes to get back into it. There’s a real loss of momentum and confidence. There’s a loss of identity that happens if I stop. It’s the difference between, “I’m an artist,” and “I used to be an artist.”

Closing that gap is a question of simply doing the work, but if my self-confidence falters, I will start overthinking things. That makes it much harder to just pick up where I left off.

I’ve experienced this cycle a number of times in the past, and it’s inevitable that future life events will disrupt my creative rhythms again. If I understand what’s happening, that will go a long way toward helping me to recover with less angst and frustration.

Thus, I know that the antidote is not to patiently wait it out and imagine that life will slow down sufficiently to allow me to find time for creative work again. I know that I have to deliberately, intentionally, and perhaps a little subversively carve time out of my week to write and sing and play.

I don’t know what will come of it, and that’s partly the point. Not everything that I make will be polished up and published. The creative work I am craving isn’t just another item on my to-do list; it’s meant to be a respite from that productivity mindset. I need space to dream, experiment, and ponder without the pressure of a deliverable.

Is it a luxury to have time to make art? It doesn’t matter. I get to set up my own life according to my own priorities, and to me, it is a necessity. If that means that I scale back my work responsibilities accordingly, so be it. If it means that my lifetime earnings will be lower, that is the price that I’m willing to pay.

Ironically, however, I’ve observed that the more I honor and embrace my creative side, the more professional success I tend to find. I make better decisions, work more effectively, and attract interesting clients and collaborators.

So, in this current moment, I’m rededicating myself to my creative work and creative life. I’ll find the time and figure out what I want to with it. The rest of my work can wait.

Is creative time important to you? How do you make space for it despite your other obligations? Has there been a time in your life when this worked particularly well? Has there been a time when it was particularly challenging? I’d love to hear.