The One Thing

Image by Kelly Sikkema via Unsplash

What’s the one thing you need to embark on that creative project? That side hustle? That treasured, secret dream you haven’t yet shared with the world?

One hour a day.

The most common question I’m asked as an author/freelancer/mom of four (aside from how much coffee I drink each day) is how I wrote my first book. And because the coffee thing is far too personal and I fear your judgment on that front, I’ll answer the book question.

I began writing Summer Triangle when my children were young. To say I had little time to myself is like calling the Grand Canyon a ditch. I remember that stretch as a chaotic, joyful blur, full of sticky hands and big kisses, and I would give anything to spend a full day inside of it again with my boys. But they were saturated hours. Despite our busyness, I managed to stumble onto a quiet pocket of time.

After I picked my middle son up from preschool, I’d ask him a hundred questions. What did he learn? What games did he play? What books did they read? Eventually, after giving me as much side-eye as a four-year-old can manage (and it’s a lot, really), he said, “Mommy, please, I just need my snack and my show.”

He needed time to decompress. (Don’t we all!) So, we quickly found a new rhythm. After I tucked in his baby brothers for a nap, I’d set him up with a cartoon and a snack. Initially, the quietude bewildered me. I’d use the time to do a load of laundry, to prep dinner, or to do freelance research. At a certain point however, I tried something new.

I gave myself a whole hour without agenda.

That hour, over a few years, became a novel. In hindsight, I can see that that the relationships I created in Summer Triangle, a story anchored by the deep female friendship ties between three strong women, reflected a lack in my own life. One of my children was chronically ill at the time, and I didn’t realize how isolated I’d become in caregiving for him. I didn’t realize that my creative outlet had evolved into a much-needed salve, a respite from the worry and frenetic pace of young motherhood.

Now, of course, I’m beyond grateful that I took that “selfish” hour. I think of that hour now as a hallowed space for reflection, for creative work, for whatever it wishes to be.

As I continue to work on the sequel to Summer Triangle, the aspect of my writing routine that amuses me the most is that hour. Though my children are older now and in school all day, I still work wonders during “naptime.” I stun myself with my own productivity. I don’t think this is due to any genius on my part (though the coffee consumption certainly helps!) as much as it is my firm ritual. Every creative knows that effort is the only part of the process that we can control. We can’t control its outcome. We can’t micromanage how our work will someday be received.

But we can control that hour, and that hour is more than enough.

If you can commit yourself to one hour a day, you can work magic. Try it over a stretch of time, and watch a dream become tangible. After years spent committing to this daily ritual, I can attest to how your whole being rises to meet your best ideas. During that naptime hour, my mind sharpens. My imagination wanders. And eventually, I find my flow and become a conduit for creative power. It’s a power we all can access, though we do have to find time for it.

But don’t take my word for it.

The artist Andy Warhol was prolific, iconic, and also (shockingly?) a creature of routine. As his friend and collaborator Pat Hackett noted, “keeping his beloved ‘rut’” was key to Andy’s process. Like me, he valued the afternoon to begin his work. And while that’s a lovely coincidence, I recognize that the “naptime” hour is only a source of creative vitality for me because I’ve committed so much energy to it.

Your one hour will likely be different than mine. That’s fine. The magic doesn’t depend on a certain time of day, and your schedule doesn’t need to mimic a famous artist’s routine. Choosing an appointment time doesn’t matter. Showing up for it, on the other hand, is everything. And my experience has taught me that if I show up for my creativity for one hour, it will show up for me.

I hope you’ll make an hour all yours, too. Please let me know when the magic finds you there. (Because it will.)