The Process Is the Inspiration
Some days, it’s the last thing I want to do. When it feels like more work after a long work day. Or I feel too vulnerable because I know I’m not all that good at it. Some days, it feels almost irresponsible when there’s so much to do in here, right in front of me—the chores to catch up on, the meals to make, the laundry to start. It’s usually when I start to feel like I’m running on fumes that I’m willing to get curious about spending an hour or two rebelliously off script.
It’s no secret how easy, and natural, it is for us to push to the edges of life anything that’s not essential to daily upkeep and survival. But I also know what awaits on the other side of breaking formation, of reaching for the fringe and seeing what doors swing open. And lately, that curiosity has led me out to the garden shed and to the cabinet where I keep my watercolor supplies. To a hobby that has become a lifeline.
Once there, I pull out the paints, the brushes, the paper. I grab the smock and tie it once around my neck, then twice around my waist. I slide open the window, push play on my favorite playlist, and settle in at my easel.
Rarely do I have an idea of what I’ll make of this blank page. Flowers, maybe. I’ll do my best to take it slow, to wait. I push away thoughts that distract from the ideas beginning to surface. I reach for one color, then another. Something starts to take shape, so I follow it. Some days, it doesn’t come easy. Some days, it feels like it won’t come at all—the sheets of experiments piled on the floor are proof.
Hours pass like this, and then, it clicks. An idea takes flight, and suddenly I’m only in the moment in front of me. This is when it gets fun, even unexpected, because it’s not only my brush but my mind that’s moving now, in and out of territories new and old. I’m doing, but also I’m dreaming. It’s as though this break in pace, in routine, gave my mind the rest it needed to roam, the permission to wander—and it found its way to that untapped world where fresh ideas live. Where chaos shapeshifts into clarity. Where inner knowings I forgot were there get reawakened.
“It’s as though this break in pace, in routine, gave my mind the rest it needed to roam, the permission to wander—and it found its way to that untapped world where fresh ideas live.”
I paint my last stroke and decide it’s good enough. At this point, the art was just for sport. What I found, or I guess what found me, in the process is what I’ll carry forward. Intentions for our family, vision for our work. You could call it inspiration, but what it feels like is uncovering new ways of being.
I used to think of inspiration as this bolt-of-lightning phenomenon or a stroke of genius reserved only for the most creative and industrious among us. But after more than 20 years of doing creative work, I can say with confidence that inspiration, like creativity, has no bias and no bounds. It’s a well that any of us can tap into—any of us willing to make space for it.
Illustration by Lida Ziruffo
There’s no single path when it comes to seeking inspiration. For me, it’s through actions that aren’t part of my everyday, even better if it’s a practice I’m still learning my way through—like painting—or rolling out a block of dough and letting my hands take over. There’s something about that choice to swerve out of the ordinary, the everyday, that prompts creativity to spark in me. And inspiration is often what follows.
Like a lit fuse, inspiration, when it catches, can be explosive. I’ve seen it catalyze action, jump-start creativity, and awaken dormant dreams. In my own life I’ve known it to ignite vision that I’d been looking for just about everywhere else. Inspiration offers us the unique thrill of creating something from nothing, something that is completely and distinctly from us—to shape and then to share.
I believe we are all made to be creators—of all sorts of things. Art or poetry for some. Buildings and bridges for others. But also of families and meals and connection. Also beauty and meaning and great change.
I’ve heard from too many people assuming they’re not the creative type if ideas don’t come naturally or all of a sudden. But we can’t all summon brilliance on cue, myself included. I’ve had to learn that finding meaningful inspiration sometimes requires a submission to discipline. It’s a practice of carving out time and space to let inspiration settle in. It can take shape however you’d like. Maybe it looks like quiet solitude. Or your happiest playlist. It might mean journaling or speaking your thoughts out loud into the space around you. It’s part action, part expectant waiting. And for me, it often takes a mental pep talk to get me out of the house and in front of my easel or a discard pile that covers the floor.
But it’s worth the fight to find my way to that source of potential and possibility that’s mine and mine alone. Especially when our world has made it so easy to be inspired by what’s out there. We can grab our phones and there it is: beauty en masse. We have at our fingertips admission to humanity’s most creative endeavors.
And while I’m grateful for the access, I also see the merit of honing our own instincts and trusting that our own well runs deep. Because there will come a time when you crave the flow of fresh inspiration. When you’re ready to make something of that empty wall, help your child with a school project, get the garden that you’ve been dreaming about out of your head and into the ground.
We all have ideas and dreams and knowings waiting in the wings, just hoping and praying we’ll believe ourselves worthy of the work it takes to pull them close and see where they lead.
This story has been adapted from the spring 2026 issue of Magnolia Journal. To see it in print, pick up your copy here or on a newsstand near you. Then, start a subscription for inspiration year-round.
