Leisure as a Creative Practice
This essay is about rest, though it might look like it’s about writing.
When I first started writing again it was easy in the colder months. I had my son‘s nap time to carve out an hour or two if I was lucky. I would stay up late at night, and use my lunch break to scribble down ideas and scenes that seemed to come to me at breakneck pace. But as the weather warmed I wanted to be out and about again. I found myself torn between spending quality time with my family (the one thing that motivates me to show up at my 9-to-5 each day) or quiet time with my characters (the only thing I can imagine trading my 9-to-5 for).
For me, the hardest part about motherhood has been balancing alone time—which I deeply crave as an introvert—and cherishing every moment I can with my son while he still wants to spend time with me. The tug of time tormenting as usual…
My husband and I were always highly independent and could work side-by-side wordlessly for hours and both be perfectly content. Quality time with a toddler demands full presence in a way my marriage never did. And I need and deserve presence with the two of them. Some of my happiest moments—the ones that warm my chest and make me forget how hard the world can feel—are when I am with them in the sun admiring the waves crashing on the beach. Or sharing a packed picnic in a grassy field. Or when we’re just driving down the highway listening to the Sing soundtrack version of Shake It Off for the 1000th time. All this is to say, the pull of my own imagination and personal goals still exist. One thing I promised myself before becoming a mother is that I wouldn’t lose who I am to the family we were creating. That includes not dimming my dreams. I strongly believe that pursuing my dreams is a large part of being a good role model for my son. Especially as a woman raising a boy in a patriarchal society—it shows him that women are owed their own identity.
So imagine my surprise when the peak of summer hits, we’re spending most weekend mornings at the beach, and I am coming home with 500+ very rough words tapped out on my iPhone. As my son and husband played in the waves, dug deep sand pits to wade in, and tossed the frisbee to their invisible friend who never seemed to catch it, I was talking to my invisible friends under the beach umbrella. My usual routine of reading, cat naps, and searching for special rocks to add to my collection, became a compulsion to capture new scenes playing out in my mind. Pieces of my story started revealing themselves to me. Despite the glare of the sun on my phone and barely being able to see the keypad, I knew I would regret it if I didn’t write down what Poseidon was bestowing.
For a while I wondered about the magic power the beach seemed to hold. Why could I write 500 words in 30 minutes at the beach, but struggle for two hours at my desk? Did the rhythmic crashing of the waves transport me into a hyper-productive trance? Then I read STOLEN FOCUS by Johann Hari and it clicked: creativity needs space to wander. My brain wasn’t ‘off’ on the beach, it was making connections. It used the downtime to organize the information I’ve had rattling around in there for months into something coherent. I wasn’t forcing it. I was allowing it.
“The more you let your mind wander, the better you are at having organized personal goals, being creative, and making patient, long-term decisions… Mind-wandering allows ‘more extended trains of thought to unfold, which allows for more associations to be made.’”
When I stopped trying to force creative productivity it naturally did what brains do best and imagined. And it did so with such a force that even I couldn’t control it.
So now part of my writing process is incorporating leisure. Seeking out time to get inspired, rest, and let my mind wander. I keep myself in the work but not always actively working. As a working mother, I’m expected to squeeze effort out of every waking moment for the privilege of having a creative practice. But now I see how critical “doing nothing” truly is.
This essay isn’t about writing, it’s about rejecting the compulsion to be productive. It’s about how leisure is essential for creative pursuits. And if leisure is essential for creativity, maybe it’s essential for our humanity too.
I’m still learning this. Some weeks I forget and fall back into hustle mode, trying to force words out at my desk. But then I remember: the novel is getting written. Not in spite of the beach days, but because of them. Not by grinding harder, but by giving myself permission to rest.
