Keep Going

Picture this: You wake up every morning, check your phone, and immediately feel like the world has gotten meaner and more chaotic overnight. Meanwhile, you've been pursuing your creative work for years, yet it doesn't seem to be getting any easier. You find yourself asking the same question that haunts every creative person: "How do I keep going?"

This universal struggle affects everyone trying to sustain a meaningful creative life, whether you're a writer staring at a blank page, an entrepreneur launching your first venture, or a recent graduate wondering how to turn your passion into purpose. The creative journey isn't a straight line from point A to point B—it's more like a loop where you keep returning to new starting points after every project. The key isn't waiting for it to get easier, but learning how to navigate the cycles with grace, purpose, and joy. What follows are ten essential strategies that can transform your relationship with creative work and help you build a sustainable practice that weathers both triumph and disappointment.

Think of your creative practice like the movie Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray's character wakes up to the same February morning over and over again. At first, this repetition feels like torture, but eventually he discovers that having the same framework each day actually provides the freedom to experiment and grow within that structure. This is the paradox of creative routine: what seems like limitation actually becomes liberation.

Consider the writer who discovered that her most productive years came not when she had endless free time, but when she was juggling a demanding day job and small children. She learned to write in fifteen-minute bursts before dawn, her routine becoming so automatic that her hands would reach for the notebook before her mind was fully awake. The constraint of limited time made every moment precious, and the consistency of her morning ritual trained her creativity to show up on command.

To establish your own sustainable routine, start by observing your natural rhythms and existing obligations. Are you most alert in the early morning or late at night? Where can you carve out consistent pockets of time, even if they're small? Create a simple ritual that signals to your brain it's time to create—perhaps sharpening pencils, lighting a candle, or playing the same piece of music. The specific elements matter less than the consistency. Build your routine around what you can realistically maintain, not what sounds impressive.

Remember that a routine isn't a prison—it's a scaffold that supports your creativity. When your days have a predictable shape, the moments that break from that pattern become even more meaningful and inspiring. The goal is to create enough structure that you don't waste mental energy deciding what to do next, freeing your mind to focus on the actual work of creating.

In our hyperconnected world, creativity requires something that's becoming increasingly rare: genuine solitude and uninterrupted focus. Joseph Campbell understood this when he advised everyone to build what he called a "bliss station"—a sacred space where you disconnect from the demands and noise of the world to connect with your deeper creative self.

A successful filmmaker once revealed that her breakthrough project came during a period when she treated her smartphone like a dangerous addiction. She would lock it in a drawer every morning and spend four hours in her small apartment corner, surrounded by notebooks and sketches, with nothing but natural light and silence. In this self-imposed isolation, ideas that had been buried under the constant buzz of notifications and social media finally had space to emerge and develop. The absence of external input allowed her internal voice to strengthen and clarify.

Your bliss station doesn't require a dedicated room or perfect conditions. It can be as simple as a specific chair at your kitchen table during the hour before your family wakes up, or a corner of your bedroom with noise-canceling headphones and airplane mode activated on all devices. The key is creating both a physical boundary and a temporal one—a sacred time and space where the outside world cannot intrude.

Start small but be consistent. Dedicate just fifteen minutes each day to disconnecting from all external input and connecting with your creative work. No phones, no internet, no interruptions. As Campbell promised, if you create and use this sacred space regularly, something meaningful will eventually happen. The bliss station becomes a refuge where your most authentic creative voice can finally be heard above the noise of modern life.

Too many people get trapped trying to become the right kind of person instead of simply doing the work that calls to them. They want the identity of "artist" or "entrepreneur" without embracing the daily practice of creating and building. This obsession with titles and categories becomes a creative straightjacket that limits possibility and authentic expression.

Watch a young child draw, and you'll witness pure focus on the verb rather than the noun. A two-year-old doesn't care about being called an "artist"—they're completely absorbed in the act of drawing itself. They'll use any medium available, from crayons to sidewalk chalk to mud, and they're utterly indifferent to whether their creation gets hung on the wall or thrown away. Their entire energy goes into the process, not the product or the recognition.

This childlike approach to creativity offers profound wisdom for adults who've lost their way in professional aspirations and external validation. Instead of asking "What kind of creative person am I?" start asking "What kind of creative work lights me up?" Focus on developing your skills and following your curiosity rather than crafting a perfect creative persona or waiting for someone else to give you permission to begin.

Free yourself from the limitations of job titles and categories. If you love writing, write—regardless of whether anyone has called you a "writer" yet. If you're drawn to visual art, start making images without worrying about whether you qualify as a "real artist." The people who sustain long creative careers are those who fall in love with the daily practice of their craft, not those who fall in love with the idea of creative success.

The most sustainable source of creative material isn't exotic travel or extraordinary experiences—it's learning to see the magic hidden in your everyday world. Great artists aren't necessarily those who live the most dramatic lives, but those who pay the most attention to whatever life they happen to have.

Sister Mary Corita Kent demonstrated this principle beautifully when she transformed ordinary Los Angeles advertising into spiritual art in the 1960s. She would walk through the city with her students, teaching them to use paper viewfinders to crop and frame the urban landscape around them. A Wonder Bread advertisement became a meditation on communion; a Safeway sign became a message about salvation. Kent didn't need to travel to exotic locations or wait for inspiration to strike—she found endless creative material by looking more carefully at what was already in front of her.

The practice of paying deeper attention can be cultivated through simple daily exercises. Try drawing the same tree outside your window for a week, noticing how light and weather change its appearance. Keep a small notebook and record overheard conversations, interesting shadows, or moments that catch your eye. Take a fifteen-minute walk through your neighborhood with the specific intention of noticing three things you've never seen before, despite passing them countless times.

Your current circumstances, however ordinary they may seem, contain all the raw material you need for extraordinary creative work. The key isn't changing your life to become more interesting—it's becoming more interested in the life you already have. When you develop this muscle of attention, you'll discover that inspiration isn't something you need to chase or wait for. It's everywhere, hiding in plain sight, waiting for someone curious enough to notice.

Creative work operates on nature's timeline, not society's demand for instant results and viral success. Like a gardener who plants seeds in spring knowing they won't see flowers until summer, creative people must learn to work with patience and trust in cycles that extend far beyond immediate gratification.

The painter David Hockney exemplifies this long-term approach to creative life. Well into his eighties, he continues to experiment with new mediums and techniques, approaching each day's work with the curiosity of someone just beginning their artistic journey. His career spans decades of different styles and phases, each building on what came before while remaining open to what might emerge next. His motto, "I'll go on until I fall over," reflects an understanding that creative growth never truly ends.

Begin thinking of your creative life in seasons rather than projects. Some periods will be about learning and gathering new skills, like a tree growing roots in winter. Other times will be about rapid production and sharing, like the abundant flowering of spring. Honor whatever season you're currently in rather than forcing yourself to be perpetually productive or constantly visible.

Plant seeds for your future creative self by investing in practices and relationships that may not pay off immediately but will nourish you for years to come. Read books outside your field, learn skills that seem unrelated to your main work, and build genuine connections with other creators. Trust that everything you're learning and experiencing is composting into the rich soil from which your best work will eventually grow. The goal isn't to rush toward some imagined finish line, but to tend your creative garden with enough patience and care that it can sustain you for a lifetime.

The creative life isn't about achieving a final destination where everything becomes easy and certain—it's about learning to thrive within the ongoing cycles of inspiration and doubt, productivity and rest, connection and solitude. As the book reminds us, "This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear." Your creative practice becomes a way of staying alive and engaged with the world, regardless of external circumstances.

The path forward is both simple and profound: focus on doing your verbs rather than becoming the perfect noun, pay attention to the ordinary world around you, create sustainable routines that protect your creative time, and trust in the long seasons of growth that genuine artistic development requires. Start where you are, use what you have, and remember that every day offers new opportunities to plant seeds for the creative life you want to cultivate. Keep going, keep growing, and keep faith in the quiet transformations happening beneath the surface of your daily practice.