Life is messy, chaotic, and sometimes downright unpredictable—kind of like being on a first date with someone whose profile picture clearly lied about their height but are charming enough that you're still considering dessert. Creativity, though? Creativity craves structure. It's the calm in the storm, the thing that keeps me sane when the world gets noisy. People often ask me, “Raúl, how do you find time to write when life is pulling at you from all directions?” My answer? Rituals. Small ones. Quirky, unshakeable routines that keep me balanced and a little bit magical. If life is a love story, these are the things that keep the romance alive.
Wake Up, Smell the Coffee, and Hear the Ancestors
Every morning, without fail, I start my day by making a cafecito that could wake the dead—or at least win the approval of my abuela. It’s not just about the caffeine; it’s a connection to my roots. As I brew it in my battered, decades-old stovetop espresso maker, I hear the voices of family members long gone urging me to write something worth their patience.
Once the espresso is ready, I pour it into a tiny cup (because tiny cups scream grandeur), sprinkle in enough sugar to offend at least one cardiologist, and take it outside. Sitting on my porch, I sip slowly while watching my neighborhood wake up. There’s always something poetic about the sound of life starting over every morning—neighbors arguing about parking spots, delivery trucks rumbling by, birds gossiping from the power lines. It’s like a soundtrack to remind me that stories are everywhere, even in Hialeah's unglamorous corners.
Pro tip: Your ritual doesn’t have to involve caffeine. But start your day with something that makes you pause—something that anchors you. Whether it’s a five-minute breathing exercise or serenading your cat with Adele’s greatest hits, the point is creating intention.
Write as the World Sleeps (or Watches Netflix)
I’m a night owl. Always have been. It might be the Cuban rhythms in my veins, but I think better after dark. Daytime is for to-do lists and sunscreen; nighttime is for ideas. Once the world has quieted down—and by quiet, I mean the neighbors’ kids stopped blasting Bad Bunny—I open my laptop and let my brain untangle itself through words.
Usually, I light a sandalwood candle. Not because I’m trying to be deep but because it drowns out the faint aroma of last night’s ropa vieja still clinging to my kitchen. Then, I play music (Afro-Cuban jazz for reflection, Beyoncé for confidence, Celia Cruz for moments when life feels too serious). With my playlist looping, I type.
Sometimes, it’s gold. Sometimes, it’s trash. But that’s the thing about relationships—whether it’s with writing or with a person—showing up is half the battle. And honestly, some of my best work comes after midnight, probably because my “what if this sucks?” filter is way slower at 2 a.m.
Pro tip: Find your creative window. Are you a sunrise thinker, a lunch break dreamer, or a midnight philosopher? Lean into it. Your creativity has a rhythm; follow its lead.
The Walk That Cures Writer’s Block (and Existential Crises)
Despite how romantic the movies make it seem, staring at a blank page while stewing in your feelings doesn’t produce brilliance. Whenever I’m stuck, I walk. But I don’t just walk—I wander.
Hialeah gives me endless material. One minute, I’m admiring pastel-colored houses; the next, I’m listening in on old men arguing about lechón over dominos. There’s an intimacy to observation, a reminder that inspiration isn’t just found in the extraordinary. It’s the little moments, like a glance shared between two people at a bus stop or the exaggerated groan of someone recounting their bad date.
I don’t bring my phone, either. (Okay, I do, but only in case of an emergency, like forgetting that one place on 49th Street that makes killer pan con bistec). Instead, I focus on the present—on smells, sounds, and details I would normally tune out. Creativity thrives on wonder, and wonder can’t exist if we’re glued to screens.
Pro tip: If walking’s not your thing, choose another habit that forces you to move or engage. Dance around your living room, take a shower, garden, hit the gym—anything that shifts your energy and reminds you there’s a world outside your head.
Find Your Creative Partner (Mine’s Not Who You’d Expect)
In romance, compatibility is everything. The same holds true for creativity. My unlikely partner-in-crime? My seven-year-old niece. Every Sunday afternoon, we sit on the floor of my apartment armed with crayons, a notebook, and way too many snacks. While she draws unicorns wearing sunglasses (her new fixation), I jot down ideas—sometimes for short stories, sometimes just rambling nonsense.
She doesn’t care if I’m stuck or uninspired. “Just make something up, tío,” she says, matter-of-factly, through a mouthful of cheese puffs. Her unfiltered perspective reminds me that creativity isn’t always some celestial gift; sometimes, it’s just the act of starting—of putting pen to paper, even if your first try looks like something only a seven-year-old would be proud of.
Pro tip: Creativity thrives when you’re not alone. Whether it’s a friend, a partner, or even a podcast host, share your process with someone who can remind you not to take yourself too seriously.
Sweet Treats and Big Rewards
Here’s the deal: if you’re not bribing yourself to stay productive, you’re doing it wrong. Finish an article? Abuelita hot chocolate by candlelight. Hit my word count for the week? Cuban pastries from the panadería down the street, specifically guava-filled ones that will haunt your dreams.
When people roll their eyes at the idea of rewards, I remind them: you wouldn’t train a puppy without a treat. Same logic applies to creativity—sometimes, the reward isn’t even for finishing something extraordinary; it’s for showing up.
Besides, the occasional indulgence is a reminder that the little joys are just as important as the big milestones. Nurturing creativity is like dating—it’s not just about the grand gestures but the everyday affection.
Pro tip: Set goals and celebrate reaching them, no matter how small they seem. Whether it’s a fancy cocktail or a skincare splurge, treat yourself.
The Love Language of Time
People often think creativity is a gift that strikes without warning, like Cupid’s arrow at a really well-lit Target. But creativity, like love, takes commitment. My rituals—cafecito mornings, nighttime writing sessions, walks through my neighborhood, silly afternoons with my niece—are my way of telling my creative self, "I’m here for you.”
So whatever your thing is—writing, painting, cooking, raising plants you haven’t killed yet—give it the affection it deserves. Build rituals. Show up even when you’re uninspired. And when you wonder if it’s worth the effort, remind yourself: the best connections in life, creative or otherwise, are the ones that make us feel most alive.
