My mornings start with a tiny act of betrayal.
Before you gasp in horror and wonder if I’m breaking hearts before breakfast, let me clarify: I betray my phone. It’s tempting, glowing there on my nightstand, whispering sweet nothings of notifications and doomscrolling. But no—we’re on a break. Instead, I reach for my notebook, my faithful co-conspirator in all things creative, and scribble. Groggy, barely legible stream-of-consciousness scribbles about my dreams, annoyances, or the state of my indoor plants (Rania, my monstera, is currently in what I call an “emotional winter”). These raw thoughts are nonsensical 95% of the time but deeply important because that’s how I loosen the valve on a day’s creativity.
I know, morning pages aren’t revolutionary—you’ve probably heard of them from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way or that one friend who swears they’re life-changing. But for me, they’re less about “unlocking creative blocks” (though that’s a perk) and more about showing up for myself before the world barges in.
Let me take you through a candid tour of my creative rituals, the eclectic mix of habits that keep my brain fertile for ideas and my heart tethered to inspiration. There’s a little Parisian café culture, a touch of Egyptian mysticism, and a whole lot of caffeine involved.
1. Tea, but Make It a Seduction
My relationship with tea is less “I need caffeine” and more “I need romance.” Growing up in Alexandria, tea wasn’t just a drink—it was an event. My grandmother would brew black tea so strong it could practically qualify as an Olympic sport, then patiently steep it with mint leaves, as though she were coaxing secrets from the leaves themselves.
Now in London, my ritual involves Moroccan mint tea served in one of those little glasses that make me feel like a glamorous 1960s movie star, even in pajamas. Before I even begin to write, I swirl the glass, inhale the steam, and feel a bit like I’m performing a spell. And maybe I am. There’s something about preparing tea with intention that signals: “Hey, Zahra, it’s time to create.” It’s meditative, sensual, and a reminder that creativity thrives when you treat it as a relationship, with ritual and respect.
Pro Tip for the Modern Romantics: Whether it’s coffee, tea, or your pre-workout smoothie, create a moment of reverence in your drink routine. Sip slowly. Channel your inner Elizabeth Bennet staring wistfully out of a rain-streaked window.
2. A Walk (Preferably in the Rain, but I’ll Settle)
Paris taught me that walking isn’t just transportation; it’s inspiration on two feet. When I lived there, I spent hours wandering the Seine, sometimes with a purpose (usually involving croissants), but often just to watch life unfold—the accordion player on the corner, a couple kissing by the river, pigeons strutting about like they owned the place.
Now on brisk London mornings, I tug on a coat, ignore the drizzle, and let my thoughts marinate as I walk along the Thames. It’s the lack of structure that unlocks ideas, the gentle rhythm of my feet counterbalancing the chaos in my brain. And yes, I’m fully aware I look like a supporting character in an angsty film when I stop to journal something under a lamppost.
Real-World Relationship Parallel: Walking clears up creative cobwebs much like giving each other space in a relationship can. Sometimes, stepping away is the most productive kind of intimacy.
3. Make Space for a Sacred Mess
Here’s a thing you may not expect about me: I love chaos—but only on paper. My desk, on the other hand, is suspiciously neat. From Paris to Alexandria, I grew up around women (looking at you, Mom) who believed that “tidy environment, tidy mind” was law. While there’s wisdom in that—I mean, who can focus when last week’s laundry pile is threatening a coup?—I also know that creativity thrives when it’s messy.
So, I created a ritual: the “Sacred Mess Zone.” This is where nothing has to “make sense” yet. I’ll stick notes with half-baked ideas on my wall or paste magazine scraps into a journal without overthinking why. It’s freedom without judgment, the creative equivalent of dancing badly when no one’s around. Once the ideas have had their chaotic fun, I organize them into actionable projects later.
Try This: Whether it’s a literal corkboard or a notes app blowout, let your thoughts get messy. And who knows? Today’s terrible idea might be tomorrow’s masterpiece-in-the-making.
4. The Power of a “Room Escape”
Whenever I’m convinced my writing belongs in the metaphorical trash (hello, impostor syndrome, we meet again), my environment becomes my escape hatch. This habit began when I lived in a tiny Parisian apartment and would shuffle to the café downstairs the moment I hit a mental wall. Surrounded by the low hum of conversation and the clinking of espresso cups, I found new focus.
These days, escaping might mean switching rooms or sneaking off to a nearby bookstore to write. It’s a simple reset, but it works. There’s science behind it, too: changing your environment refocuses your brain, as if giving it a fresh pair of glasses.
The Dating Parallel Worth Noting: If you’re stuck in a relationship rut, consider a change of scenery—whether it’s trying a salsa class instead of Netflix or simply walking a different park trail. A fresh environment does wonders for the heart and the mind.
5. Tapping into Music Alchemy
Every writer I know has a playlist, and I am no exception. Mine? A weirdly satisfying mix of Umm Kulthum ballads, Édith Piaf classics, and that one Amélie soundtrack (you know the one). And don’t even get me started on the oud music I play when I want to feel dramatic—I swear it makes me write dialogue like I’m scripting the next big romantic drama. Music becomes a portal, carrying me to places words alone don’t seem to reach.
Sometimes, when words feel stubborn, I pause and let the music speak. I’ll sway around my kitchen (sorry, neighbors), imagining how the scenes I’m trying to write would play out as a cinematic montage. Call it method writing, call it delusional—it works every time.
DIY a Soundtrack for Your Life: Find the songs that unlock parts of you you didn’t know needed unlocking. Dare I say, it’s better than therapy. (Well, not better but cheaper).
6. Marinating Ideas, Like the Perfect Mahshi
Creativity, I’ve learned, is less about grinding out perfect drafts and more about letting ideas simmer. Forgive yet another food metaphor, but writing often feels like making mahshi, stuffed vegetables—a labor-intensive Egyptian dish my mother insists is "an art form, not a recipe." You layer flavors, you adjust spices, you taste, and then…you wait. You let the flavors meld.
For me, cooking is equal parts therapy and metaphorical teacher. It reminds me that rushing creativity is about as productive as trying to fix messy feelings in five minutes flat. Patience breeds payoff.
Actionable Tip: Whether it’s writing, relationships, or life in general—give your ideas or emotions time to “cook.” Write it bad the first time. Sit with it. Then come back when it’s ready.
A Note on Honoring the Chaos
Let me conclude with this: Creativity is a lover you have to woo, a dance where the steps are never quite the same. It’s playful but demanding, romantic but moody. And like any good love story, there’s trial and error, humor, and learning to be OK with not having it all figured out.
If you’re reading this unsure how to carve space for your own creative rituals, start small. Boil tea. Take a walk. Sing terribly to a playlist that touches your soul. Remember, the goal isn’t perfection—it’s connection. With yourself, your ideas, and the joy of the process.
Now if you’ll excuse me, Rania the monstera and I have a staring contest to resume. Turns out creativity isn’t the only diva in the house.
