Why My Creativity Starts with Chopping Wood (and Other Odd Habits)

I used to think “creative rituals” were reserved for painters sprawled out in Parisian lofts, sipping espresso and staring meaningfully at the Seine. But then I realized my own rituals were right under my nose: chopping wood in the middle of a frosty Tahoe morning. Who needs Paris when you have pine trees, a splitting maul, and a well-loved trucker hat to catch the sweat?

That’s the funny thing about creativity—it often sneaks up on you in the most ordinary (and sometimes ridiculous) ways. Over the years, I’ve developed a few quirky habits that not only stoke the flames of creativity but also keep me grounded and inspired. Whether you’re writing love poems or just trying to muster the courage to text your crush “Hey :)” without overthinking it, you might find a dose of inspiration in these decidedly down-to-earth routines.

1. The Morning Stumble: Let Nature Wake You Up

I’ll be honest—mornings in Tahoe are not glamorous. My day starts with a bleary-eyed shuffle towards the door, still halfway tangled in last night’s dreams and probably losing a sock en route. But once I step outside into the crisp air, creativity begins to stir before caffeine even has a chance.

Here’s the ritual: I make myself a warm drink (coffee for winter, herbal tea in summer), bundle up, and wander outside. I walk barefoot when I can, feeling the sting of cold earth or the crunch of frost underfoot. It’s a shock to the system, sure, but it also jolts my mind awake in a way no alarm clock ever could.

What’s the point? Because once you’ve faced the icy wrath of morning nature, you realize you can face just about anything—even writer’s block or an awkward first date.

Your Takeaway: Start the morning with a deliberate action that connects you to your surroundings. Open a window and breathe. Take a moment to stand on your porch. Let nature wipe the sleep from your face, no matter what version of “nature” you have outside your door.

2. Chopping Wood… Literally

Chopping wood isn’t just a survival skill in the mountains—it’s my version of therapy. You’re out there in a flannel shirt (because, let’s be honest, flannel makes everything feel more purposeful) with nothing but the rhythmic crack of wood splitting and the satisfying thwack of blade on log. It’s primal, meditative, and oddly invigorating.

Some people do yoga; I chop wood. Clearing your mind through physical activity helps ideas take shape in the background, kind of like leaving a stew to simmer while you build the campfire.

One snowy morning, mid-swing, an idea hit me for how to tackle a tough story draft. The rhythm of lifting and striking, combined with the mental quiet, created enough space for the solution to pop into view like a deer stepping cautiously out of the trees. Coincidentally, it’s also a great time to mentally script the perfect apology text after an unintentional romantic faux pas. (Roses are great, but a heartfelt, on-point text is better.)

Your Takeaway: Find a physical ritual to give your brain some space. It might be running, gardening, or handwashing your dishes while you think through life’s little challenges. Whatever it is, make it repetitive and soothing—it’s productivity disguised as rest.

3. Eavesdropping on the Wind

I live in a place where the wind speaks a language all its own. When the afternoon kicks up a breeze and the aspens start whispering, I leave what I’m doing, sit outside, and just… listen. Some people call it zoning out; I call it research.

There’s a creativity boost that comes with purposeful stillness. I think of it as allowing my brain to tune into its own frequency—listening to the stories it wants to tell but hasn’t had the space for. It’s not all poetry and beauty, though. Sometimes, the wind helps me work through rough patches. Like that one time I spent two hours dissecting the mixed signals from a date—it took sitting among the trees to realize that maybe, just maybe, “I’ll let you know” wasn’t my soulmate texting back.

Your Takeaway: Build one moment each day for quiet reflection. Don’t force yourself to “think creatively” during this time; just let your thoughts run wild. Whether it’s sitting on your balcony or leaning against your favorite café wall, embracing stillness has a way of whispering new ideas—if you let it.

4. Writing by Campfire Light (Sort of)

Real talk: I love campfires. I’ve written more stories under the pop and crackle of flames than I can count. But on nights when fire bans are in place or I’m lazy, my solution is candles. Specifically, the kind of candles with wood wicks that crackle as they burn.

Light one, curl up with your notebook or laptop, and let the ambient glow and gentle sound carry you to that creative place. Writing by firelight connects me to something primal yet forgiving. It reminds me that not every word needs to be polished to a high shine—some words burn bright for a moment and then drift away as ash. Those are just as valuable as the ones that stick.

The metaphor applies to relationships, too. Not every spark is meant to last—some connections are fleeting campfires, while others are more like the slow-burning embers of a well-tended hearth. Both can serve their purpose, and you don’t always have to agonize over why a flame went out. (Just don’t use this logic when ghosting someone. That, my friend, is not “ethereal” energy—it’s bad manners.)

Your Takeaway: Create an atmosphere for creativity. It might be candles, string lights, or even a playlist of lo-fi beats. Mood matters when you’re tapping into that creative flow.

5. Stealing Time for Yourself

Between balancing work, relationships, and the occasional existential dilemma (Will I ever find someone who appreciates my vinyl folk record collection?), I’ve learned the art of stealing time. Sometimes, creativity grows best when it feels spontaneous—like when you’re stuck in line at the DMV and randomly jot down a note that turns into a brilliant idea later.

I think of these stolen moments as “creative snacks.” They’re small but satisfying: a two-minute scribbled thought while waiting for water to boil, a ten-minute journal session while parked at a trailhead before a hike. And if you’re looking for love or deep connection, these little moments to reflect on yourself are gold. You might not know what you want in a partner until you steal five quiet minutes to consider it.

Your Takeaway: Don’t wait for the perfect conditions to be creative. Grasp inspiration in stolen moments. It’s often when you least expect it that your mind is ready to cook up something great.

Closing Thoughts: Your Rituals, Your Way

Here’s the thing: Creative rituals don’t have to look impressive or make sense to anyone else. They can be as messy, weird, or downright absurd as you want. Whether you’re running a scenic trail in Tahoe or doodling love poems on grocery receipts, the magic lies in making space for your mind to roam free.

So start small. Step outside tomorrow morning, breathe in the air, and let yourself stumble through your own creative process. Because the best ideas—like the best relationships—aren’t born from perfect conditions; they’re created in the quiet, raw, everyday moments where life truly happens.