Why My Creative Rituals Miss Half the Bears Games (and Other Truths About Finding Your Flow)

Introduction: Coffee, Clocks, and Chaos

Creativity is wild. She’s that unpredictable friend who’s either the life of the party or MIA with zero explanation. Sometimes you’ll sit down, pen ready, and she’s giving you a standing ovation in your mind. Other times? She’s ghosting harder than your middle school crush after you confessed your love via AIM. The key? Luring her in with rituals that make her feel welcome and important.

I’ve spent years fine-tuning the little habits that help me tap into my creative groove. As both a writer of novels filled with jazz and city sidewalks, and a guy who occasionally debates whether putting Sriracha on leftover pizza is breakfast or brilliance, I’ve learned that rituals aren’t just small—they’re sacred. So whether you’re writing love letters, painting murals, or plotting your next career move, here are my creative go-tos that might just inspire yours.

The Sunday Morning Groove with Miles and Mugs

First, let me tell you about my Sundays.

Picture this: The South Side is quiet, except for the low hum of wind against my window and Lionel across the street arguing with his dog about why squirrels are undefeated. I sit at my desk armed with two essentials: French press coffee strong enough to wake James Baldwin from a nap and a Miles Davis playlist humming in the background. On days like this, when the saxophone curls around me like incense and caffeine ignites my brain, I can write for hours.

Music matters. Research will tell you it stimulates your brain, but for me, it’s also romantic—filling the atmosphere with just enough rhythm to train my wandering mind. My advice? Find your own “background fuel.” Film scores, ocean waves, that one lo-fi hip-hop loop your roommate swears has healing powers—it doesn’t matter. The point is, it becomes a score to your session.

And the coffee? Justice for all creatives who pour their best ideas between cups.

Walks Are My TED Talks

Staring at a blank screen for hours is how you end up doubting every life choice, including why you thought bangs could work for you back in junior year. So when the words won’t come, I go outside. The goal isn’t exercise (though, frankly, my Fitbit appreciates the effort)—it’s perspective.

There’s something about walking that rearranges your brain like a Tetris game:

  • The rhythm of your feet connects you to the Earth, which makes you feel less stuck.
  • Watching the world move around you (kids playing tag, couples deciding between tacos or pizza) reminds you that life is rich and chaotic—a perfect setting for creative ideas.
  • And if you’re walking in Chicago, dodging cars and navigating uneven sidewalks activates survival instincts that definitely kick-start your adrenaline.

Bonus tip? Loop in a podcast on a topic unrelated to your project. Trust me, a five-minute deep dive into the politics of mushroom farming is weirdly effective.

The Mood Shifter: Switch Your Space

There’s this unspoken rule in Chicago: if you’ve got creative ambitions, you WILL romanticize working at a coffee shop, no questions asked. Blame the vibe—dim lighting, artsy people with dramatic glasses, and that one impressive overachiever building a website from scratch.

When my home office feels creatively stale, I pack up my notebook and head to a local café. The change in scenery jolts my brain like a plot twist in your favorite TV drama. I’m suddenly tuned in—not to myself, but to the collective energy around me. I’ll jot down snippets of overheard conversations or eyeball the dozen novels other patrons are revising. (Chicago writers, I see you. We’re all rewriting the same chapter, aren’t we?)

If you don’t have access to a café, let your playlist transport you. Create an “Airport Vibes,” “Rainy Day London,” or “Parisian Jazz Café” mood in your living room. Ambiance is a cheat code.

The Page-Turner Routine

A key part of my creative ritual isn’t even writing—it’s reading. Before diving into my own work, I’ll spend about 10-15 minutes revisiting someone else’s magic. Gwendolyn Brooks, James Baldwin, an article that unexpectedly hit me in the feels—anything that pushes my imagination uphill.

Reading other people’s ideas is like browsing a buffet. You’re not stealing; you’re borrowing flavors and remixing them into your own stash. Take what lights you up, then twist it into something fresh.

And for my visual or auditory learners out there? Substitute books for guitar solos, design sketches, or even a hype-inducing motivational video on YouTube. Whatever makes you sit down and go, “Damn, now I wanna make something.”

The Nightcap Ritual

Creatives talk a lot about morning habits, but let me show some love to the “closing ceremony.” After a day of good (and, let’s be honest, sometimes bad) writing, I like to unplug with something tactile and small:

  • Folding laundry, because it feels like organizing chaos on a micro level (and it reminds me to call my mom when I see the socks she mailed).
  • Cooking something complicated enough to force me to focus, like a stew that makes my apartment smell like the kind of love you only find in Toni Morrison novels.
  • Flipping through an old photo album. Nostalgia often sparks ideas better than staring at a blinking cursor.

The point is, creativity doesn’t just happen “on duty.” Letting yourself unwind off the clock is often when your best ideas quietly slip in.

Putting It All Together

These rituals are more than habits—they’re anchors. They’re the way I tell myself, “Okay, this part of the day is about dreaming up something new.” And while some of my rituals (coffee, Miles Davis, aimless walks) are my holy grail, the real lesson I learned is this: Creating isn’t about reinventing the wheel; it’s about setting the stage so creativity knows she’s welcome.

Now, here’s your takeaway: what’s your “Miles Davis”? What triggers your flow? Start small. Try music, scents, timing, or a walk to nowhere. Before you know it, you’ve got your own recipe for making magic.

And when in doubt, pour another cup of coffee and trust the process. Trust yourself. Creativity never fully disappears—she’s just waiting for you to meet her halfway.