You know that scene in every rom-com where the protagonist finally gets their life together? There’s a montage of them at their desk with candles lit, notebooks sprawled open, and some moody playlist playing in the background. That’s not me. My creative rituals are less “highly produced Netflix montage” and more “guy wandering around Santa Monica mumbling to himself.” But somehow, it works. Creativity is messy—beautifully so. And if you’re someone who’s trying to unlock that spark (without turning into a Method Actor version of yourself), let me walk you through my process. Spoiler: It involves a lot of caffeine, ocean breezes, and stolen moments of inspiration.

The Morning Ritual: Coffee, Sea Mist, and Daydreams

Let’s start with the mornings. I’m a strong believer in their power. They’re like a first date—full of promise, and nothing has been ruined yet.

My day typically begins with a cup of coffee brewed with meticulous care. While most people hit “brew” on their espresso machines and move on, my pour-over setup looks like I’m auditioning for a role as a barista in an indie movie. I measure the beans, heat the water to a very specific temperature, and pour in slow, hypnotic circles. Why? Because this moment of focus sets the tone for the rest of my day. And, frankly, because if I don’t concentrate, I’ll end up spilling coffee grounds all over the kitchen (again).

Coffee in hand, I’ll walk down to the Santa Monica pier. This is my favorite moment of the day—the ocean breeze carrying the faint scent of salt, the shushing of waves mingling with early morning joggers and the occasional shout from someone who partied a bit too hard the night before. It’s grounding, humbling, and reminds me of all my favorite relationships—steady, awe-inspiring, with just a touch of unpredictability.

Pro tip: Whether you’re by the ocean, a park, or even a neighborhood full of bougainvillea-draped fences, find a place that feels bigger than your to-do list. Let it recalibrate you before checking emails or doom-scrolling TikTok.

The “Unplug and Fidget” Method

A lot of people think creativity sparks when you’re laser-focused on a task. For me, it often shows up when I’m not paying attention—like an ex who slides into your DMs just as you’ve moved on. My greatest ideas have come not while staring at a blank page but while, say, folding laundry or untangling my absurd collection of headphones.

Here’s the deal: Our brains crave a sense of rhythm. When my hands are busy with something mundane, my mind wanders in unexpected directions. I’ll think about the eucalyptus trees lining the street outside or how dating is basically a game of ecological succession. (Stay with me on this: you’re either starting new ground, like that first spark of weeds on barren soil, or tending a thriving old forest that just needs some pruning. See? Nature, like relationships, is endlessly useful.)

If you’re stuck on a problem or struggling for inspiration, don’t force it. Go bake banana bread. Clean your closet. Find an old jigsaw puzzle—you know, the one you started during quarantine and promptly abandoned. You’d be shocked how those moments of stillness allow your subconscious to do the heavy lifting.

Ditch the Perfect Desk—Find Magic in New Spaces

Here’s something that took me years (and way too many Pinterest boards) to figure out: the perfect workspace is a myth. Sure, I have a gorgeous desk at home with a view of the ocean, stacked books, and a candle that supposedly smells like “coastal fog.” Do I write there? Rarely.

Instead, you can find me bouncing between three locations:

  1. The coffee shop two blocks over. Pros: Excellent oat milk latte options. Cons: Constant danger of spending $15 on a gluten-free pastry.
  2. The beach. I bring one of those tiny folding chairs that make you look like you’re auditioning for a Patagonia ad. Writing with sand between my toes? Absolute bliss.
  3. The random bench near the farmer’s market. It’s shaded under some jacaranda trees, and when I sit there, I can people-watch for hours—couples flirting over market stalls, toddlers throwing tantrums over strawberries. It’s storytelling waiting to happen.

The takeaway? Shake up your routine. Creativity loves novelty, so don’t trap yourself in the same four walls. Move around. Be curious. Let the world be your co-writer because every little scene you observe is fuel for your brain—even if it’s just about the guy in a neon tank top trying to haggle over kale.

Befriending the Muse: It’s Hawthorne, Not Beyoncé

People like to romanticize the muse. They think it’s this glamorous, ethereal force that drifts in like Beyoncé on a wind machine. My muse is decidedly less chic. I call her “Hawthorne,” because like those stubborn hawthorn trees you see in the coastal chaparral, she’s scraggly, kinda temperamental, but rooted. She shows up when she feels like it and often requires bribery.

Bribery, for me, looks like snacks (a bowl of almonds works wonders), switching up my playlist (Fleetwood Mac’s Tusk always brings her back), or rereading East of Eden until I’m re-inspired by John Steinbeck’s ability to make me feel things about irrigation canals. When Hawthorne finally shows up, I don’t waste time questioning her methods. I just go with it.

The lesson here: Stop waiting for creativity to feel glamorous. She’s more likely to show up in your sweatpants than when you're in an Instagram-worthy outfit. Set the stage, do your weird little rituals, and trust she’ll eventually make an appearance.

Closing Time: Reflect, Recharge, Repeat

Creativity isn’t a sprint—it’s a marathon. Or, in my case, it’s more like paddleboarding. It looks peaceful from the outside, but underneath, you’re awkwardly trying to balance while hoping no one notices you’ve fallen off half a dozen times. I end my day by reflecting on what went well and what didn’t. One habit I’ve borrowed from my parents (who used dinners to openly talk about wins and failures) is asking myself: How did I connect today?

When we’re creative—really creative—we connect. To ourselves. To others. To a memory, an emotion, or even an idea that feels kickstarted by something larger than us. Whether it’s crafting a sentence or, honestly, just noticing the spark of chemistry between two strangers in line at the farmer's market, those connections fuel everything.

So, to you, dear reader: Give yourself permission to stumble, to explore, to be wildly imperfect. Creativity doesn’t come from flawless routines or Pinterest-worthy workspaces. It comes from being curious, from showing up, and from finding ways to fall endlessly in love with life—and all its messy, stunning, ridiculous beauty.