Rituals seem to get a bad rap these days. They’re either bundled with the realm of mystics and moon water or seen as just another box to tick on the endless self-improvement checklist. But the truth is, my creative rituals are what keep me grounded, fueled, and—let’s be honest—sane. Not to mention, they’re probably the only reason I’ve ever gotten anything meaningful written down. Creativity isn’t a faucet you can crank on demand; it’s more like one of those old hand-pumps you’d find on a ranch. It takes a little coaxing…and maybe a fair bit of elbow grease.

Here’s how I show up for my own creativity. Think of it as trail markers on a hike: the routines that keep me from wandering too far off course.

Mornings Are for the Muse (But Only After Coffee)

Out on the ranch, mornings were sacred—equal parts serene and chaotic, depending on whether the horses decided to cooperate. I’ve carried that same reverence into my adult life. Whether I’m in Telluride or here at my desk, mornings are when my mind is sharpest, but not before my ritual caffeine consumption.

Coffee first. Writing second. That’s the rule.

I brew my coffee in a beat-up, red enamelware percolator that’s been with me since my tour guide days. Nothing fancy—just black, strong, and hot enough to curl your eyelashes. The scent alone sparks nostalgia, like crisp mornings in the mountains when the cold air bites your skin just enough to make you feel alive. That first sip? Pure ignition.

A lot of people think the hardest part of writing (or creating anything, for that matter) is getting started. Here’s the trick: I write terrible sentences on purpose. “Gray," I tell myself, "lower the bar so low you can step over it without trying." Before I know it, the muse shows up, scrappy but ready.

Pro tip: Whatever your craft—writing, painting, interpretive dance—find a morning ritual that lights you up. If you’re the type who needs a playlist, throw on Willie Nelson singing “On the Road Again” and see if your soul doesn’t crack a smile.

Trail Walks and Tangents

I’ve learned that sometimes the best ideas come when I step away from my desk. When I start overthinking my work, I know it’s time to lace up my boots and hit the trail. Being outdoors is my creative reset, and lucky for me, I live where nature practically knocks on my door and tells me to come outside and play. Trust me, nothing shakes the cobwebs loose like the crunch of gravel underfoot.

There’s this loop not far from my place that winds gently along a ridge. The views are pure Colorado postcard: snow-kissed peaks, golden aspens flashing in the sun, the occasional hawk riding the thermals. But truth be told? I spend very little time looking up. My mind, on those walks, is usually back with my characters or an article idea, working through sticky places like I’m chiseling something out of stone.

Sometimes, I get into such a mental groove I forget I’m walking. One time, I got so caught up plotting a scene for my novel that I nearly walked straight into an elk. (He gave me a look I can only describe as judgmental—and rightly so.)

Big takeaway here: Movement unlocks creativity. If you’re stuck, go for a walk. Bonus points if there’s wilderness involved, but even laps around the block can work wonders. Just don’t walk into wildlife.

The Art of Distraction: Fake Chores & Real Epiphanies

There’s a saying where I’m from: "If it’s broken, fix it. If it’s not, fix it anyway." This, I’ve found, applies to everything from fences to relationships to tricky creative problems. When an idea isn’t working, I stop trying to strong-arm it. Instead, I trick my brain into thinking we’ve moved on to other priorities.

I grab a broom and sweep the porch. I load hay bales into the back of a truck (muscle memory from ranch work never dies). Sometimes, I even clean the junk drawer in my kitchen. You’d be amazed how inspiring it is to untangle a ball of twine and match leftover screws to their rightful IKEA furniture homes.

Nine times out of ten, inspiration sneaks up on me when I’m in the middle of some mundane task. A plot twist will hit while I’m scrubbing the skillet, or a phrase I’ve been hunting down will show up as I’m folding laundry. It’s like my mind needs the busywork to shake off the pressure and let the ideas bubble up naturally.

So, if you’re ever stuck creatively, try this: Walk away from the problem and pick a simple task you can do on autopilot. Ideas love to sneak in the back door when you’re not watching.

Story Fuel: Eavesdropping on Life

If you’ve ever sat in the Telluride diner across from me, chances are your conversation might’ve wound up, uh, “repurposed” in something I wrote. But hey, listen—us writers are nosy for a reason. Every quirk, confession, or one-liner I overhear gets tucked into what I call my "Story Bank," a running list of phrases and ideas I scrawl in a leather notebook. (Yes, I’m one of those notebook people.)

A few months ago, I was waiting in line for coffee when a woman ahead of me said to her friend, “Love? Oh, I don’t fall in love anymore. Now I just toddle in cautiously, like a grandma on ice.” I practically threw money at the cashier just so I could sprint to a table and write it down. It was gold.

Life is full of these little moments—human quirks that are funny and profound all at once. Pay attention to them, jot them down, and don’t worry too much if they don’t fit neatly into what you’re working on. Inspiration rarely follows directions, but you’ll thank yourself later.

Feed the Flame, Not the Burnout

Let’s set the record straight: inspiration can be exhilarating, but it’s also heavy lifting. Ranch work taught me the value of pacing yourself—if you wear out by noon stacking firewood, good luck when the real chores show up at dusk. Creativity works the same way.

At the risk of sounding like a self-help book, let me say this loud and clear: rest is part of the process. Some nights, my creative ritual looks less like hammering out paragraphs and more like sitting under a blanket, reading Edward Abbey, or plucking bad chords on my guitar while my dog howls along. (We’re still workshopping our duet.)

Here’s the thing—sometimes you won’t feel inspired. That’s okay. The key is to create the rituals anyway. Show up. Brew the coffee. Walk the trail. Clean the skillet. The muse will come eventually, but she plays by her own rules. Trust the process, and don’t push too hard. After all, even the wildest horses need space to run free.

One Last Thought: Your Rituals Are Your Own

Look, maybe your creativity doesn’t show up during hikes or over coffee. Maybe it arrives in the shower, on midnight drives, or while you’re baking sourdough bread like it’s still 2020. However it manifests, honor it. Build rituals that feel like you—something that makes showing up easier, even on the hard days.

The magic happens in small moments: when you reach for your notebook before a meeting, or when you say yes to a little whim that feels like nonsense but might just lead somewhere brilliant. The key is to keep showing up, trail markers and all. Creativity isn’t a straight path—it’s a twisting, turning adventure. But if you carve out the space for it, you’re bound to discover some pretty remarkable views.