the art of returning

Time to clear the mind.

Hello. Here I am.

This is precisely as I am now…

The return can be humbling.

The return is an essential part of any creative’s process. It’s a mandatory step for consistency in any act we want to repeat and cultivate. Any wall we want to build. Any change or momentum we are trying to bring about our lives.

Lasting difference requires the return.

On a very basic level, we meet the requirements of this return daily.

Every time you show up to do your work and put in your time — every time you put your ass where your heart wants to be — every time you practice who it is you know you’re meant to be — this is a return.

At our best, we return every day. Sometimes over and over throughout the day.

When we’ve had a season of dropping off or lost our path for a while — if we’ve let a habit go or had unexpected obstacles crop up that we couldn’t dodge or beat — then the return feels bigger.

It happens after a longer stretch away, and that’s intimidating.

Our best work is bred in consistency, and we show up far more prepared, sharpened, and ready when we’re doing that work on a dailyish basis.

Things get rusty and strained, out of practice and tender, clunky and less familiar, when we stop for a time.

Mastery likes the routines and promises that feel like well-worn-in shoes.

Keep walking.

Come back tomorrow.

Take them for a spin again.

This is the art of returning.

Yet, sometimes, life gets in the way or we fall off track or face challenges we must traverse. And when we abandon our practice, however temporarily or long we’re away, all that’s needed is still just the return.

It feels scarier because we’re out of sync and rhythm. We feel tentative walking back into the space, hoping our art and skills and muscle memory and grace will meet us once again, post-hiatus.

It’s humbling to return to a circle where perhaps all your comrades have maintained their practices all along (but remember we each have our times; this is just where you’re at on your journey right now, and they’re in their own specific places along theirs).

Despite those nerves, we must remind ourselves: even though this thing feels more monumental — coming back after so long away — it too is just a simple part of the practice, and one we have practiced over and over again.

…each morning when we wake up and put on our gym clothes and walk through the door.

…each day we sit down at our keyboards and write.

…every single time we make our art.

We know how to return.

There isn’t some massive, fancy, demanding return that is different when we’ve been away.

It can be just the same.

Lace up your shoes. (Easy)

Open the door. (Easy)

Pick up your laptop. (Easy)

It feels humbling and nerve wracking… our practices keep us afloat and pointed in the directions we’ve determined we want to go, so this makes sense! Of course we feel a little lost at sea after so much time!

That’s no problem. Your values are your North Star, and your practice is the compass that can help you find them again, even on the foggiest, grayest of days.

So despite the big feelings, there is comfort in the reminder: this isn’t so massive, after all. It’s just a part of my routine I’ve done many times and will do again — not so hard — even though I happened to press pause for longer than usual this time.

And then we start again.

And the practice is very forgiving, very welcoming.

And the return transports us right back to where we need to be.

Everyday magic.

🪄❤️✨