When the Muse Stops Calling

I’ve been feeling so…uninspired for the last few weeks, and to be completely honest, I’m not entirely sure why.

Nothing "bad" has happened. There hasn’t been a singular crisis or a specific hurdle that I can point to and say, “There, that’s the reason.” I have just felt an absence of that familiar, vital creative flow. I didn’t write a newsletter for the last two weeks, which is unusual for me. If I’m being self-critical, I can admit that part of that was a failure of time management. I haven’t been as diligent as I should be with the systems I usually rely on, and there is certainly work to be done in developing those structures so that when motivation or inspiration fails me, the habit carries me through.

There is nothing wrong with acknowledging that and setting it aside for a moment. But beyond the mechanics of productivity, there has been a deeper quiet—a sense that I simply haven’t had anything I particularly wanted to say.

I started thinking about this silence, trying to trace its origin and uncover some possible reasons as to why I wasn’t feeling the familiar creative flow. In a conversation with my best friend Carlton, a realization began to take shape. For the last ten years of my life, this specific time of year has been defined by a very particular kind of stress.

As a teacher, this was the season of MPAs, spring concerts, and the relentless "end-of-the-year" chaos. It was also a time of profound emotional burnout. Saying goodbye to seniors who’d been in the music program for four years, signing yearbooks until my hand cramped, and feeling the exhaustion that had compounded over an entire semester settle in. Many teachers at this point in the year are counting down the days until summer break, and the last few years, getting through the last six weeks of the year was a battle of mental endurance.

Even beyond the classroom, my years as an associate director of music at a church meant coming off the high-intensity stretch of Holy Week and Easter only to pivot immediately into the next project. Add this to the “fun stuff” of figuring out what I was going to do each summer, making travel plans and arrangements, and balancing the excitement of the promise of rest and recovery with the grueling daily ritual of a 5:30 wake up that gradually slipped later and later until I was dragging myself out of bed at the last possible second to still make it to work “on time.”

For a decade, getting to and through May was a grueling, physically and emotionally demanding marathon.

Despite being out of the classroom for almost a full academic year, I realized that my body might still be operating in a macro-rhythm that it learned over those ten years. Even though my daily life has changed and I am no longer beholden to the academic or liturgical calendar in the same way, the "ghost" of that exhaustion remains. There are remnants of that tired, depleted feeling showing up in my psyche whether I am conscious of it or not. These last two weeks have been a reminder that my body isn’t fully accustomed to this new lifestyle yet; it is still bracing for a blow that isn't coming.

The Ebb and the Flow

It is important to recognize that we all move through cycles. Any creative person will tell you that the work ebbs and flows. We cannot always live in a heightened state of creative "high."

Some might take issue with that as there are those who seem to think they have found a way to exist in a perpetual flow state. I think of Rick Rubin and his book, The Creative Act, where he speaks about creativity not as an output, but as a way of living—a way of being in the world. Yet, even in Rubin’s philosophy, he acknowledges the peaks and valleys. There are rises and falls in the energy we are able to manifest. Part of being in a creative flow is actually allowing that energy to move through us in a way that is as uninhibited and uninterrupted as possible, which includes accepting the moments when the tide is out.

In trying to understand this "dry spell," I’ve been looking at the distinction between two words I often use synonymously: inspiration and creativity. I’ve come to see inspiration as the source—the internal spark—while creativity is the manifestation. Creativity is the "output forward" action; it is what we do with the inspiration we’ve gathered.

But what is the source of that inspiration? Where does it come from?

I think most of us would agree that inspiration is difficult to pin down. We can’t quite put our fingers on it. We can’t simply point to one thing and say, "It is God," or "It is the self," because people draw their light from so many different places. If we want to be close to whatever the Source is, we must reconcile with the intangible, ethereal quality of it.

Our job, then, isn't necessarily to create the inspiration, but to keep the channel open; to keep the door unlocked so that when inspiration strikes or speaks to us, we are available to answer the call. If you don't use the channel, you begin to lose the connection. I realized that over the last few weeks, I’ve allowed myself to break the link between myself and whatever source I usually draw from.

The Ordinary and the Extraordinary

“Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.” Gustave Flaubert

I heard a variation of this quote whose sentiment stuck with me: “Your life must be ordinary so that your work can be extraordinary.”

When I first heard that, it felt a bit dissonant. It sounds like a prescription for a boring life, as if doing the same mundane things every day will suddenly result in a brilliant output. But as I’ve sat with it, I’ve realized that it isn't about being boring; it’s about rhythm.

Accessing your inspiration and acting on it through creativity is a skill. Like any other skill, it requires a regular routine to keep it refined. My recent lack of inspiration to write the newsletter is likely due to the fact that I haven’t been writing at all, or really creating any kind of spoken or written content about what I’m working on. I haven’t been journaling; I haven’t been engaged in a regular practice.

I’ve closed off the channel.

It is never fun to sit down on a Sunday morning and try to "crank out" a piece of writing in two or three hours simply because I feel I “have to.” The pressure we put on ourselves to be “creative on demand” is a rabbit hole I won't go down today, but the point remains: the pump wasn't primed.

I love playing tennis, but if I only step onto the court twice a year and expect to play my best game or win a match, I’m a fool. We accept this logic when it comes to physical things like sports, or playing the piano, or singing. We understand that if we don't pick up the racket or sit at the keys regularly, we become rusty.

However, when it comes to the intangible work of accessing inspiration, we often forget that it is still a practice. We expect the Muse to show up even when we haven't checked the mail in weeks.

Yes, sometimes our Muse is quietly waiting for us to show up or open the door for her, but Inspiration moves to where it can be used, not where it will sit and collect dust.

We are all creatives in our daily lives whether we realize it or not. Building a house is a creative act. Fixing the engine of a car is a creative act just as much as painting a painting. And so, regardless of where we find ourselves and what tools are placed in our hands, knowing how to have a dialogue with Inspiration is a conversation worth having.

Keeping the Tap Dripping

The way we stay ready for the big surges of inspiration is by finding a regular flow that keeps the "tap" dripping. It’s the small, intentional, daily practices—the "ordinary" routines—that keep the channel clear.

So, that is where I am. I’m looking at my creative systems and asking myself how I can return to a state of regularity. I’m recognizing that my current "uninspired" state isn't a permanent failure, but perhaps a combination of a decades-old bodily rhythm and a temporary lapse in my daily practice.

If you’re feeling a bit stuck or "dry" in your own life right now, maybe take a look at the "macro-rhythms" of your past. Is your body remembering a stress that is no longer there, or possibly responding to stress you’re placing on yourself? And then, look at your "tap." Is it dripping? Are you doing the small, ordinary things that allow you to be ready when the extraordinary decides to show up?

These small ordinary things can be spending time in your garden or taking a walk in your favorite park, admiring the beauty of nature; listening to a song that floods your mind with memories or cooking a meal. Or, it could simply be getting back into a familiar rhythm you’ve maybe stepped out of, like going back to the gym after a vacation.

This week I’m committing to 15 minutes of daily writing to get some creative juices flowing again.

I’m opening the door again. I’m trusting that the flow will return, as long as I’m there to meet it.

Where will you find opportunity to greet Inspiration?

Until next time, live uninterrupted.

~ Coleman