The Morning Pages.

Up until recently, I’ve been having what I’ve described to my friends as ‘half-thoughts.’

I’ve been aching for a time when I felt filled to the brim with opinions – practically spilling over with hot takes and quippy points of view.

During a quieter period of my life, hooks and headlines used to flow out of me like a stream. But between job applications (I won’t bore you with the details of my search for a visa sponsorship, dear reader), embarking on a budget Dua Lipa-style Euro Summer, and my apartment shapeshifting in a hotel for visiting pals – I haven’t had the space to form a clear perspective, let alone put pen to paper.

For the better part of this year, crickets have echoed in the creative side of my brain. While my life was busy becoming fabulously full of adventure, my mind started to feel empty and cavernous. Instead of fingers itching to type, I’d reach towards an idea, only to grasp at nothing at all.

I hadn’t felt inspired in so long, that my identity as a writer had begun to feel fraudulent. An anxious avoidance of my own creativity settled over like fog. I couldn’t touch an empty Google Doc with a ten-foot pole.

This dwindling relationship with my creativity led to me waking up with a dread so powerful, I felt the only way out was to drown it with blue light and trending sounds. Scroll, like, comment, reply. Flood it with dopamine until the anxiety numbs.

In an effort to unblock, this summer, I decided to embark on Julia Cameron’s ‘The Artist’s Way’; a twelve week course in ‘discovering and recovering your creative self.’ The book had been on my bucket list for a while, but with no signs of life slowing down any time soon, instead of waiting for a quieter period, I’ve begun the course in the throes of chaos.

One of the primary tools in Cameron’s method to creative recovery is the daily completion of the morning pages. Three pages of stream of consciousness longhand written first thing in the morning. Before scrolling, before exercise, before responding to emails, and ideally before coffee (not a hard and fast rule for me).

As I slowly chip away at the book’s chapters and ‘artist recovery’ activities, somewhere between all the hosting, working and travelling, morning pages have become an everyday ritual. Groggy and puffy-eyed, each morning – whether hungover on my bed in Amsterdam or scribbling from a balcony somewhere in Northern Italy – I reach for my Artist’s Way journal, and I write.

Sometimes what comes out is pure drivel. Sometimes my anxieties find their way onto the page. Sometimes I feel like I’m receiving divine downloads from the universe in real time. Either way, it’s a protected, inherently mindful practice that carves out a sacred moment of stillness in my day.

As a result, I’m cultivating a stronger sense of presence, of groundedness. And slowly, I’m getting my mojo back.

Instead of waking up to breakneck hits of dopamine, I’m opting in to noticing. Noticing my feelings, my environment, my actions, my opinions.

Rather than muffling the cries of my inner world with distractions, the morning pages nudge me to face it all – the dread, the excitement, the dreams, the confusion – all of it. Head on.

And through this intentional noticing – this method in the madness – ideas are taking shape again. The fog is beginning to lift.

I’m remembering what I find beautiful, interesting, inspiring and unfair.

I’m rediscovering what I’m passionate about.

I’m gaining clarity around questions that have had me stumped.

Half thoughts are becoming whole and I’m feeling like myself again.

A busy life is a full life, and through this method, I’ve learned we don’t need to opt out of the fun or attempt to over-optimise with convoluted wellness routines in order to stay afloat. What we need is a moment to create our own little pockets of calm.

So, if you too have found yourself waking up scatter brained, feeling starved of inspiration, suffering from overwhelm, or maybe you’re just looking to spend a little less time on your phone – may I be so bold as to suggest cracking open a notebook and writing whatever comes to mind upon waking.

You don’t need to opt into Cameron’s entire 12-week course for the magic to happen.

Check perfectionism and self-criticism at the door, keep your pen and journal perched on your bedside table, and try turning a new leaf instead of rolling straight onto your device.

You’ll thank yourself later.

Hannah Cohen is a Melbournian writer and publicist based in Amsterdam. Her version of wellness aligns less with red light therapy and step count, and more with being well-travelled and well-fed.

This piece was written for Fluff in collaboration with The Ritual by KIC, currently discussing the theme: “Method in the Madness.”

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