The Quiet Hour

Some days, time feels like a ribbon that slips through your fingers before you’ve tied even one knot.

But here’s the thing: creativity rarely demands grand stretches of uninterrupted hours. More often, it asks for the quiet hour you didn’t think you had.

Fifteen minutes before dinner. Ten minutes while the kettle hums. The moment between one task and the next when you could pick up your phone… or your needle, your brush, your pen.

 It isn’t about making something finished. It’s about letting yourself arrive.

The quiet hour works best when it becomes a ritual. A certain chair. A chipped mug that only ever holds tea while you work. Music that tells your hands, “It’s time now.”

Over time, these small signals become a doorway you can step through in an instant, no matter how scattered the rest of the day feels.

Some days the making will be clumsy. Some days you’ll only set a few stitches, or sketch one uneven line. But even then, you’ve shown up - and that is its own finished work.

The quiet hour is not the reward for a well-lived day. It is the breath that allows the rest of the day to happen.