Seasons

My creativity doesn't operate on a linear timeline. It moves in seasons.

They aren't scheduled on a calendar, and there's no predicting when they'll arrive. One week it's maintenance mode, optimizing the status quo. The next, a compulsion to make things.

The medium is always changing: audio, code, photography, writing. But the impulse underneath feels the same every time.

I used to try to force the creative seasons to come faster. It never worked. The output was always subpar, and I'd regret distracting myself from things that deserved the attention more.

The only real preparation is staying ready.

When a new season arrives, the work doesn't feel like it originates from me. It passes through me. The only job is to not get in its way. Capture everything, critique nothing, understand it later.

Sometimes that means walking into the forests of the Pacific Northwest without a plan. Just a camera and whatever the light gives me. Sometimes it's picking up a guitar and chasing a riff, or humming something half-formed into a voice memo before it disappears. The medium doesn't matter. When the pull arrives, I submit to it.

Winter isn't a failure of the cycle. It is the cycle. The quiet periods aren't interruptions. They're the conditions that make the next season possible. I stopped fighting winter. Now I just keep the tools sharp and the table clear.