The other day, I completely spaced out.

I was riding my bike downtown to meet my partner after work. I was physically present in the world but mentally elsewhere. I zipped right past the safe street with the bike lane, the street I was supposed to take right. Instead, I turned right on the busy thoroughfare nobody cycles down, riding past parked and moving cars, sticking out like a sore (and dangerous) thumb against concrete, metal and glass.

A friend sent me a text. “I think I just saw you riding your bike down Burrard?”

Yes, I wrote back. Oops.

But it wasn’t just a momentary breakdown of judgment. There was something bigger going on.

The next day, I was at the bookstore looking for an author whose last name begins with “Sau.”

There I was, wandering aimlessly up and down the fiction aisles, starting at A, the alphabet playing incredibly faintly somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind. B, C, D, up and down the rows…I didn’t even consider walking straight to S. I was barely thinking at all, failing to even notice the countless other (exciting!) books I passed. When I finally found the right shelf I just stood there and stared. I couldn’t find the author. I couldn’t figure out the alphabet. My brain hurt.

This is me on the dangerous road burnout, friends. Although it isn’t easy for me to write about, it’s the only thing I can write about, at least today.

That’s because creativity requires one thing above everything else, and that’s to be present.

When your body aches from too many hours at your desk, when your mind is stuck on an endless loop of to-dos, when you try but fail to truly set aside time for yourself, it is difficult if not impossible to create something of quality.

There are countless other reasons to avoid overwork and the burnout that often follows. It can damage your health and your relationships. But it also drains creativity—a lifesource for any entrepreneur, and especially an entrepreneur who writes.

Writing requires presence

Writing takes time, energy and mindshare. To write well, we need to relax. We need to get to a place of freedom and play.

We talked about this a lot during my Virtual Writing Retreat for Entrepreneurs. It’s a truth I hold very dear, but the irony is that lately I’ve been failing miserably at it. I’ve been too focused on my business. I’m restructuring my services, rewriting my copy, and implementing new systems. I’m having a hard time seeing the forest for the trees.

Which is why I need to work on mindfulness.

This is where it gets interesting.

I don’t enjoy yoga. I grow kinda restless in the great outdoors (but I’m trying!). Formal meditation is something I can get behind in theory—especially because there’s so much research that proves meditation increases creativity—but in practice it’s a struggle. (Yes, I know it’s supposed to be hard.)

But here’s the thing. I’m already intimately familiar with an amazing technique that roots me in the present.

A technique that calms my mind and gives my life meaning.

Something totally free and entirely accessible!

You guessed it.

Presence requires writing

For me, writing reduces stress.

It helps me notice and appreciate the little things.

It forces me to slow down, think clearly, and play.

When I’m doing it, I don’t want to be anywhere or anyone else.

Of course, writing can take many forms—and have very different benefits and outcomes. This time, I’m not talking about the hugely important writing you do to grow your business. Not necessarily, anyway. I’m talking about writing for yourself first, without expectation or pressure. Without worrying about what it will look like when it’s published or how it will be received. Just writing. Probably by hand, in a notebook.

I always know this, but sometimes I forget.

Lately, I’ve been pushing my own writing time to the bottom of my to-do list. But it shouldn’t even be on my to-do list. Freewriting should be a part of my regular routine. Even just 10 minutes a day, nestled in between coffee and brushing my teeth. Doable. Grounding. Possibly life-changing.

[Tweet “Writing requires presence. And presence just might require writing.”]

If I’d kept up this important practice, I may not have found myself disoriented in the bookstore, or flying dangerously down Burrard on my bicycle.

So I’m off to sit in the sun with my notebook. Without anything urgent to accomplish.

I’ll be there making space for creativity to show up.

I hope you take the time to do the same.