Creating ritual and sacred space to honor your creative work in the year ahead
As we move toward the close of another calendar year, I've been thinking less about what I want to in 2026 and more about how I want to in December of next year.
When I sit with that question this week, three words seem to emerge: alive, spacious, and creative.
I don't see these as items to check off a list. Rather they’re feeling states that I can cultivate. And writing is one of the ways I'll give myself that. My writing practice makes me feel alive, creates mental and emotional spaciousness, and feeds my creative spirit.
Which brings me back to something I wrote a few years ago about the challenge of actually sitting down to write—or to work on any creative project or creative business venture. Because knowing what nourishes us and actually making time for it are two different things entirely.
When Sitting Down to Write (or Create) Feels Impossible
Sometimes it can be challenging to set aside, and honor, the time you need for your creative practice or your creative business.
Maybe you know you want to write regularly, but the blank page feels daunting. Or maybe you know you want to get out your sketchbook more often, but you struggle. Perhaps you're building a coaching practice, an art business, or a consulting venture, but you only have a couple of clients, so you're not in work mode very often.
This can happen at any stage, but it's especially difficult when your creative practice (or business) is in the early stages—before you have momentum, before the fundamentals are in place, before there's much going on. It can also hit hard when you're experiencing doubt or uncertainty about some aspect of your creativity.
Some people are naturally good at honoring calendar commitments. "Writing Time" on Wednesday mornings, and there they are, every Wednesday, showing up. If that's you, that's wonderful.
And if it's not you? I understand completely.
Creative Work Doesn't Always Respond to Calendar Slots
Building a writing practice, developing a body of creative work, or creating a business deeply aligned with your soul is a profound creative undertaking.
Two things are true here. First, the desire to embark on this type of inspired journey comes from a deep internal well that may or may not respond well to arbitrarily assigned time slots. Second, if you long to bring this creation into the world, it does require your love, attention, and time.
So what can you do when you're struggling to show up for it?
Building a Sanctuary
One approach that's helped me with both my creative practice and my business work is to design a sanctuary—a special time and metaphorical space dedicated to this work. To build that space, I've created a personal ritual: a list of small steps that signal to my mind and soul that I am entering the place where I do my meaningful work.
When I lived in Milan, I often visited Il Duomo, the cathedral in the center of town. When I drew open the heavy, ornate door, a rush of silence would envelop me. As I stepped forward, I dipped my fingertips into the bath of holy water, and the scent of incense ribboned around me. It was dark and soft, candlelight flickering from the sacristy. The air was silent, save for the occasional receding footstep or the groan of a wooden pew.
It was a sacred, peaceful space where I found nourishment.
Bringing that same sense of sacredness to our creative projects is one way to help honor the time needed to bring them to life.
Creating Your Own Ritual
When I write now, I keep a small typewritten note next to my notebook. On it is a list of simple steps I take to enter my creative sanctuary. Some are symbolic—light a candle. Some are for comfort—make a cup of tea. Some are practical—turn on my productivity app. Others are more spiritual—cultivate gratitude, drop into Remembrance. Some are intuitive—call on my guides. Others are preparatory—do a writing warm-up.
All of them serve to ease my transition and prepare the setting where I do my important work.
Many times when I'm feeling restless and resistant to writing (which happens far more often than I wish sometimes), just starting down that list and taking the first small step helps. It's a signal somehow, one that says I'm entering the cathedral of my work. And it's enough to guide me forward, to open the door to my heart, and to help me begin.
It helps me honor the commitment I've made to spending time with the thing I love—the practice that will help me feel alive, spacious, and creative throughout the year ahead.
An Invitation
What about you? As you think about how you want to feel in December 2026, what words come to you? And what creative practice might help you cultivate those feelings?
I wonder if there's some way you can use ritual to create a beautiful, unique space for yourself and your work in the world. Not because you should, but because you long to. Because something inside you is asking for that time, that attention, that sacred space.
What might your sanctuary look like?