Speed Up, Slow Down

Writing from the hip, shooting with intention

Back in my yoga teaching days, most weeks, my class planning came together easily. The flows would almost write themselves, and putting together playlists was a breeze. When I stepped into the room and taught class, my delivery felt dialed and intuitive. I didn’t need to think; I just spoke.

But there were also periods when planning a yoga class felt like an impossible task. None of it seemed to click. I’d write down a chain of poses, scratch it off, and start over. Teaching felt clunky — less passionate, less natural.

I was always frustrated by these creative highs and lows. On the surface, my routine wasn’t all that different — I’d carve out equal time to prepare, jot notes in the same journal.

And yet, some classes I felt charged, and others I felt like I was going through the motions.

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Reflecting on it, I realized my yoga teaching was largely a function of what I was consuming — specifically, how my personal practice was going. If I wasn’t taking many classes (or was taking bad ones), my own teaching felt weaker and less cohesive in every way. No amount of yoga wisdom or teaching experience could help me overcome a scarcity of inspiration.

I hadn’t been thinking of myself as such a conduit of energy. I liked the idea that everything inspirational was already within me. But in reality, my creative output was largely a function of the world around me. How I channeled that external stimulus into my own thoughts, feelings, and interpretations was what made it special — but the foundation for creativity was built on what I absorbed.

Even at my most uninspired moments, it never took a radical shift to get me back in a groove. Taking an uplifting class with Kelli McMullen at The Space or a physically edgy one with Raina Nemeth at The Yoga Garden could set me on a wave of inspiration I’d ride for miles.

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Having an abundance of inspiration was important to delivering a great class, but it wasn’t everything. I still needed to translate those visions, themes, and messages into something tangible.

I figured that consistency with my planning process — writing down thoughts in a journal, putting headphones on and crafting a playlist, rehearsing the whole thing out loud — would yield a steady output. But the opposite seemed to be true.

The more rigid I was with where, when, and how my classes were planned, the more likely I was to hit a brick wall. Carving out specific blocks of time to work made the process feel inorganic. Going to the same cafe at the same time didn’t seem to help my thoughts flow.

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Routines and habits play a major role in my life, but when it comes to creative expression, changes in scenery and shifts in my approach reliably unlock new avenues of thought. There’s a certain level of unpredictability that I find necessary to create things that feel impactful.

Whether that meant laying down a mat in the park instead of the gym, jotting notes first thing in the morning rather than late at night, sequencing my flows in reverse order, or crafting an entire class around one peak song (like this one) — intentionally doing things differently got me out of my head and landed me somewhere new and unexpected.

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So in this present moment — when I’m going through a stretch of creative flatness, where it just doesn’t feel like my writing and photography are firing — I’m channeling a similar mindset to get myself humming. My inspiration and my process both need a refresh — and I’m giving them one.

This means:

• Thinking of myself as a student — a reader, an admirer of art, a listener, an absorber.

• Shifting my consumption and getting back into a great reading routine — picking up new books at Literati while I’m back home in Michigan, and catching up on my favorite newsletters.

• Trading time scrolling, comparing, and mindlessly escaping for things that expand my worldview.

• Talking through ideas out loud — with friends, with whoever wants to listen — before trying to capture them on paper.

• Experimenting with new skills and techniques within the broad practices of writing and photography.

• Literally changing my scenery — getting into nature, jumping into bodies of water, getting offline for long stretches.

• And, importantly, shifting the pace at which I produce.

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For a while, I thought less frequent, less constrained writing would give my ideas room to breathe. And to an extent, it has. But I’ve drifted past the point of careful consideration into overthinking. And so it’s time to speed up — go off the cuff, churn out ideas, work through thoughts live, let it rip.

On the other hand, I need to slow down my photo process. I’ve found myself too quick with the trigger — shooting to capture rather than compose. I want to be more deliberate about lighting and framing, and about making photos feel alive and emotional. Carving out time for photo walks, especially when the sun has a perfect glow; moving slower, paying attention to my surroundings, noticing details.

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What’s interesting about all this is that I genuinely feel more capable than ever. I’m the best writer and photographer I’ve ever been. With this comes an elevated expectation for myself. I want to create things that don’t just impress and inspire an audience — I want to surprise myself with what I can produce. I want the standard to continue climbing, without putting a crippling amount of pressure on it.

There’s this old Four Tet interview where he’s talking about creativity, and one line really resonated:

I want to get away from that thing of hearing a record I like and thinking “oh, I want to do something in that style.” I want to hear a record and be like “wow, that’s totally brilliant. What shall I do that’s totally brilliant?”

It captures something I’d been feeling but couldn’t really explain. This underlying desire to produce things that feel distinctly mine. To admire and be inspired by the work of others, and then turn that inspiration into something completely new.

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Excited to share a few pieces I’ve been working on soon. In the meantime, I’m in West Michigan this week, and everything I captured about it last year holds up beautifully. It’s a special part of the world. Give it a read, or a re-read:

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