For years I’ve borrowed phrases from philosophers, athletes, and artists—discipline, isolation, self-denial—as if they held the secret to getting creative work done. And in many ways, they do. But they’ve always felt a little too heavy, too punishing. What I need isn’t austerity for its own sake, but rhythm. A pattern I can return to, day after day, season after season.
I call it Cadence.
Cadence, for me, is the balance between inputs and outputs, work and rest, rigour and release. It’s not about denying myself endlessly—it’s about choosing the right inputs (books that nourish, conversations that matter, tasks that move the dial) and maximising outputs (words on the page, swimmers coached, prints pulled, trees recorded).
Daily Cadence
At the smallest scale, Cadence is my golden hour during the day, sometimes a hour, today it was 90 minutes, maybe it’ll stretch to 3 hours. Often it happens in the early hours before the rest of the world wakes. This is when I isolate myself, cut away distractions, and focus on the one thing that matters—editing a chapter, drafting a blog, planning a large relief print. By mid-morning, I’ve already moved something meaningful forward.
Weekly Cadence
Across the week, Cadence means alternating between high-focus days and recovery days. I’m often at the swimming pool some early mornings and several evenings a week, so I plan around that reality. This week, exceptionally, I’m at the pool most mornings and evenings for 9 days straight. Coaching takes energy; Cadence demands that I also build in spaces to recharge—walking, reading, silence.
Monthly Cadence
Each month I step back and take stock. What outputs did I create? What noise crept into my inputs? Do I need to tighten discipline, or loosen it? Some months I’ll enforce more denial (less coffee, less screen-time). Other months, I’ll allow more flow and conversation.
Annual Cadence
September has always been my real New Year. Perhaps it’s the decades I’ve spent inside the cycle of formal education, or the rhythm of the swimming club with its galas and new squads. September is when change feels possible, when the year truly turns. For me, this is when I recommit to Cadence, when I reset my rhythm for the year ahead.
Why Cadence?
Because life isn’t a flat line of grind or a careless drift of impulses. It’s a rhythm. A stroke repeated across the pool. A press of the lino block onto paper. A season of work followed by a season of renewal.
I know all about flow from an enthusiasm for Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. Being self-deprecating I want to maximise the outputs, hold back the verbal diarrhoea while limiting creative constipation! For this I have to manage the right kind and right amount of inputs.
I’m learning to live to my own beat. My own Cadence.
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