I've Never Had Time to Be Creative

A managing director sat in my office after reviewing her retirement portfolio. Everything was in order. Finances, succession, and a weekend property in the Cotswolds. When I asked her if there was anything that she now might finally have the time for in this new chapter, she hesitantly mentioned “music, maybe,”

Reflecting on the kind of music she loved most, almost as an afterthought she recalled that she had played the violin until university. The instrument was still in her attic. “I haven't touched it in thirty-seven years.”

The silence that followed told me everything. This was more than a forgotten violin, it was about parts of herself that she'd packed away for "later." And later had finally arrived.

Most accomplished professionals have a version of this story. After this merger, I will paint again. Once I make partner, I will write. When things calm down, I will play music. In retirement, I will finally be creative. Forty years later, the violin is still in the attic. But here is what is interesting: it was never really about time.

Raymond Chandler was an oil company executive before he became one of the great crime novelists, publishing his first book at 51. Julia Child worked in government intelligence before she discovered cooking in midlife. Alan Rickman ran his own graphics company before he became an actor. None of them waited for the right moment. They simply gave themselves permission to think about themselves differently.

"I realised I was waiting for someone to tell me it was okay," the managing director reflected. "To say my quarterly reports were good enough that I had earned the right to do something else."

The truth is that you have been creative all along. Every strategic pivot, every team built from scratch, every problem that looked impossible until it was not. That is creativity in a professional setting. The question is not whether you are creative. It is what happens when you turn that same energy toward something with no deliverable attached.

"I spent decades creating value," one CEO told me. "Now I am curious about creating for no reason at all. It is terrifying. And thrilling."

That managing director did not sign up for the London Symphony. She just took the violin out of its case and tuned it. She played one scale, badly.

"It sounded awful," she laughed. "And I loved every minute."

Six months later she plays every morning. Still not well, but slowly learning again. More than finding time for something she loves, she is recovering a creative part of herself.

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