Portable Creativity

I'm writing this in the corner of a restaurant, sipping coffee, my folding keyboard on a table big enough to hold it and my cup. When there's less room than this, I thumb-type directly on my iPhone. My entire mobile office lives in a sling bag: phone, charging cables, this tiny keyboard, wallet, glasses, keys. Everything I need to write fits in a space smaller than a paperback, ready to pack up and move when needed.

This isn't just about gear. My days are shaped by someone else's needs right now, and I've had to strip life down to what’s essential. I’ve scaled back everything—my coaching service and writing projects paused. I write wherever I can steal ten minutes.

I’ve always been drawn to constraint, though I fight it. I’ll want nothing, then get excited about the newest gear. Then life happens, and I ask, do I need the toys? What’s the simpler version? Right now, life is answering that question for me.

I keep thinking about a woman writer I learned about in university who wrote at the corner of her dinner table, stealing moments between being a mother and keeping house. She wrote in the corners of her life, and I understand that now. But my corners aren’t just physical spaces—they’re emotional ones, too. I keep talking around things these days, avoiding certain conversations in public but having intense, private ones with family and close friends. Sometimes when my number comes up on someone’s phone or I text, “Can I call?” they know it won’t be a fun conversation.

This constraint is changing how I want to write. Yesterday, I read a 10,000-word essay and loved its simplicity. Why can’t I write like that? Short, complete things. Three hundred words a day, written in fifty-word chunks throughout the day. Make my sentences shorter, more focused. Every word counts when you can only write for ten minutes at a time.

There’s something else I’m discovering: I’m choosing to sit with the difficult feelings rather than immediately seeking relief. Kate and I have an agreement—I go to therapy if I become unbearable, but otherwise, I want to see if I can use this pain as fuel for creation. Maybe that’s what this portable approach is about—not just being ready to write anywhere but for whatever comes next.

I'm curious about this way of working and maybe preparing for a future I can't quite name yet. Perhaps the best writing happens not when we have everything we think we need but when we discover what we can do with what fits in our pockets.

Until next time,
David