Find your Cyprus: On inspiration and creativity in writing
You don't have to be inspired to write, but it certainly doesn't hurt.
Last week, I set foot on the island of Cyprus for the first time in 32 years. My family and I had lived there for two years during my pre-teen years, and the place had a lasting impact on me. Cyprus is the birthplace of my wanderlust.
Returning to one of my origin stories was a profoundly moving experience, especially given the major changes I’ve made in my life and career this year to allow for more adventure.
You can read more about that decision here:
I have some thoughts on writing that I’ll share toward the end of this post, but I hope, dear readers, you’ll indulge me in a little personal reflection first.
A homecoming
My memories of Cypriot life are hazy and more influenced by how I felt about being there than a cohesive history. I recognized a few locations as I passed by them, but I largely had no working memory of the geography. Several failed attempts to find the apartment buildings we had lived in reminded me just how much time had passed and how young I was.
I have some wonderful, somewhat coherent memories of a mother-daughter trip to the village of Lefkara in the Troodos mountains, but we took a lot of photos, which I believe keep the trip more familiar in my mind.
But the two most powerful feelings of familiarity came in simple, sensory moments. One was the sensation of squishing my toes into Larnaca’s dark Mediterranean sand, so finely ground it feels like a luxury mud treatment. Making sandcastles with that sand was one of my favorite childhood pastimes, and I don’t think I have seen sand like it since.
The other prominent memories were tied to food. Cypriot cuisine is a vibrant mix of Greek, Turkish, and Middle Eastern influences, featuring dishes like halloumi, souvlaki, and mezze spreads. The food is bold, earthy, and fragrant, with ingredients like fresh herbs, olives, lemon, and spices. Each bite felt like a journey back in time, reconnecting me with a part of myself that had long been dormant.
The entire experience felt like a homecoming. The food, the water, the sunshine—each nourished my soul in more ways than I anticipated.
I felt, well, inspired to write.
Rethinking inspired writing
I didn’t plan for the trip to be work-free. Instead, I had envisioned myself as a digital nomad, working from a coffee shop on the beach for a few hours, then spending the rest of the day exploring. I’m all for taking fully workless holidays, but this trip had a different intention.
I had recently left my tenure-track job and transitioned to a new life in the Netherlands while creating a new business. While exciting and rewarding, this shift had taxed my mental reserves during the first few months of the transition. It was emotionally and mentally draining, so I allowed myself to slow down and adjust.
Only recently had I felt my creativity return and the desire to work more consistently. I wouldn’t say I was burned out before, but I definitely felt depleted. Being back in Cyprus awakened my creativity even further, offering the space for deep work and reflection. The experience was both motivating and cathartic.
This is a privilege, and I don't take it for granted. To be able to travel like this and live in Europe involves a mixture of economic stability, a supportive partner, and passport privilege. Deep work itself is a privilege. I fully acknowledge all of this.
With that important note aside, I’ve also been reflecting on some writing advice I’ve shared before: you don’t need to be inspired to write. I often treat writing as a mundane task because that helps free it from the weight of feeling like it has to be profound or special.
You can read more about this perspective here:
The purpose of that post is to remind readers that inspiration is fleeting and rare, so you must find other ways to establish a consistent writing practice.
The reality of my life—and I suspect of yours as well—is that we don’t always have the luxury of basking in metaphorical Mediterranean sunshine while focusing deeply on our writing. Modern life simply doesn’t allow for that on a regular basis. That’s why moments of deep inspiration and focus, like the ones I experienced on Cyprus, are so special.
Find your Cyprus
As with many things in life, two truths can exist at once. Yes, writing retreats in exotic places are incredibly motivating, but they are also a luxury that many of us can’t afford, either financially or in terms of time.
That said, finding small ways to carve out pockets of focused time, even for a day or two, can feel just as luxurious as the sand in Larnaca Bay. One of my clients, for example, loves to write in a different coffee shop on the weekends. It’s the only time she works outside of her home or office, so it feels special, like a little treat just for her.
Another client created a mini-retreat at home. She blocked off a weekend, turned off her notifications, and set up her space with her favorite snacks, music, and candles to create an inspired environment. She didn’t leave her house, but she created an atmosphere of retreat and focus.
It all boils down to distinguishing between what we need to write and what we want to have in place before we write. I don’t need a focused writing space on a beautiful island to be able to write, but it sure does feel wonderful when I can make it happen.
The reality of academic life—the tenure clock, deadlines, or the pressure of securing gainful employment—means we can’t wait for the perfect setting to start writing.
But perhaps it’s also important to sprinkle a bit of Cyprus into our writing lives when possible. Perhaps all we need to do is create our own little oasis, even if it's just for a brief moment, to keep us grounded and creative.