Inspiration doesn’t care if we’re doing great work or terrible work– if the writing is bad, the drawing is imperfect or the plan is flawed. It doesn’t ask us to be the best at anything. It doesn’t require us to possess otherworldly talents beyond compare or mere mortal comprehension. It asks of us only that we do our work– even when that work feels painfully uninspired. That we continue pushing through the messy middle, even when we have no idea what awaits us on the other side.

Because the truth is, Inspiration doesn’t strike first.
It is summoned through our showing up. Stirred into being by the scratching sound of pencil on paper. Awakened by that very first note that pierces the silence. Drawn to the burning of midnight oil like a moth to a flame.

Inspiration might not always find us, but it looks for us where the work is. At the writing desk. On the dance floor. In the board room. On the sales call. In the pounding of pavement, the spinning of wheels, the uncomfortable stretching of the soul that happens most frequently during those lonely hours while the rest of the world sleeps.

Inspiration doesn’t tell us where or when, or most disappointingly, how it will visit us.

It leaves us only with the simple promise: “I’ll meet you there.”