We’d like to thank Jennifer Jacobson for this blog post! 

We seasoned creatives know that retreats serve our work, but let’s be honest, they demand sacrifice. They require time away from our responsibilities, detachment from the people and pets we love, and money.

I had an easier time justifying retreats when I was the mother of young children, just starting my professional career. I desperately needed the time and space to create, to connect with other writers, to be buoyed by the possibilities. But now that I’ve been at this thing for some time, my children are grown, and my husband still leaves me an empty house to write in each day, the practice of retreating is harder to defend. I’ve got the place and time, all my work requires is more discipline, I tell myself.

But this past month, I had the extreme good fortune to spend two weeks alone, just me and my manuscript, in a log cabin in Maine. It was one of the most joyous writing experiences I’ve had, and it has made me realize that retreats, whether with other creatives or alone, are essential for exploration and deep thoughtful work.

I relearned that on retreats:

Time changes. Somehow the same twenty-four hours in a day doubles. One might think this is magical thinking, but truthfully, I’m far more apt to delude myself at home where I persist in believing that on any given day I can answer emails, run errands, travel to yoga class, keep appointments, do domestic chores, prepare meals, read for other writers and experience major ah-ha moments around my novel. Now that’s magical thinking.

Vision becomes sharper. I am a big proponent of putting eyes on the work every day and even at home I’m fairly successful at meeting this goal. But I’d forgotten the power of long, continuous stretches of contemplation. While in my cabin, I woke up thinking about the book. I imagined scenes as I poured my tea, ate my berries on the porch. When I took breaks from my laptop, I walked and experienced new insights—that I could immediately apply upon returning. I read books that enlarged my understanding of my own story and gave me new techniques to apply. I could wake in the night and jot notes without disturbing another. Consequently, the spine of my novel, the arc that kept alluding me at home began to become stronger and clearer. So did the voice.

Intuition strengthens. Because time feels expansive, it’s easier to listen to what you need (Do I need to sketch? To push forward in a white heat? To nap?). It’s also easier to recognize what the work needs. Suddenly themes are emerging, actions are connecting to motivation, and discoveries are being made! Halleluia!

Confidence grows. The world outside of creativity not only brings distractions, it brings disruptions. Too much time chatting about the publishing world or scrolling on social media platforms causes me to doubt my relevance, talent, and the existence of a path forward. A why bother malaise sets in. Yes, I know the joy of creating is the work itself . . . but it’s not always easy to feel that without deep immersion. While on retreat in July, the sparks of creativity alone ignited me—renewed my faith in the work and myself. And truthfully? The time was so rewarding, thoughts about whether the work was publishable or not became irrelevant.

I’m hoping this renewed excitement will carry me forward until September when I return to the Highlights Foundation In-Company gathering to retreat alongside other writers and illustrators who have kept the artistic torch alive. In addition to the dedicated time to my work (yay!), I’m eager to soak up energy and inspiration from other creatives who are determined to keep exploring, to keep challenging themselves, to grow.