The Creative Well Runs Dry If You Never Leave Your Desk
- 2 days ago
- 6 min read
Hi guys! It's me, AiTommy✨️
I just got back from twelve days in New Jersey and New York with my family. We landed back in Japan the day before yesterday, and I'm still in that slightly dazed post-travel state where home feels both familiar and a little strange.
It was my first time back in the States in two years. With the yen where it is right now, it wasn't cheap — but we cooked some of our own meals, kept things reasonably balanced, and made it work!
Coming home from a trip like this always gives me the same feeling: a kind of quiet, renewed hunger to make things.
So today I want to talk about why I think travel — or really any deliberate break from routine — is something creative people genuinely need!
The Fear Nobody Talks About
There's a fear a lot of artists carry around without quite naming it: the fear that their creativity will dry up. That the curiosity, the wonder, the ability to feel something new — will eventually just stop coming.
People sometimes assume artists can generate ideas from nothing, that creativity is something innate and self-sustaining. But that's not how it works.
Everything we make is built from what we've taken in — the books we've read, the places we've been, the people we've talked to, the moments that surprised or moved or confused us.
We absorb all of it, process it through our own lens, recombine it in new ways, and then put something out into the world.
The problem is: if you live the same day on repeat, your input eventually stops growing.
I work from home. My studio, my desk, my monitors — that's where everything happens. My illustrations, my writing, my videos, my podcast, all of it. There's real efficiency in that setup because THANK GOD I don't have to commute to work. This is a huge HUGE privilege.
But the tradeoff is that new stimulation doesn't just show up at my door anymore. I have to go find it on purpose.
When I was studying abroad in Iowa, stimulation came from everywhere whether I sought it out or not.
I was a Japanese person living in America, in a dorm room surrounded by people whose lives looked completely different from mine. The college organized activities, short trips on breaks, weekly events. Every day had the potential to be genuinely different from the one before.
I was still drawing, still studying, still doing my own thing in my room — but I was also constantly encountering the unfamiliar. That combination was invaluable.
Now I'm a freelancer. Nobody brings opportunities to my door. And because I care so much about my projects — I always feel like there aren't enough hours in the day — taking time off to go somewhere often feels like a loss. There's always more to draw, more to write, more to publish.
But staying in that loop indefinitely, without letting anything new in, means I'm quietly recycling the same inputs. Working within a world I already fully understand.
I can continue my days without changing anything. I can spend weeks, months, or even years, repeating the same routines again and again.
That scares me more than falling behind on a deadline.
Why Experiencing the World Yourself Actually Matters
Social media creates this convincing illusion of knowing. You absorb secondhand opinions, half-heard facts, other people's experiences — and they start to feel like your own understanding. You think you know something because you've seen enough posts about it.
So... maybe you feel like you don't find any joy or interesting things in your life anymore.
That's why I believe traveling or doing something new is really important.
Actually going somewhere is a completely different kind of knowing. Seeing how people live, what surrounds them, what their environment physically feels like — that changes your perspective in ways you can't fully predict or plan for.
It doesn't just add information. It gives you the brand new experience like a kid you used to be.
And I'd argue this is true even if your creative work has nothing to do with the real world. Even if you write fantasy, or science fiction, or build entirely invented worlds.
The emotional truth of a story, the texture of how characters move through space, the weight of an environment — those intuitions come from somewhere. They come from lived experience. The more you've actually felt, the more your invented worlds carry conviction.
There's also something that happens when you're somewhere your language doesn't work, watching strangers go about lives that look nothing like yours — it reminds you how much you don't know. And not knowing is exactly where curiosity lives.
What If You Can't Travel Right Now?
Money is the obvious obstacle, and I don't want to brush past it. Everything is expensive. International travel isn't realistic for a lot of people right now, and that's completely valid.
But I don't think the core of what I'm describing requires a plane ticket.
What it requires is deliberately stepping outside your routine.
Walk somewhere you've never walked. Take a train and get off at an unfamiliar station. Drive somewhere different. Try a café you've never visited. Pack a lunch and eat it somewhere you'd normally just pass through on your way to somewhere else.
The goal isn't the destination. The goal is to expose yourself to something that isn't already part of your daily loop.
If you're a visual artist, bring a sketchbook. And I don't mean only draw dramatic or impressive things — draw anything. And don't care about the quality at all.
I personally love drawing a glass of water. Yeah, a glass of water. Nothing special. but I kinda like drawing it.
A flower wedged between buildings. A shadow falling at an odd angle. A door handle. A cloud looks like an animal. Something small that you'd normally walk past without registering. Learning to notice those details is part of developing your eye and staying curious towards the world around you.
Photographs work too. If you can edit video, keeping even a small personal travel diary is a beautiful way to hold onto the experience.
I do this partly to share with my audience, but honestly, mostly for me. Being able to look back and remember where I was, what it felt like to be there — that matters.
This whole approach is close to what Julia Cameron describes in The Artist's Way — specifically the concept of "artist dates," where you deliberately take yourself somewhere new to fill your creative well.
It's a well-known book, and worth reading if you haven't yet.
If you'd prefer to listen, there's an audiobook version available with a 30-day free trial. Signing up through my link helps support my work, so if you're interested, I really appreciate it!
How I Plan Big Trips: Use Kyuusei Kigaku(九星気学)
This is a section you probably weren't expecting — I've never talked about this before.
When planning a significant trip, I use a system called kyuusei kigaku(九星気学), or Nine Star Ki.
It's a form of astrology with Chinese origins that assigns each person one of nine stars based on their birth year. Those stars correspond to directions, months, and years — and the system maps out which directions carry favorable or unfavorable energy for each star type at any given time.
My mom and I both use this when we plan big travel. For this trip, we confirmed that traveling in the direction of America in 2026 carried good energy for our particular stars. So that's the window we chose!
I want to be clear: this isn't a guarantee of anything. I've had a trip to the favorable direction and still gotten sick. Things happen and we cannot control any of it.
But what the practice gives me is a framework for decision-making — a way to approach big trips with some sense of grounding rather than just hoping everything works out.
When the direction is favorable, I feel more settled going in. When I know I have to travel in an unfavorable direction, it puts me in a mindset of being more careful and more prepared. Both feel useful.
If astrology isn't your thing, skip this entirely — no judgment. But if you're someone who tends to feel anxious before big trips and wants something to orient around, kyuusei kigaku is worth exploring. All you need is your birth date/year to get started.
The Takeaway
Creativity isn't a renewable resource that replenishes on its own. It needs input & new stimulation.
New experiences, unfamiliar places, conversations with people whose lives look nothing like yours — these things matter. Not as rewards for hard work. As part of the work itself.
You don't have to go far. You just have to go somewhere that isn't already part of your usual world.
How much does getting out of your routine feed your creative work? And what's a trip or experience that has stayed with you? I'd love to hear — feel free to share in the comments or through the form linked below.
Comments