I’m sitting at my dining table this morning, the familiar rhythm of the morning routine finished and the kids safely dropped off at school. Rain’s drumming against the windows while my non-vocal deep house playlist fills the lounge room—the same type of ambient soundscape that used to flow through my headphones during my software engineering days twenty years ago.
It’s the middle of winter, cold and wet outside, which means the usual guilt about walking the dog or getting some exercise is mercifully absent today. My diary sits empty until mid-afternoon, interruptions unlikely. For me, these are the perfect conditions for creativity: space, time, and mental quiet.
I have a wealth of projects waiting—articles to write, research to dive into, ideas to explore. This abundance of creative possibility feels like such a departure from the last decade of my career, where the past five years especially felt like an endless chain of distractions stretching from 6 AM to 6 PM, sometimes extending into European or US time zones.
The Creative-Analytical Divide
What I’ve come to realise—and I’m sure this is well-documented—is how difficult it is to inhabit both the analytical and creative parts of our brains simultaneously. The context and mental buildup required to enter the creative zone is so fragile, so easily shattered by the next tactical decision demanding attention.
I could remain in analytical mode all day, guiding teams and making decisions, but accessing creative flow felt nearly impossible. The constant switching cost was too high, so creative work simply… didn’t happen.
The Cost of Creativity Starvation
Recent reading has introduced me to research suggesting that when we don’t create, we become fundamentally unhappy. This revelation has me questioning something important: How can someone maintain a corporate career—especially in management, where decision-making mode is the default—while still finding pathways to creative expression and mental health?
Many people turn to creative hobbies outside of work, but with young families and the cascade of responsibilities that follow, I never found a way to pursue these interests without constant interruption and fragmented attention.
Redesigning Work for Human Flourishing
This leads me to a broader conviction: modern work life needs fundamental redesign to accommodate creative work. Not just because it’s a healthier way for most people to live and work, but because organisations that embrace this balance will inevitably produce better outcomes.
The question isn’t whether we need creativity—it’s how we can structure our professional lives to honor both the analytical rigor our roles demand and the creative expression our minds require.
Perhaps the answer lies not in finding time for creativity around the edges of our analytical work, but in recognizing that the two can and should inform each other, creating richer, more sustainable ways of thinking and working.
After all, the best solutions often emerge not from pure analysis or pure creativity, but from the dynamic interplay between both.
Leave a Reply