Letting Go of Perfect Timing (And Why It Matters)

Series: The Seasonal Disconnect: Working Ahead as an Artist — Post 5

Every creative journey begins the same way—by sitting down and beginning. (This is one of my early digital art projects from 2020.)

Even with a better understanding… 

Even with a gentler system… 

Even with the best intentions…

There will still be times when things don’t line up the way we planned.

A season will come and go before something is finished.  An idea will arrive too late to be useful.  A design will sit, waiting, while the moment it was meant for quietly passes.

And it’s easy, in those moments, to feel like we’ve missed something important.

The Quiet Pressure to Get It Right

There’s an unspoken pressure that comes with seasonal work.

To be early enough.  Prepared enough.  Visible at the right time. To not miss the window.

Because when we do… it can feel like more than a timing issue.

It can feel like lost opportunity.  Lost momentum.  Lost ground.

And sometimes, if we’re not careful, it starts to feel personal.

When “Late” Feels Like Failure

I’ve had moments where I’ve looked at something I created and thought:

This would have been perfect… a month ago.

And in that thought, there’s a quiet kind of disappointment. Not in the work itself. But in the timing of it. As if the value of what I made is somehow tied to whether it arrived at exactly the right moment.

Sometimes the value of our work becomes clearer when we stop looking at the deadline and start looking at the journey. (I painted this on a piece of wallboard back in 2009.)

A Different Way to Look at It

But the more I’ve stayed in this work, the more I’ve started to question that idea.

Because creativity doesn’t really operate on a single moment.

It builds.

Over time.  Across seasons.  Through repetition, variation, and return.

A design created “too late” this year… might be perfectly timed next year.

Or it might become part of something larger.

A collection.  A pattern.  A body of work that didn’t exist yet.

Every sketch, every experiment, every finished piece becomes part of something larger. (This is a stack of some of my sketches. The bottom one is dated 1990.)

Nothing Is Wasted

This has been one of the most grounding shifts for me:

Realizing that very little of what I create is ever truly wasted.

It may not be used right away.  It may not fit the moment I thought it would.

But it still belongs somewhere in the larger arc of what I’m building.

And sometimes, it finds its place later—more naturally than it would have if I had forced it into the “right” time.

Sustainability Over Urgency

Working ahead will probably always be part of this process.

But I’m learning that urgency doesn’t have to be.

Because urgency creates pressure.  And pressure, over time, makes it harder to stay connected to the work itself.

What I’m trying to build instead is something more sustainable.

A rhythm I can return to.  A pace I can maintain.  A way of working that allows me to keep creating… without constantly feeling behind.

A body of work isn't created all at once. It's built one page, one sketch, and one season at a time. (Some of my drawing pads and sketchbooks. Since moving to Spain, most are in storage.)

A Body of Work, Not Just a Moment

When I zoom out, the goal isn’t to get every season exactly right.

It’s to keep creating. To keep showing up.  To keep adding to what I’m building, piece by piece.

Because over time, those pieces start to connect.

They begin to tell a story.

Not of perfect timing… but of consistency, presence, and growth.

A Gentle Release

So now, when something doesn’t land when I thought it would… I try to meet that moment differently.

Not with frustration.

But with a quiet kind of acceptance.

This will still matter.  This will still be used.  This still has a place. Even if that place isn’t right now.

I’m still learning how to let go of perfect timing.

Some days it’s easier than others.

But the more I practice it, the more space I feel. Less pressure to rush.  Less fear of falling behind.  More room to simply create.

And in that space… the work feels like mine again.

Related Posts

• The Seasonal Disconnect Series — Part 1: A Season or Two Ahead… Wait—Christmas in July?!

• The Seasonal Disconnect Series — Part 2: Why Creating Ahead Feels So Unnatural

• The Seasonal Disconnect Series — Part 3: Working Ahead Without Losing Your Creative Voice

• The Seasonal Disconnect Series — Part 4: A Gentle System for Planning Seasonal Work