On Sisyphus, Motherhood, and Creativity

In Greek mythology, Sisyphus was condemned to an eternity of pushing a boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down just as he neared the top. Over and over. Forever.

Sometimes, as a mother and creator, I feel like Sisyphus.

Every day, there’s another boulder to push. School lunches. Cleaning up after the dog (who has thrown up again). Spending six hours at a volleyball tournament over the weekend. It’s the repetitive, pedestrian work of life—the kind that makes me feel like I’ve wandered into the movie Groundhog Day.

And when I let resentment creep in—when I start comparing these “chop wood, carry water” tasks to all the creative things I could be doing—it’s a slide into misery. Resentment leads to anger, anger leads to guilt, and I get pissed.

I try a different approach.

I aim to treat this part of my life—the endless boulder-pushing—as a kind of meditation.

If you have twenty apples to chop, and you focus on the nineteen still ahead, the task becomes unbearable. But if you concentrate on the one apple in front of you, if you breathe through it, take in the texture, the smell, the act of service in it, life starts to feel a little lighter.

This perspective helps me with my creative practice too. I don’t think about an entire novel, or a full score, or a completed script. Instead, I break my creative time into small, manageable chunks—20, 30, maybe 60 minutes at most. Just enough to focus on one apple, one task.

The same applies to the “boring” daily tasks. I try to approach them as opportunities for meditative practice and contemplation. Folding laundry, making lunches, even cleaning up dog vomit becomes part of the rhythm that steadies me. And oddly enough, these tasks often fuel my creative energy. But only if I’m in the right frame of mind. That usually means, I’ve let go of time constraints. Fighting time is a quick way down the rabbit hole of doom.

It’s hard work, though. And even as I write this, I’m asking myself, Do I really do this?

The honest answer? I try. Like anything else, it’s something I aim for. Some days I manage it. Other days, I’m grumbling at the boulder, wondering why I signed up for this endless uphill climb.

But on the days I succeed—on the days I focus on one apple, one task, one moment—the difference is profound.

This simple shift in perspective can mean the difference between a shitty day and a pretty good one.