Homework

We flew to Madison, WI last weekend - where my husband and I both grew up - for his nephew’s wedding. Our daughter was the flower girl, which would’ve been enough to make the trip memorable. But thanks to my newfound “open calendar” (see above: unemployment), we turned a quick weekend into a full week and somewhere between the farmers market and the lightning bugs, I realized I was revisiting the simplest joys I’d long since complicated.

I had a list. Not a fancy list. Just things I did as a kid that I wanted to do with my daughter:

Pedestrian? Absolutely. But these are my core summer memories, and I wanted to recreate them with her.

We did everything except the State Fair (rain). And something unexpected happened: I think I had more fun than she did.

At the Madison farmers market, actual farmers sell actual produce they actually grew. No tech moguls turned gentleman farmers selling $12 heirloom tomatoes with backstories at the Union Square market. Just corn and cheese curds.

Our bike ride? No electric scooters playing chicken. No delivery guys on motorized missiles. No tourists stepping into your path of travel without looking. Just... a bike ride through nature… with twisted streams and cows in the distance. 

The Wisconsin Dells - all lazy rivers and water slides. It was simple fun we’d each had countless times as kids, but watching it through our daughter’s eyes made it new.

One night we caught lightning bugs barefoot in the backyard. Another afternoon we ate those cheap icees in plastic tubes on the back deck. Nothing Instagram-worthy. Everything worth remembering.

Is this it? These simple moments I took for granted as a kid, now feeling like luxury because they're so far from our daily NYC reality?

Throughout the week, I started sharing that I'd been laid off. It became an inadvertent social experiment. In a place built on the foundation of steady work - teachers, tradespeople, government employees with pensions - career upheaval registers differently than it does in New York. The responses were kind but predictable: concern masked as encouragement, variations of "everything happens for a reason" and "doors closing, windows opening."

"Oh, and you missed your 20-year class reunion last week," my mom mentioned casually one afternoon.

I brushed it off because the truth is, I literally don't care. Zero fucks given, as they say. I never really discussed it with my parents - or anyone for that matter - but I actually hated high school. I felt like I didn't fit in anywhere, with any group of friends. I was basically counting down the days until I was free. Maybe that's because my brain had plenty of time for daydreaming and visionary thinking since I didn't have close friends occupying space in my skull.

I was hesitant to bring this up because it's one of those things I like to keep in a little box, sealed airtight, hidden away where I don't have to think about it ever again. But then I realized how many others had a similar adolescent experience of not fitting in, being different, not having that sense of camaraderie and togetherness that high school promises.

And it got me wondering - who won? From my perspective, I'm winning. I escaped. I spread my wings and ventured away from everything I knew. Meanwhile, my family - who I'd just opened up to about my own career journey unfolding in real-time - is all still living within a 10-mile radius of the childhood home they grew up in. That's the kind of mentality Madison breeds: community, family, close-knit connections, including looking forward to and participating in your 20-year high school reunion. Familiarity and consistency.

Is this it? The realization that some of us are born to stay and some of us are born to go? That there's no right or wrong way to build a life, just different ways of honoring who you are? That my family's choice to root deep is as valid as my choice to spread wide, and both can be forms of winning?

​​I keep coming back to something I wrote down a while ago: 

"There's no right choice. There are only choices that are right for you."

Madison values what it's always valued: hard work, stability, staying power. There's dignity in that mindset, respect for the professions that keep communities running. But there's also an unspoken expectation that you'll find your lane and stay in it. The hustle mentality, the willingness to bet on yourself, the idea that you might envision a completely different future than your neighbors - that's not part of the cultural DNA here.

But here's what I couldn't quite explain to them: I've never been happier.

Which brings me to something unexpected that happened during our extended stay: my creativity nearly flatlined.

I struggled with that realization because surely creativity lives within me, not just around me. But here's the thing that really messed with my head: at home in NYC, I'm a creature of habit. I thrive off consistency, routine, discipline for keeping things "normal." I stick to my plans, follow my schedules, and somehow that structure fuels my creativity. Yet drop me into a different location - even one filled with simple pleasures - and my creative juices dried up nearly entirely.

Research shows I'm not alone in this apparent contradiction. Turns out, our brains are wired differently when it comes to environmental needs for creative thinking. Some people thrive in quiet, controlled settings, while others - like me, apparently - need the moderate complexity and stimulation that cities provide as their backdrop, even while maintaining personal routines within that stimulating environment.

After ten days of the same beautiful rhythm… farmers market, bike rides, lazy afternoons on porches, my brain seemed to shift into what scientists call "low arousal mode” (“science-speak for ‘my brain’s on vacation’”). The monotony, the repetitiveness of simplicity, somehow caused my usually active mind to slow to Madison speed. It wasn't that the days weren't enjoyable - they absolutely were. But I felt creatively trapped in the same pattern day after day.

The science behind this is fascinating: cities provide what researchers call the "goldilocks zone" of cognitive stimulation. The moderate noise, visual complexity, and social diversity trigger dopamine release and activate the brain networks responsible for creative thinking. My NYC routine works because it's structured, disciplined, and set against a backdrop of endless environmental variety. Meanwhile, too much environmental sameness (even pleasant sameness) can actually suppress these same creative processes, no matter how disciplined you try to be.

Then, somewhere over Pennsylvania on our flight home, something clicked back on. Like my creativity had been holding its breath and finally remembered how to exhale. The bustling airport, the diverse faces, even the controlled chaos of the drive home to Manhattan; it all felt like creative fuel I hadn't realized I was missing.

Now I know what to watch for next time creativity starts to flatline. The research suggests a few strategies: build in systematic variety (different coffee shops, new neighborhoods for walks), embrace moderate background noise when working, and most importantly, don't fight my brain's need for environmental complexity as the foundation for a productive routine. Sometimes the creative drought isn't a failure; it's just a mismatch between what your brain needs and where you happen to be.

The real revelation? Understanding that creativity isn't just about inspiration! It's about the environment. And there's no shame in needing the energy of the city to think your best thoughts, even when those thoughts happen within the structure of daily discipline.

The week taught me something: you can go home again, but you go as who you've become, not who you were. The farmers market is the same, but I'm different. The bike paths haven't changed, but my perspective has.

Maybe that's the homework - learning to carry the simple within the complicated, to find the lightning bugs even in the city lights, to honor both the roots that shaped you and the wings that carried you away.

Sometimes the real work isn't moving forward. It's understanding why you left, appreciating where you've arrived, and choosing which pieces of home to carry with you. Not because you have to, but because they still serve the person you've become.

These inches matter. Even the ones that take you back to measure how far you've come.

If you enjoy where this is headed, don't just sit there - subscribe! Forward it to your friends, family, that one person who always sends you interesting articles.

Drop a comment with your own homecoming stories - the moments you realized how far you'd come, or the honest truths you're finally ready to admit about where you're from versus where you've landed. 

Let's make Is This It? your Friday check-in before you head into whatever weekend adventure awaits.

Until Next Friday!

Chris

Next Week: The unexpected connection! My Trump 2.0 revelation and why his approach could be exactly what we need to finally break through.

Speaking of complicated relationships - let's talk about my actual love life. No, not with my husband (that's thankfully straightforward). I'm talking about my polyamorous arrangement with artificial intelligence.

There's Claude, my strategic thought partner and copy editor who helps me untangle complex ideas and polish my writing. ChatGPT, the versatile generalist I turn to for everything from quick questions to creative problem-solving. Perplexity, the better mousetrap to search - finding exactly what I need without the noise. 

It's intimate, really. They know my voice better than most humans. They've seen my terrible first drafts, my 2 AM questions, my strategic pivots and creative dead ends.

But here's the thing about any good relationship - it's not just about what they give you, it's about how you show up. The quality of what I get back depends entirely on how clearly I can articulate what I need.

Is this it? Have we stumbled into a new kind of partnership where the real skill isn't knowing everything, but knowing how to have a productive conversation with something that knows almost everything?

ChatGPT is a superpower if you know how to use it correctly.

Discover how HubSpot's guide to AI can elevate both your productivity and creativity to get more things done.

Learn to automate tasks, enhance decision-making, and foster innovation with the power of AI.

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