A reflection on abundance, creativity, and learning to count what matters.

I used to think abundance was something I had to justify. Earn. Hustle toward. That if I organized myself well enough, stayed small enough, gave enough — then, maybe, I’d finally feel full. But fullness never came through over-functioning. It came in the quiet, the soft edges of days when I wasn’t chasing or proving.

In Week 6 of The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron asks us to recover “a sense of abundance.” And that phrasing stuck with me — recover, not create. As if it was never really gone. Just waiting behind the noise of everything else.

I’ve been inching toward that recovery for years. Massaging truth back into my routines. Letting softness in through side doors. So this chapter didn’t shock me — but it did name things I’ve been feeling all along. It helped me connect the dots between what I had been doing intuitively, and what I could now practice more intentionally.

The themes — The Great Creator, Luxury, and Counting — aren’t just ideas. They’re reminders. Invitations. And each one offers a way back into your own life.

The Great Creator: Releasing the Grip

I grew up in the church. Not by choice — it was structure, something my parents leaned on to keep me grounded and busy. I showed up. I did the classes. I followed the rituals. But even as a kid, I asked questions. A lot of them. Not just about rules, but about why things happened the way they did. Why pain went unanswered. Why cruelty was explained away. Why belief seemed more about control than connection.

Over time, I started to see a difference between religion — the institutions, the performances, the expectations — and whatever God might actually be. I didn’t walk away from belief entirely, but I needed space. I needed to explore a version of faith that wasn’t wrapped in fear or judgment.

That’s where Cameron’s framing of the “Great Creator” caught my attention. She wasn’t talking about obedience or dogma. She was talking about a generous force that wants to create with us — not through guilt, but through collaboration.

Maybe I wasn’t manifesting all of it. Maybe I was finally receiving.

Tool for Your Toolbox: Creative Surrender Practice

Write for 5 minutes starting with: “Creativity comes through me when…”
Ask yourself: Where am I forcing? Where could I allow instead?
Let one creative task this week be open-ended. No audience. No outcome. Just a

Luxury: The Time I Keep Denying Myself

I’ve never been stingy when it comes to small luxuries. A cool drink on a warm day. A favorite snack arranged just so. I know how to make rituals out of simple things. I’ve always practiced pleasure in ways that feel intimate and tactile — not performative. It’s how I stay connected to the present.

Where I tend to fall short is giving myself the luxury of time.

Time to take that walk around the block that would reset my nervous system.
Time to step out onto the indoor porch and just watch the squirrels zigzag across the yard like tiny project managers.
Time to plan the lake day even if I don’t feel like I “earned” it.

But here’s the thing: I have. I always have.

My body knows it before my brain does. The moment I’m in that water, held by it, tossed gently back and forth like a ragdoll full of joy — I remember. This is mine. Not as a treat. As a right.

When I’m at the lake with my partner, something changes. We become kids again. Splashing, screaming, sinking into full-bodied laughter with no audience. It’s loud. It’s chaotic. It’s sacred. We look ridiculous and free.

That’s what luxury feels like to me. Not ease for ease’s sake — but ease that restores. That reminds me of who I am when I’m not flattening myself with duty.

Even on quiet days, the balcony is calling. I know it. I watch the wildlife do what it does best — exist fully, without justifying its presence. I want more of that kind of luxury. Not just the candle or the extra snack. But unrushed attention. The kind I often save for other people.

Tool for Your Toolbox: Time as a Form of Care

List three time-based luxuries that soothe you. Even five minutes counts.
Give one of them full presence this week. Don’t multitask it — meet it.
Ask: What does enough look like when I’m not rushing?

Counting: Rewriting How I Measure Worth

When Cameron asked us to track our spending, I understood the logic. What you spend money on reflects what you value. And I’ve done that work. But truthfully? Where I really needed to look was at how I was spending my time.

I tend to live in survival mode — trying to stay productive, be efficient, “get things done.” And when a block of time wasn’t filled with something concrete, I’d regret it. Like rest wasn’t valid. Like a walk or a quiet lunch was a luxury I hadn’t earned.

But I’ve learned — through failure, exhaustion, and repetition — that the best things don’t come from stacking tasks. They come from the lake days I almost canceled. From the porch moments I finally allowed myself without narration.

Time is my most precious resource. So why do I treat it like it belongs to everyone but me?

When I look closely, I realize the “frivolous” choices were actually investments. That wasn’t avoidance. That was living.

When I don’t allow downtime, I’m not being productive — I’m hoarding scarcity. And recognizing that has changed how I count.

Tool for Your Toolbox: Time Alignment Check-In

Look at your past week. Where did your time go?
Highlight what actually restored you.
Ask: What would change if I treated rest as essential, not extra?

A Quiet, Generous Practice

Abundance isn’t loud. It often whispers. Offers the same thing over and over until we’re ready to say yes.

Some days that practice is loud — floating in the lake, laughing until your stomach aches. Some days it’s subtle — a breeze, a blue jay, a quiet stretch of time no one demanded from you.

You don’t have to believe in a Creator to believe this: you are not here to live in depletion.

So ask yourself:

What am I already receiving, quietly and without ceremony?
Where do I still believe I have to earn what I need?
What could change if I stopped keeping score and started noticing the balance?

Abundance isn’t something you’ll win if you behave. It’s something that remembers you, even when you forget yourself.

And it’ll wait. Until you’re ready to count again.

🌿 Milna Cultivates

Good Things Good Days — essays on creativity and becoming.

Originally published on Medium by Milna Cultivates.