time management, stealing like an artist, and the art of writing within limits

why borrowing ideas, accepting time’s limitations, and balancing life’s rhythm can make your writing not only sustainable but actually meaningful

This morning, while out for a walk, I was listening to Four Thousand Weeks and Steal Like an Artist on Blinkist—if you don’t know Blinkist is an app where you can listen summaries or key points of books (mostly nonfiction). It was one of those moments where you’re half paying attention, expecting a good distraction, and then bam—something resonates. You know? Two books, each on a different topic, one about time and the other about creativity, but both circling around the same core idea. When it comes to writing (or life), maybe the secret isn’t trying to master time or invent something totally original. Maybe it’s learning to work with what we have and letting that be enough.

Let’s face it, writers are constantly fighting time, cramming as much productivity as possible into each day, and hunting for the elusive, “original” voice. I can’t count the times I’ve had ideas I wanted to share—just a few words on Substack Notes or a quick post on Instagram—only to feel bogged down by everything else on my plate. But what if it’s the opposite? What if the answer isn’t in winning against time or striking out on your own? Maybe the answer is in making peace with limits and leaning into the shoulders we stand on.

These two books boil down to three key insights: you can’t win against time, creativity can como from collaborations or curation, and real depth comes from balance. Our time is finite—about 4,000 weeks if we’re lucky, as the author says—and we’re not the first to explore these themes we write about. But by working within these boundaries, by not trying to outsmart them, we can actually make them our allies. That’s how we create work that feels genuine, that has weight and meaning.

Here’s the bottom line: accept time’s limits, borrow from the people who inspire you, and don’t let writing push everything else out of your life. Simple ideas, yes, but together, they can shift how you approach the writing life, turning it from a grind into something you actually enjoy and can sustain.

So, first off, let’s talk about time. Four Thousand Weeks suggests that time isn’t something to conquer or master. Not even to manage, if I got it right. It’s something to live with. You don’t see it as a ticking clock to beat; you see it as a partner in your process. With that in mind, we should focus on the projects that matter most, the ones that resonate with us deeply, rather than trying to juggle every idea that crosses our minds. Easier said than done, but the idea is to let creativity grow within these boundaries instead of us constantly pushing against them.

Then, enters Steal Like an Artist—we look at creativity itself. The book argues that true creativity doesn’t come out of isolation. Originality isn’t about creating something out of nothing; it’s about creating something unique out of what came before. Dive into the work of others you admire. Let their words, their styles, become part of your own voice. Creativity is less about inventing and more about connecting.

And finally, balance. Both books emphasize the importance of stepping away from work, not just to rest but to live. Writing without life is a dry well; it’s in those times with people, in hobbies, in wandering, that you fill your reservoir with experiences that make your words feel alive.

So make time your partner, borrow freely from others, and let yourself live beyond the page. That’s the takeaway from this morning walk for me. Taken together, these ideas help create a more authentic, sustainable writing practice—one where limits become a source of inspiration rather than a point of frustration.

What would happen if, instead of trying to master time or chase originality, you allowed your limits and inspirations to shape your writing?