The Discipline of Devotion

How to Keep Showing Up When No One’s Watching

One of the most profound transformations of my journey has been becoming someone who is devoted to their life’s work.

I’ve never been what you’d call “disciplined.” I’ve struggled with structure my whole life. I can’t be rigid, and I rebel against systems. But when devotion came along, everything felt different. Devotion is discipline that arises from within. It’s natural. It’s organic. It comes from love—from being pulled, not pushed.

Discipline says: “Do this now.” 

Devotion says: “I can’t not do this now.”

That’s the secret no one tells you. When you’re devoted to something, discipline becomes almost effortless. But if the devotion isn’t there, then no amount of scheduling, habit-stacking, or accountability hacks will save you. You’ll get bored, resentful, or burnt out. You’ll start negotiating your way out of it. And you’ll eventually drop it altogether.

When you’re called, listen.

When you really tap into your life’s work, this thing that is yours in the deepest, soul-aligned way, something changes. The pull is magnetic. You show up not because anyone is watching, waiting, or applauding, but because you have to. Because something wants to move through you, and you’ve chosen to become a vessel for it.

When I first started abstract painting, I had no art background. I was in my early thirties. I hadn’t ever taken a visual art class before; I just knew I needed to learn to create. So I bought a giant canvas (arguably a mistake—I should have started small) and a bunch of paints, and I just began painting. 

I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, but I fell in love. Not with the result—God, no, the results were objectively terrible. But I fell in love with the process. 

I’d find myself, mid-day, pulled toward the canvas like a tide. Hours would pass during which I’d fall into this weird trance-state, feeling simultaneously messy, chaotic, bodily, and alive. I’d emerge two hours later with a hideous painting and a heart full of something I didn’t have a name for… maybe reverence.

And this was the paradox: I hated the results, but I loved the process. 

So I kept showing up. I realized that it wasn’t about being good; it was just about being there. Devotion gave me all the resources I needed to keep going, and skill came later. 

No one is waiting for your work (or they are, but they don’t know it yet).

If you’re in the business of transformation—through coaching, teaching, creating, or leading—then devotion is essential. Because the truth is, no one is waiting for your work. Not really. And that has to be okay with you. 

Most people won’t notice what you’re doing. Some people won’t understand it. Even those you’re meant to impact may not find you until much later, when your voice is more refined, your message is more clear, and your work is more aligned.

You have to keep showing up before anyone is listening. You have to learn to stay devoted before the results arrive.

It’s OK to get stuck, and it’s OK to take your time. 

We all have to face our own creative seasons: the stuckness, the procrastination, the overwhelm. We have to get comfortable with the labyrinth. We must learn how to stay in motion, even when nothing feels like it’s working.

I used to think procrastination was a flaw. But now I understand it’s just part of the cycle. There are moments where nothing moves, where I would rather do dishes for five hours than face the work. But I’ve learned not to turn on myself in those moments, because the real risk isn’t procrastination—it’s closing down, giving up the motion.

Devotion stays open.

Understand your own process. 

I’ve tried many practices that helped me stay open to the process. Late-night writing, naked painting with red wine on a Friday night, daily voice journaling. Ruthless execution days where I sat and just did the thing until it was done. 

But none of these practices are formulaic. What works best is always personal; that’s the annoying part.

Here’s the bottom line: every creator has their own rhythm. And every process has its own intelligence. So every ritual must be shaped around you—the unique and highly specific thing you are. 

But, the one practice I have found myself returning to again and again—especially in the beginning of a new project or idea, when the work is raw and undefined—is a daily voice practice. Something that lets you meet yourself each day, something that says: I’m here. I’m listening. I’m available.

Devotion Is Built, Not Bestowed

Devotion doesn’t show up all at once. It grows. It snowballs. It evolves through showing up, over and over again, until the act of showing up becomes part of who you are.

So if you’re in that season—stuck, unseen, and unsure—don’t try to be perfect. Don’t try to be brilliant. Just try to be there. Present. Open. Available to whatever wants to come through you next.

Because that’s what devotion really is. It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic. It’s quiet. Repetitive. Unshakeable. 

And it will carry you further than discipline ever could.