Before the Noise
Rachel: Highly Conscientious Creative Director With A Story To Tell
5:15 AM
The city hasn’t woken up yet. I love that.
The air still holds the last breath of night — quiet, crisp. I pad barefoot across the floor, light a candle on the kitchen counter, and pour hot water over hibiscus tea leaves. The scent is soft, almost like memory.
Phone: off.
Slack: closed.
The world can wait.
This is the hour I defend with everything. I call it my quiet hour, but really, it’s a kind of sanctuary. I sit by the window and write. Not for the brief. Not for the pitch. Just... to clear the static. I write until I can hear my own thoughts again.
There’s a question I ask myself most mornings:
What do I want to feel today?
Not what do I want to do. That’s easy.
But feel? That’s the real compass.
8:00 AM
Laptop open. Headphones in. Phone flipped face down.
This is my flow window — a 4-hour deep work block I’ve trained my life to protect. The world rewards output, but what I really chase is original thought. The kind that punches through the noise, the kind that builds campaigns people actually feel.
Today, I’m building a new pitch for a sustainable fashion brand. The brief is dry — but the problem? The problem is alive. So I dive in. I moodboard. I read weird blogs. I watch a documentary clip. I scroll my camera roll from 2016. I get lost, and then found.
At 11:37 AM, it hits.
A single line. The story arc. The “aha.”
I whisper, There you are.
12:30 PM
We walk.
Not because we need a break — but because the best ideas never come under fluorescent lights. I take the team around the block. No agenda, just movement.
Maya’s riffing on a concept. Jay’s cracking a joke. I’m not talking much. Just watching the way they think out loud. It’s a 15-minute sync that somehow solves the layout dilemma that’s stumped us for days.
People think leadership is control.
I think it’s permission.
Today, I gave them space — and they built something better than I ever could.
3:00 PM
There’s a fine line between pushing through and tuning out.
At 2:58, I close my laptop.
At 3:00, I lie flat on my back, earbuds in, eyes closed.
22 minutes of Yoga Nidra. That’s the rule.
I used to think rest was earned.
Now I know it’s strategic.
Recovery isn’t a reward — it’s part of the performance.
When I open my eyes again, I feel like I just left a second world.
But in that world, my mind rearranged itself.
New clarity. New edges. Back to centre.
10:15 PM
The city lights flicker below me. Balcony. PJs. Glass of wine.
My phone buzzes beside me — a new message, blinking.
But I ignore it. Just for now.
I journal the way I started: no filter, no formatting.
I write about the brief.
About that moment at 11:37.
About the team’s breakthrough on the walk.
About the call I’ve been avoiding.
About how... I almost texted him today.
I close my journal with a question:
Did I protect what mattered most today?
A pause.
A breath.
Yes.
Mostly.
I look out at the skyline again.
The moon is low now. The candle’s burned out.
And the message still waits on my phone.
Unread.
11:03 PM
Then... a flash of the message notification: "We need to talk. – D."
Palpitations
Want to know what happens next in Rachel’s life that day?