The Artist’s Way: My Late-Night Artist Date in College

During my senior year of college, I found myself wandering downtown. In an effort to read more (and slow down), I stepped into a local bookstore, the kind of place I had passed a hundred times but never entered. That day, I ordered a book: The Artist’s Way.

I didn’t know what it was about. I’m not someone who believes in coincidences, though. Yet in good old-fashioned God's timing, the reason would be one I wouldn’t understand until much later. Looking back, that moment became the start of my own quiet journey into creative routines and what people now call artist date ideas.

The book asked me to commit to two practices: morning pages and something called the artist date. Go alone, it said.

• Do something that brings joy.

• Do something neglected.

• Fill your inner well.

Simple rules, but never easy when life is busy and stress overrides everything else. I had a habit of piling too much onto my plate and priding myself on working harder. Personal enjoyment always came last, behind what felt “responsible”: studying, cleaning, fitness, a part-time job, anything that made me feel productive.

i was really feeling myself with this parfait lol

On my second artist date, I grabbed my camera and walked to the library. I drifted toward the cookbook section.

There, I found different culinary books focusing on various cultures such as Japanese, Thai, French, and more. I ended up pulling down anything that called to me until ten books surrounded me. Opening the books and admiring the stories and creative layouts of each cookbook, a thought struck me. I had no idea how much I missed sitting in a library simply for pleasure, without the pressure of school.

My passion for the culinary arts had been gathering dust, buried under exams, routines, and the constant need to keep up. I had ignored the artistic side of myself for years. Because of criticism and judgment when I was younger, I convinced myself it was safer not to be creative at all. But that night, something softened. And in that aisle, I rediscovered desserts that raised me.

I landed on a childhood favorite: mango sticky rice. A dessert that felt like home. Walking back with a little pep in my step, I made mango sticky rice and enjoyed it for two days straight. When I finished my third bowl in two days, it hit me: I had way too much sticky rice. At first, it felt like a classic mistake. Cooking too much of something. But it wasn’t.

mango mochi ice cream sliced, drizzled with honey and bee pollen sprinkled on top

I opened the fridge, stared at the leftovers, and scanned my overcrowded shelves of seasonings and pantry odds and ends. Suddenly, an idea clicked. I grabbed a glass jar that reminded me of a beer mug wth its thick handle and heavy base. Using the glass beer mug, I began layering with joy.

First, a scoop of warm coconut sticky rice.

Then fresh-cut mango.

A spoon of almond-coconut cream.

Repeat. And repeat again.

In the middle, I added a cloud of pandan-flavored dairy-free whipped cream. Then I remembered a single mango mochi ice cream tucked away in my freezer. The mango mochi was one of those things you forget about until suddenly it becomes exactly what you need. I sliced it and placed it on top, finishing everything with a sprinkle of bee pollen.

yummy layers of a Thai-inspired dessert

It looked like something my younger self would’ve built with no hesitation.

Standing there in my tiny college kitchen, I felt a quiet kind of joy. The kind that doesn’t rush or perform. The kind that shows up when you stop trying so hard to be responsible all the time and create.

It also struck me that nothing about this dessert was “new.” Every part of it already existed in my fridge, in my pantry, in my freezer. The sticky rice wasn’t a mistake. The leftovers weren’t a burden. Everything was already there. I just hadn’t looked at it with care yet.

John 13:7 says: “Jesus replied, ‘You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.’”

God doesn’t always hand us brand-new ingredients. Most of the time, He invites us to notice what we already have. The extra, the old, the forgotten, the things we think aren’t enough. With a little attention, those pieces can become something meaningful again.

Creativity works the same way.

It’s not about reinventing yourself every time you step into the kitchen or onto a blank page.

It’s about letting yourself use what’s here. Letting things be imperfect.

I’m allowed to use what I already have and trust that it’s enough.

Love,

Iski