I’ve never been a gray person. I’m a firm believer in the black and white. You are or you aren’t. You do or you don’t. You can or can’t. You should or shouldn’t. It’s about having a spine. Knowing who you are. Making a damn decision.
I’ve always thrown myself into everything once I’ve made the choice to be a part of it. I’m not saying it’s the right way to go about life. Sometimes it has served me, and sometimes it hasn’t. But it’s the only way I know how to truly live. There have been plenty that don’t get it. They like gray, from cool to charcoal.
To better explain: I don’t watch one episode of Dexter, I stay up until 4am to finish the season I’ve pirated on my laptop. I don’t buy a coffee table, I paint my walls and retile the floors. I don’t write a blog entry, I write a screenplay. I don’t go to the store for milk, I have to rent a car and buy enough chicken cutlets for a small army. I can’t go for a jog, I must train for a marathon.
Unfortunately the same goes for things that are bad for me. I don’t eat a handful a chips, I eat the entire bag of Lay’s Sour Cream & Onion. For no one can eat just one, right?
While I wouldn’t know how to live my life in any other way, with it comes a kind of imprisonment. Without participating in the entire shebang, there is discontentment. Giving up the unhappiness would mean to throw my ego into the gutter, to completely let go. This prison of incompletion, while safe, makes me fear constantly that I will not be deemed a success, by my own or anyone else’s standards. While the mantra “Patience, patience” enters my thoughts, I simultaneously pray, “Let’s get on with it already.” Many can’t deal with a process like this, as expressing your creativity and your calling has incredible mountains and valleys. Some deem it easier to steal things a better man has built.
Mostly, I am scared when I cannot find the motivation to create. I doubt my own ability to do something worthwhile – something worth looking at, reading, studying, exploring, being immensely proud of. It’s a vicious circle of ego and fear, self-love and loathing.
I do know this: I need to be creating, in whatever form. It is more than a form of expression, it is a need, like breathing, eating, or drinking Spottswoode Cabernet. I want to create, but I don’t know the best way to do so. I suppose there is not a best way, there is just a way. So I’m asking you, and the Universe for help, and good wishes. I’m a firm believer in the power of the mind. You send me yours, I’ll send you mine.
Creative people are not happy unless they are being creative. I can vouch for that. So while I sit here going the corporate route, I silently hope frequently that I never hear back from my inquiries.
I read this today and it made my heart beat fast and tears well in my eyes:
Creative people appear on this earth and they don’t ask to be creative but they are driven to be creative and they are not happy unless they are being creative. They aren’t happy unless they are making things or discussing making things or putting things they made in the mail or painting the things they made or selling the things they made. That’s why people live in lofts and join caravans because the only time they feel alive is when they are drenched in the colors of their being. In a loft with buckets of paint. In a studio with instruments and knobs. On the road. In an attic room with a view of the river. Barefoot in a stranger’s bed. Waiting for a train on a vast prairie. You will only be happy when your mysterious need to create is being serviced, addressed.
I suppose the first part is getting past the ego. Not only putting it to bed, but crucifying it. I don’t need my creativity to make me wealthy, I need it to fill my soul. Maybe I won’t find it fully in a day, or months, or years. Maybe that’s the point of living a lifetime.
Today can be a demarcation from the self-sabotage, if I choose it to be. Self-sabotage is getting boring. Instead I choose to watch the entire second season of Game of Thrones, and read a book form cover to cover. I shall see the sun rise.