Create.
I am feeling remorse for my creative negligence over the last few months (into years). It's my Blue Period, notably lacking the accompanying masterpiece artwork. I used to write all the time: blogs, bad poetry, etc. I'd write stories and pretend to start novels only to get sidetracked when I couldn't make the characters as cool and important as I thought they should be. I'd write songs and I'd play them for other people, and even though the lyrics were generally void of talent and originality, I was still creating something, and offering it to the universe.
Perhaps I turned too far inward and got selfish. Or maybe I just made a general wrong turn amidst my overarching state of pity about my job and career, and maybe felt a little bit pathetic about being artsy. But whatever the cause, my outlet, my saving grace, became running and being in nature. But what did this offer the world? It just helped me out and left some muddy footprints along rainy trails. Granted, due to this release I may have let go of any fantasies about breaking some coworkers' necks. So that's good.
Last night, on the way down Kwaay Paay Peak with a new friend, we talked about his daughter's behavior problems. I heard myself talking about the importance of creativity and the actual tangible representation of her secret self. I heard myself and I believed myself. But as we navigated down the tricky steep part of the mountain, I felt a strange guilt creeping across me. I felt inauthentic. I felt meaningless. I felt like I'm failing to do the good things for the world that I'm capable of. Quails fluttered out of the sage brush and with them my pride.
Sure, there can be a big gap between creating something and offering something good, something helpful to the world. But there's an even bigger gap if I'm creating nothing.
Maybe I'll throw some paint on a canvas. Maybe I'll go to open mic nights again. Or, most likely, perhaps I'll just start posting more of these crappy introspective blog posts. Hell, at least it's not a bulleted list again.
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