Just Show Up

When I was little, in fact, when you were probably little too- we had dreams. We aspired to be a lawyer, or a doctor; a musician or a fireman. We unconsciously soul-searched our left side brain and created adventures only our innocent brains could think about. When presented with a map, we didn't think about time or the gym or even how much gas would cost to find the end treasure. We didn't require our parents to be witty or wise to entertain us; we entertained ourselves.

For me, lately, I miss that feeling. I miss the intense highs and complete exhaustion. Writing and photography are my outlets since I've become an 'adult.' If I told a child that I enjoyed running, spin class and boxing, but I did it for a purpose of being fit rather than just for pure pleasure, they wouldn't comprehend. Why wouldn't I write and do photography instead? Criticisms, I guess. Do I actually think, though, that the literacy critics will really come pounding on my door because, in my blog, I didn't match the possessive noun with the right verb? Doubt it. Will people yell “Rookie” to me while I'm walking down the street? Shit, I'd be so happy if they did.

So, why else? Is it because I'm getting old? I think the older we get, we persuade ourselves that the instinctual need for creativity is no longer needed. I know my mother is an enormous talent (painting, designing and wreath building) but she hasn't done those things for years. Have I outgrown writing?

Maybe...we lose faith (or I lose faith) because we see so many artists struggle and figure there is some other 9 to 5 job to pay our rent, travel bill, etc. But, when we take that other job and stop creating, what then? First, I know that I will never outgrow words on a blank page. No matter how grammatically incorrect or un-comprehendible my stories may read, writing to me is like a sweet nectar juice to a hummingbird. It's like a brie cheese stuffed with caramel and nuts or butter with bread to a food lover; it's like a new set of oil pastels or Ingres paper to a painter.

Second, I know that I will never stop looking at the world through a lens just because everyone else is doing it. I have never liked to be the one that followed the herd, but in this case, I'll moo for as long as my lungs will take it.

I can't wake up creative everyday so for me, I need to have my stable job and remember on my down-time how much writing and photography means to me. Pregnant women really don't want to have a big belly, but they do because in the end, the joys and thrills of being a mom, outlasts anything. Sometimes writers blame time, musicians blame the audience, etc. In the end (whatever that may be to you) though, it's worth it. There will be intermittent times of business, blockage and laziness. But, like Elizabeth Gilbert said, “All you can do is show up.” I did stop showing up. I figured that if I showed up and nothing came to me to write about, or I couldn't find a tiger and a crocodile kissing with my camera, I might as well drink a martini and call it a day.

Being impatient doesn't work; not fulfilling your soul doesn't work either. It may, for awhile, but then you just end up pushing through and that's not enough.