The
path I take you down today may seem a little narrow, and a bit strange. Try and stick with me, though. This is where I start weaving the strands of
my recent musings into this fabric we call “Creativity.”
I’ve
been thinking a lot lately. Thinking
while I’m at work, thinking while I’m preparing a meal, or doing laundry, even
thinking when I’m not doing much of anything.
Thinking while I’ve been walking, and there’s been a lot of that lately. (40.15 miles of “official” walks and hikes in
the past month alone!) Mainly, I’ve been
thinking about the whole idea of creativity, and the way I’ve been approaching
it for the past several years.
If
you’ve been following this blog, you know that I’ve long believed that our creativity
is directly tied to our relationship with our creator, and that I’m not overly
concerned with the names that you associate with that. To put it another way, I believe that our
desire to make is intricately intertwined
with our desire to understand how and why we were made. It’s how those of us
who perceive ourselves as creative seek to make sense of this giant, messy
thing we call life.
Furthermore,
I’ve always felt that the key to unlocking our creativity lay in discovering
that thing that we absolutely, undeniably had
to do. I believed that each of us had
something inside, a purpose, if you will, that was so woven into the fabric of
our souls that fulfilling that purpose was essential to our existence. I’ve felt that each of us has such an element
serving as a vital core to who and what we are.
Once we discover that element, we are transformed. Called.
Unless we are willing to inflict horrific damage on ourselves, we simply
can’t avoid following that calling once we've heard it.
I
still believe this. That being said, I
also think I was completely wrong about what that means.
Throughout
my life, I have known creatives that are extremely disciplined, and extremely
fulfilled. I’ve known writers, painters,
and potters who pursued their craft even on days when they hated it, simply
because they could do nothing else. They
HAD to create. The act of creating was as
vital to them as breathing, and often, it was just as involuntary. To my way of thinking, they’d found their
vital core, their calling.
Unfortunately,
this way of thinking has often been detrimental to my perception of myself and
my own creativity. Ever since I was
quite young, I’ve known I was creative.
I would draw, and paint, and write.
I’d build models, and when I discovered photography, I took
photographs. As I’d discover another
creative aspect of myself, I’d try on the label that went with it as a way of
identifying myself. “I’m an artist. I’m a writer.
I’m a photographer.” I’d call
myself by that name for a while, to see if it fit. The problem was, I’d do that thing for a
while, and then I’d stop. No matter what
I experimented with, I could never find that thing that I had to do.
Twenty-five
years or so ago, I had the opportunity to visit with a woman who had studied
under Ray Bradbury, the visionary science fiction author. She told me that the most important thing
that Bradbury told her was, “You are what you do.” (Note – I’m quoting from a
quarter-century old memory here, so I may be saying it all wrong. With apologies to Ray Bradbury, that doesn’t
matter. What matters here is what I
perceived, and the impact it had.) “You are what you do.” I cannot understate how uncomfortable this
made me. I wanted to be a writer… but I wasn’t writing. It wasn’t long after that day that I quit
calling myself a writer. I was too
embarrassed by the inherent lie in describing myself that way.
“You
are what you do.” If that was true, I
wasn’t a writer. Or a photographer. Certainly not an artist. This haunted me for years. If “you are what you do” was true, and if I looked
at myself honestly, then the answers sucked.
Since I would write for a while, and then quit, and I’d take photographs
for a while, and then quit… “You are what you do” dictated that what I was, in
fact, was a failure. A wannabe.
A misfit. Needless to say, this
had a negative impact on my self-esteem, and as a consequence, my creativity
tanked.
To
be blunt, that was bullshit. Here’s what
I know now. While “You are what you do”
is true, I completely misunderstood what it meant, and that misunderstanding delayed
my growth for years. If I let it, that
would discourage me. Instead, I choose
to accept that I needed that time.
There
are people who paint because they must.
People who write because they have no choice. People who compose music or master an
instrument because it is as necessary to them as breathing. For years, it confused me to realize that I
was not one of those people. I wanted to
create, I could create, I was even good
at creating… but I didn’t have to
create. I simply could not wrap my mind
around that basic truth about myself. If
I wasn’t called to those things, why did they matter so much? I could be wrong about this, but I suspect
that a lot of you struggle with similar questions.
As
I said, I’ve been thinking a lot lately.
This whole idea of pilgrimage, and of walking the Camino, has definitely
shaken something loose inside. I started
wondering why labels were so damn important to me. While names matter and defining ourselves can
be liberating, these things can also be terribly distracting. As I’ve been walking, and thinking, I’ve
started worrying less about defining myself, and instead I’ve discovered that
there are times when I’m just being. It was in one of those moments of being that a profound question came to
me.
What
if my creativity, in all its myriad forms, isn’t my reason for being? What if my creative gifts are nothing more,
(and nothing less), than the tools I
have been given to fulfill my purpose?
WHAT?!?!?
I
was walking when this came to me, walking on a quiet, timeless road on the edge
of Santa Fe. I stopped rather abruptly. It was a radical thought. Everything that I thought I was… just TOOLS?
And
then it hit me like a hammer blow: I
knew what I was. What I am. I knew because I suddenly could see the one
thing that I do no matter what, the thing that I will do even when I have
nothing left to give, the thing that every one of my creative gifts feeds into.
I
encourage.
Standing
there beside the road, I started to consider the evidence, and it supported the
initial hypothesis. As far back as I can remember, I’ve encouraged people. If I’m happy and full of life, I
encourage. If life sucks, and I am done
with humanity, and I want to crawl in a hole and become a hermit, I
encourage. It doesn’t matter if I’ve
known you for decades, or if I’ve never met you before. Nor does it matter if I love you, or if it
takes everything I have just to maintain basic human civility towards you: If I
see an opening to offer encouragement, I’m going to do so. More often than not, I do it instinctively,
without even thinking, because I simply can’t do anything else.
Some
of you may be saying, “Well, duh,” right now. I realize that this may seem obvious to many
of you, but recognizing this was a big deal for me. Allow me my moment.
In
this moment, I know what I am, perhaps even why I am. I am an encourager. I help people see what is beautiful, and
good, and uplifting, even when it seems like that should be impossible in their
circumstances. That’s why I write what I
do, that’s why I focus the lens of my camera on things that I find beautiful. It’s definitely why I focus the lens of my
words on beauty, as well. In realizing
this, I’m finding that it’s okay when I’m not “creating” the way I think I
should. I don’t exist to create. I create to encourage.
So…
my working theory. The title of this
post implies that I have one. I don’t
know if this applies to anyone but me, but I suspect it does. After over four decades of trying to figure
out why I’m not doing what I felt I was made to do, I think I’ve stumbled onto a
key part of the answer. (Yes, I know – I
turn 55 in just a few short weeks. I’m
giving myself a pass on the first dozen years or so.) Obviously, it’s far too early to determine if
this personal revelation will have life-changing impact, or even a meaningful
short-term impact. All I know is that
something feels intrinsically different inside.
Instead of weighing the value of each day based on whether I was creative
or not, I’ve simply been asking myself if I’ve encouraged anyone. The answer is almost always yes, because I
simply can’t help myself. Interestingly
enough, that makes me feel creative.
Here’s
the working theory I’ve been applying to my life for the past few weeks: “I don’t have to be made for the purpose of
being creative. For me, being creative is
the tool that allows me to do what I’m made for.” I know, it’s not really that profound. Still, if you’ve been asking yourself why you’re
not creating, it’s something you might consider. You might discover that, like me, you’ve been
focusing on the tools and mistaking them for your source. Is it really any wonder that this doesn’t
work?
Of
course, it’s possible I’m completely wrong about this. Or, I could be right today, but next week it
won’t be my truth anymore. Like any
hypothesis, this working theory requires that I test it, and that I weigh the outcomes
of those tests objectively. I could be
wrong.
