It’s been ages since my last post. One day I was just marching ahead full speed (actually I picture it more at like a road runner type pace) and I looked around and thought…where’d my creativity go? Where’s the inspiration? I imagine it got lost somewhere back there on the road, twirling in a cloud of dust like a tornado. The words haven’t flowed since. I don’t know if this is the case for everyone but the creative process seems to just run like that for me. Feast or famine.
I’ve tried to determine what it is that stirs the creative powers that be, so that I can effectively fight the famine. I went up to Muskoka over the weekend and visited a few friends in the area and got a few ideas. Every time I’m there I feel something that shakes me up a little in a good way. There’s this enormous community of artists up there and to be honest just being in the presence of all that creative energy gets me perked up.
There’s something else about it too. People up there live intentionally. Some of the artists are a bit odd and live unconventionally and their ideas about art are sometimes even strange to me, but they have passion and they’re brave about it. I don’t know how many times this summer I’ve commented that I don’t know what the heck I’ve even been doing or where the time has gone. It’s just gone by me in a rush. I’ve been having fun and keeping busy but it’s all in a flash.
The truth of it is, I’ve been afraid to live intentionally. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been afraid to want anything because in wanting, I feel like I’m committing. I know that I have the initiative and the drive but as I circle around and get closer to my goal or desire (whether it be a job, a new project or hobby, a love interest, or anything else that hits my radar), I panic. I’m paralyzed by my intent because my own fear seems to have this amazing choke hold on my freedom, and by extension, on my creative expression. Instead of imagining myself choosing a path all Robert Frost style, I see myself circling the drain and at the last second I reach out a hand and bail on my little internal mission. Why am I doing this to myself?
I admire large artistic communities like the ones in the Muskoka area because being there allows me to acknowledge what I have not found. It’s tangible there. I can almost touch the creative energy in the air like a magical electricity that’s coursing through the landscape like a natural hum. The lifestyle is different and the people there are happy. It’s not all fake smiles and “I’m fine how are yous”. I don’t know if I’m idealizing because it’s so foreign but I look at it as being who I am and recognizing who I’m not. It’s tough to see me as a decision maker and master of my own outcome. It’s terrified me to the point of silence and frozen me to the spot in anticipation of my own shortcomings. What a way to live! Time to feast.