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on being creative

raw material is...understandably...terrifying.


I'm awake and oddly sweaty - completely unable to get comfortable or to settle my thoughts.

So, here they are.

All creative choices are (mostly) entirely arbitrary.

and I make a choice

(we love options

we hate choice)

I (semi)willingly put myself out there

I say, " is the thing we should do."

and it is met

at once

with countless questions

"why?" "are you sure?" "really?"

and arbitrary judgments

set up against my arbitrary choice

"no, I am not sure.

not in the slightest"

The onslaught of scrutiny to artistry is so taxing. People want creative choice...creative expression...but

And all the more comparative, as we're able to see the immense amount of talent in people in the world. The artful visual, musical, dance, poetry, prose, storytelling, any-and-all creative types are made visible to so many people. Trends. Culture.

(I wonder what it would be like to attempt, actively, to be an artist unknown on wider platforms - only choosing to share with the people I actually have met).

Fame and financial value of arts are both so relative. There are beautifully talented people, who will never be recognized. There are plenty of people with a ton of potential to create (technical skill in creating, ideas galore for what to create) who will not execute - who will not do the hard thing - who will not make art.

And why?

I understand. I fear, very often, that I will be the same.

(why fear? none of this is wasted...)

Because the moment we dare to actually create something - there is the instant, crushing pressure for it - whatever it may be - to be of value. To be of use. To be of benefit. To be something to get us somewhere. To be good, beautiful, perfect...or else subversive, true, honest.


I made Create Freedom. It exists.

It's not at all what I want it to be, yet. But it's what I could do. I feel I've birthed this raggedy (maybe unneeded?) child into the world and now I'm staring at its curious eyes, looking back at me, wondering how it will survive; I wonder how I could possibly keep this thing alive.

There are so many things I want to change about it. I want to make it true to what it is supposed to be...I'm terrified to share it - as I know it isn't perfect.

What am I doing?


I chose three words for the year 2019: faithfulness, structure, and play. Faithfulness was #1 and it's been an absolute rollercoaster blessing living into it...

Structure has helped me to stay sane, to move forward, to exist.


Maybe play will be my entire word of the year for 2020...or the word for the rest of 2019...I haven't learned it or lived it...

I can be so serious ALL THE TIME. It's so tiring! It's so restraining!

I'm too hard on myself (and then, too hard on other people).


Ultimately, being creative has to be so much freer than this. I was made to create. I know this. It runs deep in my bones and comes from somewhere, something, Someone so far beyond me that holding it back is futile.

How can I bless the people around me?

I hold, with open hands and

with feet able to balance

such great, unknown heights

and the depths of the ordinary

ready, sweetly, softly,

to walk

to hold

and let go

in order to paint

to hug

to love

to serve

to create...


All choice will be a little bit right, and a little bit wrong. We must live. We must create.

Love is the only thing, anyway. One thing remains.

My Buddhist friend shared a working definition of love:

"the humble exploration of existence, through playful humor, that makes suffering valuable."

(originally, "suffering tolerable" but we discussed & reworked).

I think I've lived...learned...understood the end of this definition unequally to the beginning.

Keywords: humble & playful & humor.

What's next? I'm going to paint a kids' mural in a room of my parents' house.

And, today, I will give Thanks.

And, each day after that I will attempt to continue to give thanks...humble. Humble gratitude. All this life, a gift...

Love you all. Bye for now.


P.S. send prayer requests.


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