Fake it 'til you make it; truer words have yet to be uttered as regards my creative abilities. I wasn't born with perfect pitch or poetic vigour. However, I have tried my hand at tap dancing, painting, singing, theatre, violin and ballet. With such a string of ventures (many short-lived), one could come to the conclusion that I give up too easily (and they'd be half right).
While I do feel pangs of jealously when I see others create in ways that seems to be effortless from the outside, I think the most cathartic way for me to release creative energy is through the written word. I don't linger for long with the green eyed monster. While I've enjoyed the other pursuits, I don't feel empty without their accomplishments and embellishments.
This love affair with words began a long time ago. As a child I wrote poetry and preferred to play with books over dolls. In the midst of my teenage angst, I dabbled in online journalism and wrote a short story that to this day I reflect upon fondly. In my university years, I wrote a bi-weekly newspaper column. For a long time I missed that writing, and in fact, many days I still do. Thinking about words (and even fonts) excites me. Thankfully writing, albeit not of the creative bent, is a major component of my current profession.
Greg and I chatted about creative energy on our road trip. We were exposed to poets, actors, musicians and potters. The joy that stretched across their faces when talking about their art was infectious. It got us to thinking about our own energies. In thinking back on that side-by-side chat on a hazy Saturday evening, I write this post as a commitment to myself to delve into writing more thoroughly. I'm sitting at a juncture in my life right now, and I'd like to use my pen more frequently in this next chapter. I'm venturing forward with the intention to write another short story. We shall see where this pursuit takes me. I think this is one of those truck stops.
P.S. I haven't given up on ballet, and hope to continue in the fall.
