It's an interesting reflection on how I felt about writing, and about sharing my writing, before I began my journey of self discovery in earnest. This was written after my first divorce, but before I had kids, and therefore before my most severe depression (post partum depression). It was before the revelations that Psychoanalysis has opened up to me, that helped me realize how much of a writer I really am, and want to be.
I've found my way into yet another museum. I'm not quite sure what it is about art that I so thoroughly enjoy, but I manage to hit a gallery in every city I visit. I think a part of me is drawn to the sense of creativity here. All these artists who must have been driven, to some extent, to create. That compulsion to invent some perspective not yet seen.
What undefinable value their creations give to the world.
I wonder what it's like. Beyond the need to give life to their imagination, what does it feel like to be compelled to share that vision? I've had my moments of creativity. I enjoy my words, and the formation of my thoughts. More often than not, the fruits of my labors end up feeling fiercely private. There are very few with whom I choose to share my little bits & snippets. I can't imagine exposing my brain babies to the scrutiny & criticisms of the general public. I envy that in real artists, while I somehow judge it at the same time.
Such immodesty. Such hubris. Such arrogance.
All because somewhere along the line, I was taught, or I decided, that my creations didn't deserve the same public acclaim of others. There's always something missing that makes it not quite good enough. Not that I honestly feel that most of what I've done really is all that fantastic, the general dismissal of it's worth saddens me, even though it's purely coming from within. I think that's why I've decided to plunge more fully into my journaling. Even though my moments of truth and revelation aren't all that frequent, I still love my words. I don't have to write something Pulitzer worthy to make writing worthwhile.
I'll create with that mindless, selfless passion of the artist. For the love and joy it brings to just me.
Interestingly, as this draft was sitting, waiting to be edited for spelling and typos, I stumbled on an interesting YouTube video that echoed this sentiment very closely. I absolutely love his approach to nullifying the fear.