Last night, I attended a lecture by Louise Erdrich, a favorite author of mine. She spoke about creativity. I first need to thank my friend Leslie, for the ticket. She works in the fine arts department at St. Ben's/St. John's, and was able to get tickets for those of us from book club who wanted to go. It was a very good evening, and one that will be the topic of this week's musing.
I generally don't think myself a creative person, at least not when it comes to anything visual. I can't draw, paint, or even decorate my home very well. I don't have a very good sense of style (I always wear solid pants/solid shirts, and only have a small pile of shoes to choose from). But I do feel the creative stream (Erdrich's words, not mine) flowing through me. I am imaginative.
I have always thought that I was an intelligent person. I always received good grades in high school and college, and had potential for better grades. But I never did more than what was required of me. I didn't actively seek out opportunities to expand my intelligence or creativity. As a child, I was a bookworm...I was always reading something. But, as a young adult, I pretty much stopped reading. And there were years, YEARS, let me tell you, that I never picked up a book. I don't know if it was information overload. As a college student taking a full load of credits, who really wants to sit down and read more, or attend more lectures? I just wanted to get done, get married, get a job, have babies, and live happily ever after.
And that is what I did.
And don't get me wrong, there are aspects of my life in which I am so incredibly satisfied. I realize how blessed I am. I have three beautiful, bright, healthy children, who generally don't try my patience too much (except when they are hyper, that really gets under my skin). But they are good kids, they try hard in school, they are good to other people, and they aren't punks (at least not yet). I have a wonderful husband. We have grown up together, and yet, he recognizes my need to be a separate person from him. He encourages me and supports me, and above all, loves me unconditionally. My work is immensely challenging, which is a double-edged sword. It can be both my blessing and my curse. I am working now on balancing the stressors of my job with the rewards, and am trying not to let my job consume me. Again, not sure if the job thing is a blessing or a curse, but regardless, I have a job that is diverse, challenging, and one where the sky is the limit, so I guess it falls more on the "blessing" end of the spectrum.
But when I look at that paragraph above, I see that all of my blessings are other people. I don't have a blessing that pertains to me.
At times, I feel as though something is missing. I feel like there is something in me which is uncultivated, untouched. Like an abandoned room in a house, where slipcovers protect the furniture from dust. Because I just don't quite feel like me.
As I'm listening to this woman, author of countless books and a literary genius, in my opinion, I realize that I have let my river of creativity flow without any intervention on my part to shape it, to develop it. I spend my creativity making spreadsheets for work. I spend my creativity making silly voices when I am reading to Lilly. I spend my creativity cleaning the house. Those are all fine tasks, necessary tasks. But I am sitting there, pondering this...is that all I can do with my river? Is there more I can do? If so, what should it be?
As a teenager, I used to write poetry. All types of poetry. Sonnets, Haikus, iambic pentameter (I can't even remember what that means, but it was a tool for me when I wrote). Granted, the poetry was nothing spectacular, and I'd probably be too embarrassed to share it. And, quite honestly, I don't even know where it is anymore. But that was how I expressed myself. That is how I put into words the thoughts that were stirring in my head. How do I express myself now? Is it a color-coded spreadsheet listing revenues by department? Don't get me wrong, some of my spreadsheets are totally kick-ass, but is that it for me in terms of self-expression? Do I express myself by vacuuming under the couch? How do I get this energy out of my head?
I have seriously been thinking about writing a book. First, if I can write a really great book, I can make some money. Wouldn't that be great? To sit down, spend a year writing a book, and make a boatload of cash...doesn't that sound easy? I also want to write a book to complete my mom's legacy. She was always going to write a book, the "Great American Novel", she called it. She was a Thorn Birds junkie, and she wanted to write a love story about a priest. It makes me giggle a little bit, but it might make a really good storyline. I've been kicking around possible story lines, characters, and settings. I want to write something that is not cliche, hokey, corny, or mindless, but I also know that I am not a very good writer.
So, in pondering this idea, I have been wondering the million dollar question...where do I come up with the time to explore such a crazy dream? Last night, at that lecture, someone asked her if she writes every day. She said, yes, she tries to write every day, but there are times that she can't. "Happy obligations," she called them. Her children, her family, her bookstore pull her away from her writing. Leslie and I looked at each other immediately, we had just been discussing over supper how to balance our family life, our work, and our own self. How do we keep from losing ourselves in the midst of all of this hubbub? I maintain a position of good Catholic motherly martyrdom. I believe that if I give all I have to my family now, when they all leave, I will be able to explore my own interests, and I will have no regrets. I won't look back and feel like I didn't do enough for my kids. But Leslie brings up another point...if you put it all on hold, how do you even know what your interests are once you have the time to explore them? And I began to think from a different point of view...if you put your life on hold to nurture the lives of others, what if you don't make it to the "finish line"? What if your life is cut short before you are able to explore your dreams? Do I want my life to end feeling incomplete, feeling like there was more to me that was never explored?
Hmmmmm, good point. But how do you squeeze it in? Ms. Erdrich writes daily in a diary. She calls it a warm-up exercise and part of her "mulch pile" of words and ideas to draw from when writing a book. OK, I can do that. I have long thought about auditing courses at St. Kate's. As an alumni, I am able to audit one course per semester for the rest of my life. That means I can sit in the class, but I don't have to do the work, and I don't receive credit. But there are logistical reasons why that doesn't happen. Even if I took a night course, one night per week for about 15 weeks, I would have to drive 1.5 hours to sit in class. That one will truly need to wait. I don't have time for that. I know that I can continue to read. Explore literature. Read from the great authors. Challenge myself to read something that is complicated, difficult to understand. I need to continue to challenge my intellect. I can begin paying attention to things around me that I have written off as boring, too complicated.
These are all great ideas, but the call "Mom..."will keep pulling me away from them for the foreseeable future. Happy obligations.
No comments:
Post a Comment