Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up. – Pablo Picasso
I Once Was An Oceanic Conductor
I love the ocean. And the beach.
When I was young, my parents often took my siblings and me to Oceanside Beach. Back in the 1970’s, it was never crowded, and the sand was soft, white, and pristine. As my sisters and brother occupied themselves, I would sometimes walk up to the water’s edge, face the rising waves, breathe in the salty air, and imagine myself conducting an oceanic orchestra.
In my mind, I raised my arms, and the waves paid attention. The higher I rose my arms, the higher the waves. When I lowered my arms, the waves obeyed. I had the power to make the waves crash furiously or undulate calmly. Then I flicked my right wrist and a stampede of white horses appeared out of the surf and raced towards me as seafoam climbed my legs. I would close my eyes and feel the spray as they galloped past me. Then they would get smaller and disappear as the waves reached the shore. Meanwhile, seagulls would fly overhead in synchronized patterns as sandpipers scurried in line at my feet like little ballerinas crossing a stage. (Looking back, I probably saw Disney’s “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” and wanted to be Micky Mouse, who did the same thing but in a sorcerer’s castle.)
A child-like imagination fuels all creativity. But as I grew up and started what we adults call “real life”, a life of responsibility and planned success, I began to ignore this hidden source of energy, and that girl became a distant memory.
The Itch Arrives
Now at the halfway point of my life, I take an account, and my life is good. I love my husband, my family, my home, my friends, my community, and my work. But there’s an itch.
So you’ve got the itch to do something. Write a screenplay, start a painting, write a book, turn your recipe for fudge brownies into a proper business, whatever. You don’t know where the itch came from; it’s almost like it just arrived on your doorstop, uninvited. Until now you were quite happy holding down a real job, being a regular person…Until now. – Hugh McLeod in his article “How To Be Creative”.
Yes, I’m itching. Like heck. It’s that little girl on the beach wanting to conduct again. I forgot about her, and the itching is not going away.
Finding My Way Back To Me
So how do I appease the girl and make this itching stop?
I have to find my way back to her. And my posts, visual and written, are my way of retracing my footprints to that beach of long ago. I can start to see the girl, who is happily conducting life as she imagines it.
So dear reader, my hope is that you follow the footprints left by you, back to that ideal world you once created, and then live in it today.
My other hope is that this itching will go away.