I feel like I don't spend enough time here. It isn't necessarily that I believe blogging is the most worthwhile use of time, but I feel like blogging gives you a chance to say something... and when you're regularly saying something, if you're coming from an honest place and being the most authentic version of yourself, some really fun or creative or even life-altering things can happen. That sounds a little touchy-feely and crunchy granola I guess (Kum-Ba-Ya, anyone? and please pass the s'mores), but I guess I'm just sort of at that point where I'm really yearning for more of those moments that bring clarity and inspiration all at the same time. I seem to have flashes of brilliance in my work life, but small victories in writing Access queries or designing a presentation on web content with role-based security are hardly things I ever expected would inspire celebration in my life. I mean, yes, I always wanted to be good at what I was doing. I just never thought what I was doing would sound so frightfully (a better F-word than the one I'd really like to use) boring when I said it out loud. I feel fortunate that in the midst of technical jargon there's room for creativity in my job, but I miss those moments of creating art purely for the sake of the art itself or for the connection it made me feel to the world around me. I so very much enjoy seeing when other people find those moments - in fact it's probably one of the things that brings me the greatest joy - but I'm missing them in my own life. It seems like I come to this space more often to talk about the things I wish I were doing than the things I'm actually doing... probably because those wishful things seem so much more appealing. But really, what exactly is stopping me, any of us, from creating, or at the very least appreciating, beauty in this world?
Sometimes I think it's the comfort of the mundane. It's good to feel normal, maybe even regular, because there's some connection there. "I'm not nuts. I have a job. I live in the same place every day. I pay for things. Just like most everyone else." There's some kind of human link in having a routine the way other people have a routine. It's hard to have a routine that differs from the norm because, frankly, it proves very difficult to have conversations with people who are asleep. We all do business at the same time. We eat meals at relatively the same time. But we have the power of free will... that's supposed to be the thing that separates us from the cows who all move in the same direction when they graze. (Seriously, they do this. Go find a field and watch them.) That free will is supposed to help us set ourselves apart from the masses, make our own unique imprint, follow the path that seems most appropriate for our individual needs. But if you choose to live in a mainstream world, you still (presumably) have to pay your mainstream bills. And unless your particular brand of weirdness develops a mainstream appeal, you ain't makin' no cheddah off that goofy idea of yours and will find yourself homeless on the streets or mooching off your friends. I'm all about helping a brother out if he really needs me, but at some point you also have to put on your big kid pants and take care of yourself. So I guess what I'm saying is there's a fine line between being brilliant yet practical and just absolutely suffering for your art. I've always fallen more into the first category (probably minus the brilliance) and just don't want a huge part of the second category. I remember a beatitude about suffering, and I'm sure there's merit to that, but the whole idea doesn't really appeal to me on a grand scale if I have the means to avoid it.
Somewhere, somehow, it all comes back to finding a balance. I'm sure not everyone would agree with me on this. So many true artists were able to create lasting beauty perhaps only because they let themselves go to those dark places or to those places where they were truly the first person to push those boundaries of comfort. Those people who successfully reached those places and pushed those boundaries were revolutionary. But sometimes it's hard to turn off the crazy. And there's a point where you either move forward into the land of the truly scary (though potentially earth-shattering) and risk absolutely losing your grip or you shut that mother down and risk living a life of nothingness. But for me the risks in either direction are too great... I'll be okay with my life if I never create a revolution, especially provided that I don't become a real-life version of that scene in every crazy chick movie where the girl cuts all her hair off with a butcher knife before the real crazy shit goes down, but I also don't want to miss out on all the colorful opportunities afforded to us through our God-given talents and passions. We're here for a reason, and I shudder to think that reason is to move through a gray fog of normalcy. Our planet is full of too much color and life, our gifts are too rich, our souls are capable of being too full not to make the most of those moments.
It's easy to make a resolution. But it's damn hard to stick to it. I'm pretty good about taking little steps... I'm not so good at making myself take big leaps. But I think maybe it's time to be a little bit more courageous, a little more committed, and a little less normal. (I'm sure the people who hear me burst into song on a regular basis would argue that I've got that last one covered. But you know what I'm saying.)
