It seems to me that the creative life is the search for the embodiment of a certain kind of joy. A feeling of lightness, of clarity: as if you’ve just gone out to the shores of a great lake and emptied out everything that was hard and difficult and pressing too tightly inside of you, exhaling it in a way through the very act of doing creative work, as if maybe when you are sinking into the pool of your creative waters it is all a process of exhaling, of letting go, of setting free that which has been pent up inside, and once it’s loosened you come to realize you are breathing again, not just normally but deeply, effortlessly following the rhythm of your own gathering and letting go.
There’s a joy in that, in being so present with yourself and what you’ve created or are creating. Even if we’re making very difficult work, that process of releasing, of laying down on the page of paper or strings or set or screen, that can be a feeling of release and relief, as if in the process of making you are laying down a burden.
I think too there is something in claiming creativity as an act of joy. Even if we are tackling difficult subjects, even if the way forward is absolutely not clear. There is a defiance, a resilience, a stick-it-to-the-man-ness in saying, “Even if it’s not easy, I’m creating this because I love it. Because I love making things. I can embody a tenderness for my work at the same time that my work takes whatever form it takes—messy, difficult, exciting, perplexing, all of it. Even if my work is sparked by anger or grief or a thousand more ‘challenging’ emotions, I can choose to love it and the fact that it is coming through me.”
We live in a culture that too often celebrates the misery of creating. “I don’t love writing,” the Eeyore-ish saying goes, “but I love having written.”
Choose to love the act of creating. Choose to find small pockets of joy in your day because you—yes, you!—are making something that has never existed before. It’s radical. It’s humbling. It’s nourishing. And I would even say it’s necessary.
If you don’t love the work you’re creating, then I must gently ask, Why are you making it, then? Or if you don’t enjoy the creative process, why not? Doing creative work is a bold choice; it’s not always easy or obvious to choose creative work, much less a creative career. Why, then, would you create something if it doesn’t bring you at least a little joy?
I think at times and places in our lives, we are taught to resist taking pleasure and frankly, simply being made happy by doing something creative. This usually crops up when we’re getting “serious” about our creativity, when we’re getting exposed to feedback on it, and very much especially when we are taking that big leap and making money from it.
But here’s the good news. We can unlearn that “serious” approach to our work. We can traverse our inner landscape and find the inner child who lives in each one of us, and we can learn how to play again. I know I have. The greatest journey I’ve been on as a creative person wasn’t becoming a “professional writer” (as I thought) or imparting profound wisdom/insight/blahblahblah (as I also thought) or even (gasp!) making a living as a creative person.
Nope. It’s been relearning how to love what I do. To take pleasure in it. To have fun. To play.
Maybe you are remembering how to play, too?
Hi Callie - This is wonderful writing and very inspiring! I am 60 years old and a “new” creative person. :) I was an electrical engineer and everything in my career had a “hard science” yes or no answer. I retired and am now working on creating poetry. Your writing here is inspiring and helpful to me! In fact, your father also had a part in me starting this journey through his Old Growth book. A year ago I started to visit the places shared in his book. I fell in love with Toft Point and Jung Beech Hemlock SNAs. They are within driving distance of my home. They are magical places to me! I take a pen and notebook and find a place in the big trees and sit for a number of hours. I just listen and see and feel. I record ideas and observations and thoughts in my notebook. I then go home and let these ideas grow. If I am lucky I end up with a poem after a first draft and much revision over months. My plan is to collect these into a chapbook at some point. Thank you for your beautiful writing and inspiration! All the best, Dave Sachs
Oh the Joy of noticing, watching, hearing what is expressing from me. Was that really inside me?