I Like It

My mind is doing the thing again.

You know the thing. The loop. What if this goes wrong? What if my projects flop? What if I put it all out there and nobody receives it, or worse, they do and they reject it?

I think I started this habit young.

There were one too many impromptu performances thrown for friends and family that felt like they were laughing at me, not with me. One too many moments of wondering if being this much of myself was exactly why I didn’t have many friends.

We had a family friend when I was growing up. I only saw her a few times, but I remember her vividly. Bright colors. Bold patterns. Things together that had no business being together. She was wild and expressive and completely unapologetic about it, and honestly, as a tiny creative person, I was a little enamored.

At some point, I acquired her nickname.

Miss Betty Bocca.

It was not a compliment.

Here’s what sensitive creatives learn early: there are confines. Color is fine, but too much color? Too loud? Too wild? Too different? Those things accumulate. They build a story.

The story goes: you are fun and creative and a lot. But maybe dial it back. Maybe stay inside the lines. Maybe don’t be quite so much.

You learn where the invisible lines are.

Did that stop me from wearing a neon tracksuit, collecting everything Lisa Frank, and dramatically lip syncing to Phantom of the Opera in the rain on our forested nine acres?

Hardly.

But it did teach me to count the cost. To risk assess my own heart before I let it out in public. To scan the room for the familiar judging eyes or barely concealed smiles before I decided how much of myself to bring.

I still do that.

Right now, actually.

So I’ve been practicing something. When the what ifs start, I redirect.

So what, if?

What if it flops? So what, if? I got to create.

What if people don’t understand? So what, if? The ones who need it might.

What if they think I’m too much? They’ve thought that before. I’m still loved by those who don’t want less.

What if I like it anyway?

And that’s the thing that has actually been setting me free:

I do it because I like it.

Not because it will be received perfectly. Not because the timing is right or the algorithm cooperates or anyone has given me permission. Because I like it. Because I have to. Because it is genuinely not possible for me to be any other way.

Zoe Saldaña said something like this once and I remember reading it and thinking, what would it feel like to actually believe that about yourself? “I know who I am. I love who I am. I like what I do. And I like how I do it.” She went on to say she likes her mistakes, her pace, her way of learning. She doesn’t want to be anybody else.

Now I think I’m beginning to get it.

I’m not holding back right now. I have ten things on the stove and I’m lilting between them, checking temperatures, next steps, what needs attention. That’s just what not censoring yourself looks like.

It’s a busy kitchen and I like it that way. I’ll turn on the music and light the candles. Barefoot. Dressed for endorphins. Using the recipes I love and some I’ve never tried before.

I know what happens to me when I stop making things. Some of my heaviest seasons have also been my least creative. I’ve wondered how much of my own heaviness came from trying to suppress the parts of me that were always trying to make something.

I’d rather throw the paint at the wall.

Stand back.

See what happens.

And if nobody likes it?

I still got to paint.

I like it.

Miss Betty Bocca would be proud.

_{Cover Painting: “Wild Faith” by Kate Kness}