Mental Piranhas + Starting Afresh

I keep writing and not hitting “publish.” I have lots of ready reasons for this, but mainly I’ve been seeking a way back to my creativity through a prolonged fog.

My ability to sew, ideate, write, and imagine my raft has felt rather flimsy in the face of existential dread and the developmental intricacies I’m trying to untangle.

For me, creation is a raft in hard times, and still the times are hard. The times flow and ebb and slice with jagged edges. Swells kick up rocks and coral, while passing sharks seek a tasty bite. Some of these are external circumstances, but a lot of these are internal.

For instance, my brain contains a pet piranha. (Yours does, too?)

This protean fellow likes to make a feast of my insecurities, fears, uncertainties, and everything I hold sacred. He’s kind of a lot to manage, and I spend a lot of time managing him.

He’s my nemesis and also my teacher. I can take my internal stress temperature based on how much this guy is showing up. I’ve discovered that in addition to being a bellwether for inflammation in my body, he’s also a psychological avatar to protect the most vulnerable parts of me. What a fascinating discovery: the undesired attacker is the unwitting protector.

A large part of me wants to solve it all. I want to be the conqueror, the savior, the hero, the expert. A more grounded part of me knows this is not possible, and yet on the level of psychological and material survival, that is the sneaky or not-so-sneaky hope—the desire to save with (and be caught and saved by) all the words I could create.

Unfortunately (fortunately), in a lovely twist that probably anyone else could see coming, I am the ongoing creative project that will never end, and will never be overcome. I will create myself again and again and again. I will catch me when I fall.

Just that much of a realization frees my creativity from being the vehicle for my heroics. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has made a desire, skill, aptitude, or affinity into the vessel for aspiration in a way where it becomes prohibitive to doing the thing you love.

If you have, might I invite you back down to earth? You belong to what you love, and it to you. You hold infinite hope and potential in your hand, whether you can stand to look at it or not, whether it’s living up to your expectations or not. Hope’s not out there and away from you; it’s here, right here, with you, ever and always.

In my creative journey, I am starting to distract my piranha at least some of the time. I take out my notebook and simply make observations about a piece of art. I don’t place any sort of expectation on the creation or the creative process. (By starting, I mean, I did this for a few days in a row and then forgot.) Just writing this post is my invitation to start trying again.

Today, your piranha deserves a rest. Go feed them a scone, and while they’re annihilating it, make something you love.

Till next time,

Elizabeth