There and Back Again: A Creative Journey
I have always been a creative. It wasn’t always obvious, especially not to me, but as I’ve grown into myself my creativity has blossomed into the foundation of who I am.
My twin brother and I spent countless hours in childhood creating elaborate adventures for our action figures. We knew the weight of heartbreak before we experienced it because the characters we created went through it. Our favorite songs turned into our greatest hits as we would change the lyrics to make them our own. Even our favorite candy found its way into a short story that made it magical. Our future belonged to us because, as Eleanor Roosevelt once said, we believed in the power of our dreams.
I was shy, always hiding from social interaction, but my creativity could take me to a place where I was ALWAYS comfortable in my own skin.
As I grew up I began to resist my creative side. I got caught up in being the person I thought everyone wanted me to be. My focus was more on achievements and social status than on how to make an ice pop the protagonist of my next story. I was losing myself.
That inner creative, however, made himself known from time to time. I took a creative writing course in high school that begged me to bond with my pen, and I enjoyed it.
That inner creative was always protecting me. I had mini rebellions, so to speak, throughout high school and college. If it wasn’t for that inner resistance I’d be an accountant right now, but no, my spirit longed for the uncertainty of life alongside creativity.
I took the creative route only to discover how lonely it can be. While all the business majors worked on group projects I sat alone in my room writing stories and poems. While the communications crew prepared for team presentations I was reading Milton and Donne. While everyone was learning how to be social in college through collaboration and communication, I was making assumptions about how to be a young adult, which led me to take action as a man I never wanted to be or even thought myself capable of being.
Now I wasn’t only reading and writing alone, but I was drinking alone, too. I took to the bottle because I assumed that’s what everyone did in college. I thought people would like me more if I drank more. I numbed myself of all the discomfort, all of the loneliness, all of the truth, until I eventually broke myself.
What’s there to do after you’ve been broken? You either continue on being broken or you start to pick up the pieces and put them back together. I picked up the pieces. I haven’t had a drink since October 2019.
It’s been a long and tedious journey back to the comfort of my own skin, but my pen has been with me every step of the way. I can see myself sitting alone on the beaches in Australia jotting down notes for my next story. I can still hear the coyotes in the distance and recall the poems that were inspired by the deserts of Arizona. I can feel the bite of autumn with fondness because of the words that were written in response to the whistling winds of Winchester.
I’ve discovered how freeing it can be to sit with your feelings, to sit with yourself, and to create something of it. That creation serves you, but it can serve others as well.
The creative who feels lonely writing in his room isn’t actually alone, his tribe just gathers around a different flame. They gather around a flame of dreams, dreams that they all believe in.
