On my drive back to Kentucky last Friday, I did some thinking about my creative work and what in my life I’ve chosen to share and not to share. So much of the writing I did in my teenage years has filled journals and stayed there. The one short story I wrote that I love the most is not one that has been read by anyone but me. And I have so many things I want to write…about Honduras, about running, about things I’ve only imagined…
What drives a creative person to share their work? Do writers keep their best prose to themselves, or do artists save their best pieces for their homes? Am I the only one that holds ideas deep in my soul?
Sometimes, I think I just don’t know where to start. For example, how can I begin to write about Honduras? What work could hold what I feel about that country, those people, and my thoughts? That’s something I’m still working out.
Sometimes, I think it’s fear that holds me back. Even as I fight against it, I’m a perfectionist; I don’t fight it too hard. For some stories, I can’t even bring my pen to paper because, from the first stroke, I can’t be sure that it’ll be complete.
I think, maybe, art isn’t meant to be perfect or complete. That idea makes me uncomfortable.
I recently listened to a talk where a designer admitted that he is uncomfortable creating without parameters. I believe that a part of me – the part that enjoyed the boundaries of academic writing – struggles immensely with this as well.
Yet, I am entirely at ease sharing other creative outlets, like my photography or even my yoga instruction and practice. I can’t say what the difference is.
A good portion of my friends are creatives, and I’ve decided to ask them what makes them dream big, what drives them to create, and what calls them to share, either via a career or a hobby.