Rough Bellies and Gratitude

One of my most prized and irreplaceable possessions is the Gratitude Journal my mother kept the last year of her life.  My mother was first diagnosed with a rare and slow progressing form of cancer when I was six years old.  She died when I was thirty two.  She was one of the most fierce and persistent people I have ever known.  The week before she died she took my hand and placed it on her belly. Where there had once been soft, pliant tissue there was only compacted roughness.  The tactile sensation was like touching a heavy, solid, earth-red, brick wall.  

Her journal describes the wonders of this ordinary life, the quotidian encounters that have enormous value, and the mindfulness of gratitude for them.  Her journal propels movement:  to begin to create the kind of life most wanted and dreamed about, starting exactly where we are each day.  I am not so much interested  in achievements and accomplishments.  They are important to me, but not so much as in cultivating a life that is rich in experiences with the one resource I can never get back:  my time.

If you have hesitated moving forward with a creative venture, whatever it is, I encourage you to pursue it.  Not only because I believe the world needs you to use your talent, but because of how it will change you.  The ideas that follow us and  that will not leave us alone are wholehearted gifts.  Start small, start gradually, or start big.  However you do it the important thing is to start.  If you are working toward your goal, there is always more right with what you are doing than there is wrong.

 

 

On Creativity: Confessions of a College Art Educator

I remember the first time I stepped into an art classroom.  Way before Seth Godin introduced us to the idea of finding a tribe, or before social media became the platform for connection it is today, I remember entering into this space of creativity and of making things and feeling like I had found my home.  The second feeling I had, almost immediately after that,  was that I was an impostor.   I was nowhere near as cool, or smart, or as talented as all the other 'real' art students in that classroom.  I became afraid.

That was a long time ago.  Now I am the art teacher in the classroom.   If I am honest, I still feel the fear of not being enough:  smart enough, cool enough, talented enough.  Not much has changed, except that I have learned that what I do is not grounded in "enough," but in something deeper than anyone's opinion of it, including my own.  

What I know for sure is that creativity is for everyone.  It is something we are all born with.  There is no such thing as creative people and non-creative people.  The only way I know to feel like I am not just skimming through the top layer of my life is to be creative.  I define creativity in the words of Sir Ken Robinson, as using your mind to make something that is original and has value.  It takes on many forms, but it always elevates us into our truest, most whole selves.  

I am still learning, failing, and getting back up and trying again.  It is worth it, though.  There is nothing more powerful than speaking from an undiluted and authentic voice.  I would love to know, how do you dig deep into creativity?  What helps you to connect with your truest voice, and what is its worth to you?