It’s not so much of a conscious decision as it just IS. You can’t help it. If you don’t make things, don’t release that mental pressure valve in your brains, too much builds up. It accumulates like a house sagging under the weight of too many old treasures packed away in the attic. It makes it hard to think, to focus, to walk around concentrating on anything else. It needs to regularly emptied out.
It’s a calling, a requirement, something that wells up from deep in your heart. You have to do it. it doesn’t matter if anyone sees it, doesn’t matter if you post it online and it gets shared with the entire world, doesn’t matter if it immediately goes into a drawer never to be seen again by another human being. You’re going to keep doing it. You don’t care.
It’s a compulsion. It’s intensely personal and private, simultaneously and an ache to connect. It’s smearing your heart across the canvas and hoping for the best. It’s the terror of setting it free in the world, released to opinions and judgments or even worse….silence.
It’s that ache deep inside you when you go too long goes by without putting pen to paper, brush to canvas, hand to mouse, whatever it may be. It’s the yearning to exist without limitation, without rules, without regulation. It’s anything except “by the book”. It’s being utterly perplexed by rule-followers and those who just don’t understand that.
It’s discovering the creation of another and reaching out across time and space to find a kindred spirit. It’s love. It’s fear. it’s polished. It’s raw. it’s a masterpiece or it’s a disaster but it doesn’t matter as long as it’s released.
It’s infusing your food with spices and love. It’s doodling in the margins during a business meeting. It’s eating a bag of M&Ms and pushing them around into patterns on the tabletop. It’s drawing on the side of your filthy car with your index finger. It can’t be turned off.
But why would you WANT to turn it off?
Some of us were born to be creative, the creators of things. Maybe you’ll make a fortune and maybe you’ll starve in the streets, and maybe you’ll toil away at a daytime job and obsess over spending every spare moment on your craft. It doesn’t matter if you’re recognized or not. You’re going to do it anyway.
I get it. I get YOU. I wouldn’t want to be wired any other way.