It's a funny thing, to me. I don't really quite comprehend how the same vein can lift you up in one instance and somber you in another. It's the same talent, the same trait ... how can the same trait tap into so many different parts of your psyche?
I'd like to think we're all creative, in our own ways. Of course, I have no way of knowing whether or not that is actually true. I think that I'm creative. I like to write, I enjoy creating. I like to sing. I really like to sing, and although I know I'm not bad, I don't really think I'm that great, either. I get by enough to make ME happy, and I guess that's what counts. I feel peaceful when I sing.
I tried to write songs. I suck at that. I only ever wrote one song that was worth a damn: "The Story of Us." Wrote it after my marriage ended and could never make it through it without crying. Eventually, I put it away. It never really made sense to my why that song affected me so, when I was the one that decided to end the marriage (one could argue that his actions spurred mine, but that's a pointless argument. he would have stayed married forever, I think, regardless of what he wanted). I finally figured out one day that I experienced a loss and that song was my way of working through it - so, singing it put me back in the middle of those emotions. Back in the middle of the hurt, the bad choices, the confusion - and that's not my life anymore. I haven't thought about that song in so long - until I was reading someone else's story that was similar to my own and it reminded me.
But, anyway.. writing. I think I'm ok at that. It makes me feel good when people relate to pieces of what I'm writing - like I've connected with them for a moment. Their life, and my life, touch for a bit. Good pictures do that to me, too - but, I really can't take good pictures. Just admire them from a distance. Probably why I love going to the museum so much.
I was watching this guy paint one day. Friend of a friend of a friend kind of thing. It was really cool to see what creativity looks like in action. On his face, in his hands.. he was alive with it. It was an abstract painting - a tree, The Tree.. you could sort of see it in the background. I remembered that when I saw a loosely similar painting in Lindsey's dentist's office yesterday.
I don't really know what any of this means except it was just a subject I wanted to address. Funny thing - had I not gotten divorced, I probably wouldn't be experiencing all of this now.. guess everything works out how it should, huh?