This is the ocean. You are an astronaut. None of it is supposed to make sense.
An ocean scene at sunrise.
I’ve been thinking lately about my tremendous drive to “understand my creative process.”
It never seems to end. One season I’m all about loose leaf paper and those old clear ballpoint pens. I’m writing late into the night, my novel is filling in, it feels vibrant and right. I’ve got this.
And then bam, it just changes. I crave books and poems. I get to the page and I have nothing. I think something is stirring but I can’t tell what it is. I’m frustrated and tired of waiting. I know nothing.
I used think there was something is wrong with me. Now I know that this is normal. And necessary.
Our creative needs refuse conformity. They refuse definition. If you understand who you are as a writer today, you’ll be confused again tomorrow. It is an ocean. You are an astronaut. Everything just keeps moving.
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This reminds me of the extreme love I have for every iteration of the Pride flag. Pride — unlike a country, and other things with flags — isn’t run by a person or even a committee. Pride is a movement, an upswell, a growing collection of gender and sexual identities rising together to be claimed and celebrated outside the confines of the mainstream. I don’t think one person can say, “This arrangement of colours and shapes will represent us all forever.” It would be absurd. So it keeps kicking and evolving and sparking debate.
Maybe someday we will end up with one flag that is universally decided on, but I doubt it. I think we will always be grappling with all the ways to represent the beautiful and untamed world of queerness. I think that’s good. We find our complexities in tension, in change, in ever-expanding truth.
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Our creative process can take a lot of permission from that. We are also not a country. Our creativity has no government or ruler. We may think we are the ruler, but that myth won’t last for long.
So despite my drive to understand it, I know now the only thing I can commit to is to listen and to trust.
What makes me rise up to tell my stories? Move closer.
What makes me shrink away in fear? Move away.
What makes me feel proud of my work? Move closer.
What makes me ashamed? Move away.
Over and over.
More rise, less shrink.
Your inner world will always be layered and bewildering.
Don’t try too hard to tame it.
Just keep listening.
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Richard Wagamese wrote “Let the mystery remain a mystery.”
Sometimes we need the ballpoint pen and sometimes we need a social media platform.
Sometimes we need to write daily and sometimes we need to stop for a year.
Sometimes we’re sure of ourselves and sometimes we are full of doubt.
It’s all part of it.
And it’s all so damn beautiful.
I’m glad you found us.
In it with you,
