I summon the Genie

Rome was built from the ruins, I thought, as I climbed out of my pit of despair. Phew, that was exhausting. I sat, perched on the edge of the hole I had dug for myself, legs dangling, perspiration pouring, dirt smeared across my cheeks. I looked down and then up. I looked for a sign.

Instead, this week, I received a series of revelations. So, in no particular order I am going to share them with (lucky) you.

No one turned up on a government-sanctioned mission to rescue me with a half dozen engineers and a special, rocket-like chute... but many hands reached down from the light and offered to extract me from my hole. I gratefully took these hands. To be alone is sometimes a physical reality, but to feel alone is a choice. The truth is, there are people everywhere, friends, and if you are willing to wave a flag from inside the cavity you have fallen into, your brave signal will lure fellow cave dwellers from their own pits in droves. Invite someone over coffee. Phone a friend. Listen while someone else tells you about their much, much worse situation. Relay and relate. Talk to a stranger at a bar or at the library. There are at least 100 ways not to be alone. So, I picked more than one.

Lesson number two: When you set demanding goals, be they financial, professional, creative or otherwise it is worthwhile to first find out what tools, collateral or energy might be required to meet said goals; as opposed to projecting a deep, dark road littered with difficult obstacles between yourself and where you ultimately want to be. This imagined clutter is difficult to clear up once projected. Start with facts, rather than assumptions and the way to the finish line will look a little less like Jurassic Park during Cyclone Tracy and a little more like the yellow brick road to OZ.

I have been reminded once again that my life's purpose is my property. I own it and I shape it. This idea takes some getting used to. Some days, it feels like I stole it and so I hide it behind the couch until I find someone worthy to give it back to. Then I remember that there is no one more qualified to handle it than me. It's "if you build it they will come" versus "they have built it so let's go visit and do what we're told while we're there". Start small, somebody told me. You might feel like an ant wading in a puddle of almost insurmountable expectation, but keep your head up, swim and soon you will grow.

Getting back to the idea of life purpose made me do a lot of thinking about creativity, both my own and as a general concept. I was referred to a TED Talk by writer, Elizabeth Gilbert on nurturing creativity. She talks about artists being held accountable and how the creative 'genie' once considered to be a divine enigma, visited upon unsuspecting artists is now considered to inhabit the self. We are on the look out for a (human) creative genius rather than the concept of 'creative genius'. With works pending critical judgment even prior to creation, you can see how one's capacity for inspiration or transcendence could be severely incapacitated by society's jury, waiting with baited breath, tapping fingers and feet, as the artist of today tries to "bring it home".

Whether this judgment is real or imagined, there is a certain truth in an artist's journey being less valued and respected today, than it may have been historically. Artistry was once revered as a dignified and envied vocation. Capitalism sure has a lot to answer for. We shake in our boots at any career that does not play a hearty role in meeting the household budget. There is no creative venture where anguish is not anticipated in advance, where fear for what the future holds is not felt. A sense lingers that there is a danger to our wellbeing, psychologically, socially, financially, if we continue to pursue such fanciful prospects.

And here comes my next revelation...I hereby conclude that this festering attitude in our collective subconscious can go and fuck itself. Artists in all forms should be treated like a protected species, in a societal construct that enables, encourages and fosters creativity to thrive. Let's tear down the emotional firewall that stands between what we think we should be doing and what we were put on this earth to do. Our personal security settings are good and keeping bad things out, but they can also block good things from coming in. If you put up a fence, you always have to climb up to see over. It's protection at a price; quite literally, the cost of living.

Humans are just that. Human. We can be vessels for something greater if we are open and ready. So, show up, be present. Nothing can be achieved by you if you aren't actually there. A transition is just the first step in a revolution. Releasing the genie requires time and space. You have to be willing to claw your way back out of the hole.

Sit on the side with you legs dangling and look around for a sign.

This week, I opened my eyes and an opportunity presented itself. For the first time in a long time I am genuinely motivated, propelled towards something that could feed my soul, for which the entire point is fulfillment of a greater purpose. No money will change hands.

If it is meant to be, I will have another good reason to get out of bed each morning. If it is not, I will dust myself off, keep my head up and swim in my puddle until I outgrow it. And I will not swim alone...all creatures great and small are welcome.

Bend it like Bender

I am sitting outside in the sun, writing what is my first post this month. Since you last heard from me, I have become one of “those people” you see in cafes tapping at their laptop. Today, the sun has drawn me out, crab from shell, and encouraged to send some unsolicited words out into cyberspace. Have I been lazy? Possibly. Distracted? Definitely. Perhaps I was hibernating, like a brown bear. It was the end of a long Winter after all.

No matter the reason, it's a fact that not a lot has sprouted in the usually fertile ground of Mindfield recently. To those of you who rely on me for amusement, thought provocation or the raise of a furry brow, I submit a formal apology.

My silence may have been best for readership. I have not been an easy person to be around this past month, uncharacteristically introverted and moody. Husband can vouch for my lack of social compatibility. Each time we have left the house to confront the world at large I imagine him phoning ahead to warn them; “We’ll need to keep her separate, you know that she doesn't play well with others.” I arrive at places expecting to see a little signpost at my table.

As yet, I have no resolution for my onset of this self-diagnosed inertia. It seems I am momentarily frozen in time. Prophets of common sense would suggest that action could cure me, but there is a sense that the cons of committing on both sides outweigh the pros of making a move in either direction. After years of doggedly pursuing every lead life had to offer, walking through all doors, open and shut, it seems that I have stopped dead, mid-cycle, and not even mid-life.

Was it wisdom that I paused to ask myself where I was running to and why the hurry? Or was it self-destructive? When I stopped to smell the roses, a question mark somehow got sucked up my nose. Now it is zipping around in my head and I feel like until I answer it correctly, I won’t see anything but an endless quandary of questions. I will be literally missing the point. Period.

There are days when I watch myself spin like Alice down the rabbit hole. I have even considered the possibility that I have accidentally wandered into the Bermuda triangle of life. I would describe it as limbo, but limbo could imply there is a sort of goal. A bar that keeps resetting the challenge, that requires you to stretch yourself, even if it’s just for fun.

For now I accept that I have lost my rhythm or at least misplaced it. The familiar tune I was dancing to inexplicably changed from pop to jazz in the bridge. Now, there isn’t even a chorus. It’s unpredictable and disorderly. The symbols clash and I cringe, not sure what to expect next, my beat in complete disarray. Needless to say, I never cared much for jazz.

I will keep walking down this road that only reveals itself in front of me a few metres at a time. I will take my chances. I need the time to gather the bricks and mortar so I can pave my own road... it is a slow process. I walk past other avenues and alleyways, perfectly constructed and inviting. People I know beckon me to walk their way. I wave politely and ignore them.

I figure, if you have to spend time in limbo, you might as well join in. Sing your own tune regardless of what's playing, and bend it (like Bender) for as long as you can. Only time will tell if you will break your back trying.