what i know so far

notes on creativity

Photo by Etienne Girardet on Unsplash

Our parents’ efforts for us were the best they had to offer. For better or for worse. We were dealt a hand we were expected to multiply. The story of most immigrant children. You take what you are given, and you make more of it. But lately, i’ve grown increasingly curious about what that more could actually look like.

I always knew that my mother’s version of more meant to focus on an academic life, get a stable job, choose a provider husband and have some children. And at some point on this journey into womanhood, that has felt boring. Stale. A dream that was never mine to live but given to me like some hand me down clothes chosen out of someone else’s treasure chest. Saved for me by someone who wanted it, but couldn’t make it work. An outfit that has always felt ill fitted.

I mean yes, I want to be a mom. And I know that I want to be married. But I’m still moving through my reasons for those. Is my desire to be married stemming from years of programming. Is it a desire to create what my mother so desperately tried to but couldn’t? Funny how I place that onus on my mother and not my father but we’ll discuss that symptom of patriarchy another day. I want to know my desire for marriage is a divine calling. I feel the divinity of motherhood, but some days the desire for marriage feels attached to my wounding rather than my healing. More so, the process of connection triggers my wounding and makes me seek my why, for the path of marriage, more earnestly. Because I want to be sure. And I want to choose from the most healed spaces from within. A privilege my mother was not afforded.

I have been slowly reshaping what the more can look and feel like. Knowing that I can add color to the life my mother dreamed up for me. It does not have to be linear and it does not have to be either, or. It can be a both, and. A phrase my therapist taught me years ago. “both, and”. I have the agency to honor the curiosity about the dreams that live inside me. The ones I so carefully tucked away that I may have never known they existed.

Let me say this. The academic life has suited me fairly well. I graduated cum laude from my nursing school. I’ve worked at multiple, very prestigious institutions. I got accepted into my first choice for grad school. I’d say, I’ve been wearing my hand me downs well. My mother’s and my grandmother’s dreams realized.

But where are mine? What has my soul come here to do? I was never even given the option of anything else. So now it my late 30s, I explore. I play hide and go seek with my creative life. Begging her to reveal herself to me. Give me something I can work with. This, I feel sure of. This I come alive with. I feel the tingling in my body and the excitement pulsing through my veins as confirmation when I get even the slightest idea of something. Watching others in there knowing pinches an achy part of my heart. Because I want that too. But I am patient. At least, I have no choice but to be patient with her.

Inspiration does not ask for permission. She is not working on my time. She doesn’t ask if i’m ready. She just shows up unannounced assuming i’m ready to receive. But she’s not pushy. She won’t ask for a full course meal and my best wine. She’s just asking for me to open the door. She’s willing to hang around. But if I’m not ready for her company, she’s okay moving on. A low maintenance guest if you will.

She is summoned by a whisper into the universe, “I’m ready”. And when you least expect it. When you feel the most unprepared. There she is, gently asking, can I come in. And what I know so far. You better invite her in. Give her a place to sit while you figure it all out. But don’t you dare send her away. Commune with her. Tell her your fears. Allow her to move freely. And honor the gift it is that she showed up.

So now that I’ve spent most of my adult life honoring my family’s hopes and dreams for me. I spend this next decade figuring out who I truly am. Unencumbered. Taking off other’s expectation for my life layer by layer. Eventually hoping to sit here naked. Allowing the inspiration to find me. Choosing my new garments carefully.

So I write, whatever I need to. I allow her space to just be, and I don’t make excuses. I don’t complain about her timing. I just let her in. And let her roam free...

Welcome.