We are the Creatives

We are the Creatives.

We are the ones who will never quite fit in.  We may sit and talk and laugh with others, but there will always be a part of us on the inside that can never be truly understood by those on the outside.  There is a world of thought, a world of ideas inside our minds.  In this world, things are constantly taking shape, constantly re-arranging ourselves.  They are great ideas, then they are terrible ideas, then they are great ideas again.  It is in a constant struggle, a constant battle not with the world outside, but with ourselves.

We are the Creatives.

We are the ones who will never feel quite at ease with the routine.  Working a nine to five job in an office cubicle is not for us and will never be for us.  We will struggle with this, because we need to make money to support ourselves.  We need a job to keep ourselves afloat while we pursue that which makes us happy, that which makes us passionate.  And we will often bemoan how unsatisfying most part-time jobs are, how little they pay for how much they expect.  But woe be unto us if we should ever complain about it.  “What an entitled generation,” people often say.  “Why don’t you go out and get a real job?  Just be happy and grateful for what you have instead of complaining all the time.”

“But this is America,” we think to ourselves, never voicing it to the one who criticized us.  “Isn’t this the land born of dreams, the land where you are allowed to pursue your passions?  Isn’t this the land where people are allowed to be free, where people are allowed to be who they want to be?”

And then we watch as the very same person who told us to “just be happy” turns around and complains loudly to their friend about a fellow co-worker they hate.  Or maybe they complain about the traffic.  Or maybe they complain about the weather.  Or maybe they complain about the bills they have to pay.  We sit there and watch as they affirm that nothing in their lives is ever satisfactory enough for them.  We sit there, wanting to point out their blatant hypocrisy but knowing that to do so would result in only one thing: mutually assured destruction.

But then we sit down, perhaps catching a distorted reflection of ourselves in a computer screen, in the window, or on a coffee mug glinting in the light of the morning sun.  And we wonder: are we so different?  Are we really so above those concerns, or does their behavior upset us because we see part of it in ourselves?

We are the Creatives.

From time to time, the world of ideas inside starts to bubble like a pot of boiling water.  A great knocking is heard, a banging on the door of our minds.  Something is out there begging to be let in, to be exposed to the world outside.  But we can’t open the door yet because we don’t have the key.  We run around in a frantic search, ripping off couch cushions, pulling the blankets off our beds, looking under every conceivable piece of furniture in desperation.  Where is the key?  Is it under the couch?  No.  Is it on the counter?  No.  Is it in our jacket pocket?  No.

And then we realize we don’t need a key to open the door from this side.  We chastise ourselves for being so foolish, unlatch the door, and pull it wide open.

An idea steps through.  And after a period of indescribable wonder where the act of creation overtakes our lives and consumes us, the idea stands there with a blank expression and stares at us as if to ask “now what?”

We don’t know.  Our heads are bowed as if meditating, hoping that enlightenment will come from some obscure corner of our minds.  “What do I do,” we repeat to ourselves over and over again like some insane mantra.  We feel like banging our heads against the wall.  We feel like screaming and tugging at our hair in frustration.

But we don’t.  To the outside world we are eerily silent and still, like a gargoyle in a garden.

We are the Creatives.

We wonder why the world can’t be different, why it can’t be like our stories, full of characters we care about and whose lives we know inside and out.  In the world of fiction, lives are given meaning and purpose.  Lives are interesting, dramatic, full of events and action so unlike our own.

We wonder why the world can’t be like the music we create, full of powerful harmonies, different sounds working together to create a more unified whole.  Music speaks with raw emotion and meaning, something we humans on our own find so difficult.

We wonder why the world can’t be like the drawings we create, full of vibrant, awe-inspiring color and a deep awareness of the beauty of a singular moment in time.  A drawing harnesses the beauty or even despair of a moment and puts in on display for all to see.

We wonder why the world can’t be like the movies we film through the lens of our cameras, scripted and planned out.  Movies are comfortably the same every time you watch them, leaving no potential for sudden and disastrous deviation not called for by the script or the storyboard.  We lament the fact that life is unpredictable, able to change at a moment’s notice with little to no warning.

And yet we accept that the inherent randomness of life is what inspires us to create.

We are the Creatives.

We strive to make imagined things a reality.  Our lives are a struggle that we accept.  And in the end it falls upon us to ensure that our voices ring true instead of falling unheard and unknown into the great night beyond.

 

Well, that was something a little different for this week.  I figured we could all use a break from the social issues, myself included.  Well thanks for reading!  Check back next Wednesday for another post, and as always, have a wonderful week!

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