My internet has been down all afternoon, and there’s nothing like a bit of disconnectivity to get me thinking—and writing a bit about why I haven’t been writing, or photographing, or doing much of anything creative.
I'm in a creative slump. A lull. A block so big it puts Kubrick’s monkey-loving monolith to shame. It has sucked up every shred and tatter of what little creativity I possess and has been holding it ransom for months.
It’s frustrating. Downright infuriating, really. I know it happens to everyone, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Part of the problem is my life, lately, is uninteresting. My job is interesting. I myself, I hope, am interesting. But I spend all day and night at home, tucked away behind the four walls of my home, rarely having the need to go outdoors. Hell, I even have my groceries delivered, so I can go a week without stepping outside.
Some days I think I might have a slight case of agoraphobia, but most times I recognize that I’m just an extremely introverted person. I need down time from social situations. I enjoy the seclusion. Most days.
Other days, I confess, I get a bit angry at myself. How much am I letting pass me by? How much laughter, experience, opportunity, living am I missing out on?
All because I’m horribly over-self-aware. I find social situations exhausting because I’m constantly editing myself. Don’t do this. Don’t say that. Do they think I’m pretty? Stupid? Funny? Horrible? Do they like me?
Do they like me?
This question lies inside the minds of many burgeoning creatives. Supposedly, if the many interviews and blogs I read of other artists I admire are to be believed, there’s some sort of enlightenment way up ahead: the “eff it if they don’t like me/my art--I do" moment.
Where is that moment? When is that moment? Considering it’s how I live my life, not just my art, I wonder if I can actually find the where or when. I think the answer, for me, is “not without change."
I’ll be honest, I’m terrified. Change frightens me. But tying myself up in a little, perfect box and never letting anyone, ever, any time see what’s inside—least of all myself—frightens me much more.
I want to break free. Break out. Break away.
And with one block removed, perhaps all the rest will come tumbling down.
This isn’t going to be easy—but I suppose nothing truly worthwhile ever is. I only hope I have the strength not just to take one step forward, but many. Repeatedly.
