Craft, Creation, and Creativity

If roller coasters could make you feel soul crushing despair, the fear of ultimate failure, drunkenness, and then reversed gravity, then my last four weeks have felt like a roller coaster.  I went from being convinced I was failing my classes, to graduation, to moving to a new town (22,000 people is a bit small for a "city" in my mind).  The crunch time of finals week and the void that followed hasn't left much time for crocheting and blogging, but it has allowed me to see myself in several different roles.

First and foremost I have been a wife, in all of the glorious imperfection that such a title entails.  I've baked cookies, washed laundry, cleaned dishes, packed, swept, and unpacked.  Anything I can do to make Alien's life a little easier has been my number one priority.

Unfortunately my second identity, scholar, has suffered some for the primary role.  When you've committed your life to someone (and you don't REALLY want to write those papers anyway) it's very easy to use that person as an excuse to not do other things.  When faced with a seven page essay on the role of women in medieval literature or the potential of surprising my husband with homemade goodies... well, we eat a lot of baked goods in this house.  Certainly more time is spent in the kitchen then banging out essays.

And then there's a third, almost intangible role that I find myself in.  It hides in dusty corners, banished from the lead role of my personality by more pressing things like "responsibilities".  But tucked into my daily tasks from my writing to cooking, is my role as an artist.

As many artists can relate, sometimes my creativity gets me in trouble.  I sling slang and sarcasm into academic papers.  I invent meal ideas that leave Alien with the "It's nice, but I would have really liked a hamburger" face.  My creativity is naughty.  And since it isn't necessary to pay bills and read textbooks, my artist has gotten pushed into a closet and told to think on her sins.

When I let that aspect of my personality stagnate for too long, I start to feel life become bland.  Like your eating a bowl of ice cream that fades from chunky monkey to chocolate.  To vanilla.  To potato.  Suddenly you find yourself looking back and say, "I'm pretty sure I'm living the same life, but I distinctly remember 100% more chocolate covered peanuts.  Where did all of my chocolate covered peanuts go?  Is that a potato skin in my ice cream?"

If I don't set aside the time to write, to crochet, to create, I find myself living in grey-scale.  There is no music, only sound.  No feelings, only pressure.  Life without creation for me is the definition of going through the motions.  Tasks are completed because they need done, not because I desire to complete them, or because I feel a sense of accomplishment once they are finished.  But if I have a project to look forward to, whether it's working on my novel, sewing, or crocheting, the colors come back.  I gain an immense sense of satisfaction when I can look back and point to the things that I have made will outlast me.  They are artifacts of my time and talent, physical proof that my effort has not been wasted.

Going forward I've heard more than a few voices that say "get a job."  Some want me to prove my skills to the world.  Some think I should make money.  Some *raises hand shyly* fear that I would wither away into the sofa, numbly staring into the eyes of the latest kittens to appear on Youtube if I didn't have a boss to tell me not to.  And really, I think I should get a job.  If nothing else, it will make the bills a little easier as we transition from college to "real life". 

Regardless of what lies in the path ahead, I want to start making creation a priority in my life again.  Maybe I'll get my chocolate covered peanuts back.  Or at least get rid of these potato skins.