by Christina Hubbard
A bit of spring whooshed into the Midwest this morning. A warm wind is dusting off last week’s salt-laden roads where ice so recently caked and solidified us inside our toasty walls. As the sun rose bold today through my bathroom window, creativity awoke as well. Once dormant poems broke through my fingertips and wrote themselves out. This sounds a bit overdramatic (and it is): I emerged from a dream.
The thing about creativity is if we don’t use it, we lose it.Tweet This
There is a practice of making space for inspiration to flow. It must have priority in our day. Maybe first thing, before children and coffee, or after our people are at their respective places and we’re showered and fresh. We must make room for the muses.
For me, this looks like getting the calendar stuff out of the way. I write it down so it doesn’t get lost. Then I light a candle, grab a notebook and a pen, and I sit. But I don’t wait. Yes, there is some staring out the window and listening to that warm wind roar a bit in the rafters, but I don’t wait. I write whatever comes.
The danger is perfection. The danger is to-dos and what-ifs and I’m not doing enough. That is the territory of creative suicide. Give yourself compassion, dear artist, writer, musician, and friend. Whatever your art, make space foremost. But do not wait. Let what comes have its way into the earth, just as spring is rushing into our hearts with a warm glow. For this is the inspiration of the Creator calling to us all, wake up! Shake off the chill like your winter duvet, open the door, and walk a while in this new welcoming space.
This is where we belong.