The first six months of 2013 has gone by in a blink of an eye. How did the first half of 2013 go? Not bad. There was the good, the bad and the stressful. Typical shit.
I suppose I should be grateful because I’m still alive and wanting to kick some ass. Anybody reading this should be grateful that they’re still alive and wanting to kick some ass, too.
But I have a problem of not counting my blessings or the good things I have in my life. Maybe if I did that more often, the desire to swing a baseball bat or crowbar at the head of some sorry excuse for a human being wouldn’t rear its ugly little head so often.
Don’t worry, this desire comes and goes. For the first part of the year, it rarely made an appearance. I was in a good place… except for the last month. Lingers like a rotting corpse. As the saying goes, what goes up… must come down. The funny thing is that while I may not be emotionally on my game, it hasn’t stopped me from working on my writing and photographic projects.
Some say creativity can come out of a place of disappointment and pain. I suppose that’s why there is some expectation for an artistically-inclined person to be emotionally-tortured and angst-ridden in order to create a piece of visual art, music, literature, choreography, etc.
Does creativity come out of a place of pain and disappointment? If you must simplify it, then, for some people, yes. I guess you could include me in that group. However, creating something inspired by pain doesn’t mean the creator is masochistically wallowing in the pain. Well… that may be true for some, but not for me. I believe it’s more a case of exorcising the pain and turning it into something beautiful. Life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. Or in my case, you slice up the lemons and garnish a tall tumbler of gin and tonic with it. No gin and tonic? Throw the juice of the lemons in with garlic, chickpeas, tahini and olive oil, and make hummus.
So yeah, I’m sorting out some shit while trying to avoid wallowing in self-doubt. I could drink my troubles away but my liver refuses to be pickled. Hard drugs are and were never an option. But I’ll smoke the odd joint — nothing stronger than that. I know I’ll end up in the hospital if I do.
Creating something beautiful out of something I never thought would go sour and die so quickly without a fight, is life-affirming to me. It means my coping mechanisms worked. It means I’ve turned the negative energy that threatened to swallow me whole into a positive energy that became my life jacket. It means I’m a survivor.
Right now, I’m busy making that life jacket. I’m getting better at making them. I have a small pile of tattered life jackets sitting in the figurative boathouse. I’d use one of them if I could, but each one of them was created for a specific problem and situation. None of them are suitable for the current problem.
Come hell or high water, I’ll survive. I’ll thrive, grow and glow in the love given to me by my friends and family who love and protect me. They know I would do the same for them.
Note: I’ll be taking a two-week break from blogging to take on an artistic and educational endeavour that could very well keep me from regularly posting a blog for the next two Mondays. Given that I will be in a different part of the world, wi-fi signals have proven to be notoriously weak. What I hope will happen, assuming the wi-fi signals are stronger than I remember two years ago, I might be able post very short blogs whenever I can. If that doesn’t come to fruition, then I’ll share my adventures with you when I return. See you three Mondays from today.