I’ve heard it said that artists need to create their art as much as they need to breathe. I believe it. If I don’t write for more than two days in a row, I feel ready to fly into pieces. Not much of it is worth reading, I suppose, but I still have to get the thoughts out of my brain onto paper (or my computer as the case may be).
I spend a lot of time wishing this endeavor was useful, beyond helping me get through the day like an alcoholic with his drink. I wish I felt this way about cooking or cleaning. Then my motto would be “cook or die,” and my family would have a smorgasbord of menu choices that extend beyond corn dogs, chicken nuggets, and black beans with rice. If only the act of dusting and tidying and sweeping brought me the same sense of calm and pleasure as sitting in Starbucks with my hot chocolate and laptop. Then I’d treat myself to a few minutes of bliss mopping and our shoes wouldn’t stick to the kitchen floor.
Unfortunately, I can only seem to find these moments of joy when putting my fingers to the keyboard or pen to paper. In my journal, I can wrestle with my problems or my bad attitude and finish with a fleeting sense of inner peace. I can only hope I also finish with something meaningful to read.
Copyright © 2005 by Allyson Denise Walker-Lawrence. All rights reserved. No part of this piece may be reproduced in any form, written or electronic, without the permission of the author.