Over the last couple of years, my blog has changed. I have become guarded in my writing. What began as “pulling back” to respect the privacy of others in my life, morphed into [what feels like] total withdrawal. But after some recent soul-searching, I see that things run much deeper. Nasty emails, backbiting, and hostility are at the root of this “blockade” and detachment has been my way of stepping back to refill and reevaluate.
Knowing my personality type, helps me to understand why I behave the way I do at times. (Tony and I learned about the importance of personality types from a therapist several years ago. It was one of the first things she wanted to know before moving forward.) And that understanding often leads to solutions. That being said, authenticity is extremely important to me and being up front about my creative block is a necessary part of me moving past it.
I’ve also been journaling again. DAILY. And not just daily, a minimum of three pages daily. Even when I don’t feel like it.
So if you’ve noticed a change in my writing (some have already mentioned they have), you now have insight as to why. I am currently working a 12-week program to unclog the pipe, using “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron. It borders a titch on the new-agey side (if you’re coming at it from a biblical worldview, you’ll notice the spiritual dance) but comes highly recommended.
One of the more “interesting” requirements is a weekly artist date. Taking a bit of time each week for yourself to do something on purpose and alone. This could be a photo walk, watching a movie, getting lost in a used bookstore – pretty much anything that floats your boat. I am really having trouble with this one… mainly parting with the time! I’ll share more about it in the coming weeks, along with ideas for those of you also looking to explore your creative selves.
Have a great afternoon!
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
- Joyce Kilmer, “Trees,” 1914