Last night I had the chance to hang out with a good, old friend. We haven't had a chance to hang out like that in many years. We talked about life and politics, kids and music. And we talked about both of our creative endeavors.
He's a very talented artist. Even though we were talking about two different mediums, it didn't matter. Underneath the making of anything is that excitement, a warm buzzing in the chest, that fills us and pushes us into our art. It's a purely pleasurable feeling that brings us back to the craft time and again. Yet, there is also an element of nervousness, showing ourselves to the world to be seen, judged, accepted or rejected. Together, they are addictive and scary, wonderful and powerful.
It's been a long time since I had a conversation about creating art with someone who gets it and feels it like I do. It was uplifting, encouraging, fun. Being able to share in that creative energy with another person, just talking about it, fills me up, rejuvenates me, inspires me.
At one point, I told him about a part of myself who told me to jump, leap more fully onto my path. He asked, "Are you afraid to jump?" I said not when I feel sure about what I want. He laughed and said, "I've never thought of you as someone who didn't know what you wanted."
I'll take that compliment and that reminder. Because he's right, I've never really been that person.
He also challenged me with a question: Are you doing it [writing] or just thinking about it and making excuses? April was the tip of the iceberg for getting back into writing. A month is just enough to whet the appetite, start to imagine all the possibilities, begin to feel the energy from creating something unique, from within one's self. The excitement within me is back, and I want more. So I replied, "I'm doing it."