“And creativity, it soaks my soul, I ask not to be alone”; The Artistic Struggle Is Real

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Today’s Mood Ingredients: Unfulfilled, Yearning, Striving, Undone, Explosive.

It’s taken me a long time to feel affected by something enough to unload it onto the internet, but this is one of those long-simmering slow boils that is about to finally pop the top off of the pressure cooker. What is “a creative?” Is it someone who only works in the arts? Is it a social media director? Is it someone who works in public relations? An editor of a magazine? I have no idea as to what concretely defines “a creative” anymore, but I know that I am one. It’s an innate knowledge, probably the only thing I was born sure of, but what I’ve also learned is that at times, it is a G-d damn pain in the ass. Life in the arts, of any kind, is the furthest thing from a smooth ride into a sufficient paycheck & contentedness. It’s definitely easier today than back when I was growing up (and no lie, I’m so envious of these kids attending performing arts high schools and summer dance and drama camps and such, that sometimes I wish I could just be reborn – I’m Hindu-ish, I’m sure it’ll work – and do it all over again).

On any given day, when I go to my routine job in order to fund my passions in design and dance, I’ll be half present. It’s a job that requires organization, work ethic, and some brain power, but not enough that my mind isn’t wandering into my next “masterpiece” of some kind. What’s the strangest ensemble I can put together that I’m sure will push the boundaries of normal construction? What’s the most out-of-the-box movement I can push my body to make in some new choreography? This thought process usually very rapidly progresses to “Why am I not in the arts full-time?” “Why is this not where my life’s funding is coming from?” “Why am I still in healthcare when I quit medical school 7 years ago?” And then come the influx of emotions; disappointment, despondence, whys & what-ifs, sadness, inspiration, rallying, excitement, enthusiasm..lather, rinse, repeat. And those last three words are why as each day goes by, I feel my flame extinguished little by little, slowly but surely.

Why do “creatives” have to struggle to make their contributions matter? We are progressive, we push boundaries, we help people think on alternative planes, we force people to delve deeper into themselves, we sometimes gift people to have the confidence to look deeper into others. So why isn’t creative input as socially important as, for example, a doctor’s? Now, before everyone dumps on me, realize this; I obviously know a doctor has indispensable life-saving skills and they go through a lot to get to that point where their patients trust them enough to literally put their lives in their hands. And yes, of course, a musician or a dancer will need a doctor at some point. But use your right brain for a minute. Have you ever thought about how a musician could possibly be saving a doctor’s life? What about that surgeon in that OR who has been awake for 48 hours not having seen his/her family with someone’s mortality in their hands? What about his/her favorite musician whose labor of love is what they’re playing in the OR to calm their nerves or keep them awake or reach into some emotion or memory or whatever the case may be in order to focus and keep their patient alive & well? We need each other. 

The stigma that an artist is a wishy-washy hippie with no real focus or destination is what keeps us all down, the non-artists included. This creative life is an unforgiving, difficult, lonely, misunderstood, emotionally-turmoiled typhoon..that is also the most fulfilling, evolving, magnetic, identifying, truthful, cathartic, satisfying, authentic one. To not be able to wholly live it is soul-crushing..like a permanent Dementor all up in your face. But those with the tenacity and voracity to live that roller coaster, no matter the cost, are the ones that fly. They are the ones who make change happen, not because they are creative, but because they are full of grit & blind determination & the optimism that tells them everything will happen for them in time.

I want to be that person. I have to be that person. And I’ve given myself a deadline on when I will be that person.

Stay tuned..changes, they are a’comin’.

 

Today’s Wisdom:

“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. No satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.” -Martha Graham

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Today’s Interlude: “Pure Imagination” from Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory

Today’s Feelings..

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It’s been one of those weeks of self-doubt, frustration, stress, unprofessional idiots, regrets, and dealing with a lot of back & forth about what to do & where to go from here. This piece by Rudyard Kipling (it’s for us daughters too!) is exactly what I needed to feel like Aaliyah..and dust myself off & try again.

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“If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!”

-Rudyard Kipling, If: A Father’s Advice to His Son

Are You There, God? It’s Me, Siddhi: My Friend & Foe Follies With Faith

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Today’s Mood Ingredients: Trusting, Trying, Anxious, Faithful.

I’ve always been a child of faith. Mostly because as kids, you tend to follow whatever path your parents are on, & in my case, that was a deep belief in Hinduism and our polytheism. They told me to go to temples with them, I went. I prayed because they were praying, & I mean, believing in God seemed like a normal life process. As I got older, the religious ceremonies and prayers became more time consuming activities, and not in a good way. I didn’t feel like going all the way to Pittsburgh or Queens to go to various temples when I thought logically, it made sense to just pray to all of the idols we had all over our house. I still believed in all of my Gods, but I didn’t want to take the time out of the rest of my life to go be grateful for something or to ask for something to someone who, at that point in my life, I wasn’t even sure existed.

At 17, I had a minor health scare which was a slight ordeal, but the residual (temporary) effect was an extremely swollen left side of my face & a crooked one-sided smile. At 17, we’re all narcissists and high school is a hall of mirrors reflected back to you in the faces of your peers. I was a senior; I didn’t quite process that my life had just been saved, I only knew that prom was coming, yearbook pictures were coming, & graduation pictures were coming. One day, I was so infuriated by the distorted reflection staring back at me in my mirror, that I threw it across the room & threw a nearby religious idol with it. I was so pissed off that any of this could be occurring, & naturally, I blamed God. I mean, if there were Gods, why would They ever let this tragedy happen to me? God isn’t supposed to allow for suffering, He/They (for me) are supposed to make sure that They protect you and take care of you. From that point forward, at a gradual pace that I didn’t even recognize until years later, my belief waned. The more terrible things I heard about in the world, the more (in hindsight, minor) things that came my way to overcome, the less I followed my parents’ customs anymore, the less I believed in prayer, & the more I sat in the car when they dragged us to the temple (by the way, this didn’t all just start because my face was a partially inflated balloon, I’m not that vain, but that is the first moment I recall really feeling a change). For many years following that, I became an atheist. I just couldn’t bring myself to feel that strength of faith or shift in energy or positivity in prayer or in God or the idea of God anymore. I had many “why me?” moments that we all have, but they didn’t propel me to seek a higher order; I just attributed it to “whatever, that’s life” & moved on. Sounds great when I write it that way, but when I look back now, those times in my life were when I felt the loneliest & most defeated.

I’m not sure exactly when I started to believe again, which is interesting in its own right because I just told you the exact moment when I stopped. Anyway, over many years, in a “slow & steady wins the race” kind of mentality, my faith slowly began to resurface. I didn’t throw a tantrum when we had religious events at home (my parents would always kick my ass anyway, but at least now they didn’t have to go through that whole absurd process anymore), I walked into the temple & paid my respects at least, and I did pray here and there for my family’s well being and for myself as well. Fast forward what I presume to be 10 years later to the present day. At 32, I can say I’ve become faithful again. Over the course of the past 4 months, both of my parents almost lost their lives and in the process, I nearly lost my everything, including my mind (thank God[s], they are both doing well now). In what is something that I deem entirely inexplicable, during this time, I experienced a pure faith resurgence to a level that I didn’t even have as a child, but we’ll chalk that up to less experience & understanding back then. While in the hospital with my dad for 3 days in late October and in two hospitals for 5 days + 3 weeks with my mom from January-February, I dug out the little Zip-Loc bag holding what had been labeled my “crew” almost 2 decades ago. A little plastic baggie that I had been carrying on & off for years filled with pocket-sized religious hymn books, small deities, etcetera, that had only ever been taken to exams in college or medical school and on plane rides. I [barely] slept on a recliner at each hospital with it attached to my side, one earphone plugged into my ear playing religious songs on an iTunes loop, and just imagined that these deities were in front of me in real life, from all different walks of life, & I would simply pray for one thing; that my parents would be okay (I still do this every night, only now, I thank Them all). In the beginning, it was more of a mind-diverting activity, just something to do to keep my mind off of the scarier things that were happening. But over time, I felt a palpable shift in energy within myself & outside of myself. I suppose it’s something you can only explain to someone else who has felt it, or actually in that case, you probably wouldn’t have to explain anything at all, but it was there. I began to have the depth of a feeling I had never felt before and I still couldn’t tell you what it is now, so I just keep calling it faith, but it’s more complex and intuitive than that (it’s like an Ivy Leaguer in the institutional hierarchy of emotions). It’s moved me to a point where I’ve been in tears because of it, it helps curb impressive anxiety attacks at times, it gave me the actual inner desire to go to the temple three times a week, & it has provided me with an overwhelming sense of gratitude that I cannot soon repay; and I can honestly say, I cannot remember the last time I prayed for myself. I inherently know what is most important to me & as long as I can graciously express thankfulness and gracefully ask for protection for my beloveds, I’m pretty sure Someone(s) up there or out there has got my back. (I completely forgot how much I loved that “Footprints In The Sand” poem until I started writing this post & I think my family has been “carried” a lot lately).

This isn’t meant to be an insane preachy Peter Popoff post. Let me reassure you of that right now. And also, sorry if it came off that way. But I promise I will not attempt to change your beliefs, I will not ask you to donate to my life fund, & I will not mail you Holy Water vials of any kind. You will also not be a witness to any miraculous occurrences, & for that one, I apologize! It’s simply a sentiment that I wanted to bring to light because I have an inkling that there are probably many of you out there like me. You may have suffered a hiccup in your faith in something, whatever it may be, and it may remain long gone or it may have resurfaced, but I’m sure (I hope!) plenty of people out there have had this experience and sometimes it’s nice to put something out there that may make someone else feel less alone. I know I felt extremely alone and even somewhat guilty in my faithless phase. That’s why I just urge you to put your belief in something. In anything. Believe in religion, believe in a higher power, believe in energy, believe in gratitude, believe in meditation; hell, believe in logic! But believe, wholeheartedly, in something..because it may help you find something you didn’t even know you were looking for.

P.S. My brother is an admitted atheist and while we don’t understand each other in that respect, his unwavering belief in logic and practicality is a spectacular thing to experience.

And if you’re not in the mood for any of the above, fear not, for in the immortal words of Diana King: I’ll say a little prayer for you.

“Today’s Interlude” is an excerpt from a New York Times article (linked below) that really hit home for me. But though there are no instruments, this poetry is still just as melodic.

“Dear God,” I begin,”Whatever we call you / Wherever we find you / in the laughter of our children / the tenderness of our parents / the strength of our brothers and sisters and friends/the closeness of our companions and husbands and wives. / In the arc of the pelican/the leap of the mullet, / the perfect sunny day / or incoming storm / In whatever ways we understand you, / in a church or synagogue or mosque, / or on a beach beneath a starry sky, / we offer gratitude for this day.” -Roy Hoffman, “Remembering To Pray”

Below, some art pieces I did during bouts of questioning, insomnia, and belief.

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