Sometimes I feel like Iâ€™m waiting to be born.Â Floating in an amniotic dream, Iâ€™m healthy and happy and yet, I want to arrive!Â As time ushers me from phase to phase of my lifeâ€”childhood, teenager, adult, wife (twice), motherhood (twice), middle-aged studentâ€”I find my womanly maturity needs ever-increasing creative expression.
There are days I feel as though Iâ€™m spinning, incubating, reaching for beauty that exists all around me.Â I see it so clearly! Â I feel it within me!Â The golden light of an aspen tree, the simplicity of wind swept grass, the soft gray-glow morning brings before the sun rises in blushing immodestyâ€¦ all invite my soul to create.
I canâ€™t stop spinningâ€”which is the way for me to go?Â Photography? Writing? Something else?Â Can I learn to paint, crochet, be a woodworker?
I havenâ€™t stopped incubatingâ€”the breakout moment eludes me.Â My work gets gentle approval, a kind word here and an encouraging push there, but the labor continues without a crowning moment.Â How long can I go before my creativity is pronounced talentless and stillborn?
I keep reaching, reaching, reaching, and yetâ€”what I want, who I am, is just. That. Much. Further. Away.Â I can almost touch my creative goals, but not quite.Â What am I doing wrong? More importantly, what am I doing right but fail to acknowledge and build upon? Â If I donâ€™t trust my inner voice crying out, â€œKeep going!â€ who am I listening too?
Â Â Â Â Why are those voices quiet when I need encouragement, and loud when the words include doubt?Â My time will come.Â I know it.Â Mom put off her travel plans until â€œsomeday.â€Â She died before someday came.Â My dad said â€œone dayâ€ his ship would come in and he would live a bigger life.Â He died, still waiting for the ship, one day recently.Â I miss them both and choose to learn the lesson they offered.
Â Is now.