What are you looking for?
6 years ago · · art,
Maybe it happens slowly; a gradual collection of feeling and emotion over days or weeks. Maybe it happens suddenly; a lightning flash of epiphany and inspiration.
But either way it's clear in that moment; you have something to create. A song or story, carved or baked, painted or built or grown. It's in your head and you know, with the unshakeable faith of mountains, that you are meant to bring it into reality.
You can see it there, like a ocean in the distance.
And so you plan your work. Clearly you can't do it right now, you need to get your materials together, and you do have work tomorrow so you can't stay up late working on it. This weekend will work better, you 'll have the time then and you can get everything together over the work-week. And maybe you write some of it down, or make a sketch, some way of chronicling the beginning of this new thing you will make.
And you go along your way, grinning to yourself about your coming project.
You go to work the next day, and you lose yourself in the minutiae of your day. Your co-workers are being annoying or dense or absent, somehow they sap your enthusiasm for everything and your go home on autopilot, grumbling about the deficiencies of others. You completely forget to stop and get the things you'll need. When you realize you're halfway through dinner and far to tired and annoyed with the world to leave the house.
You'll go tomorrow, there's still time before the weekend.
But it never seems to happen, does it? Your weekend gets co-opted by other things; maybe pleasant, maybe not. Maybe you do get those materials eventually, but you've lost your sketch. Or the other day around, the sketch hangs there on your wall. Mocking and promising all at once. What you could have done if you'd found the time and energy and will.
Eventually it starts to lose meaning doesn't it?
It becomes just another of those nebulous projects to get to eventually; like repainting a spare room, or getting rid of clothes you don't wear anymore. When you do remember it, you tell yourself it's for the best. It wouldn't have been that good anyway, and where would you have put it? It's not like you're overflowing with room here.
Just one more future hope, laid aside to gather dust. Like cobwebs in the attic of your soul.