I want to create. I want to create and not care about the end product. I want to draw something and be happy without minding what it looks like. I want to play guitar and not care if someone is listening. I want to sing with joy. I want to dance in freedom. I want to create without pressure. I want to write without editing. I want to sew without rushing. I want to create. I want to create because I am in love with the world. I want to create to express what’s bursting to get out. I want to create with my heart and my stomach and my lungs. I want to create with every piece of me. I want every piece of me in every piece of art. I want to create and not care. I want to give and give it all. I want to give and I want to receive. I want creativity to be a process of giving and taking and taking away. I want to lose myself and find myself and I want to give everything I have. I want creativity to be healing and softening and exposing. I want the process to be as important as the final product. I want to not care about the final product because I do not want to be a perfectionist and I want to care so much about the final product because I am proud of it.
I’ve been enjoying writing in this style. The post I wrote last month that is similar to this, a perfect life., began as a poem, while this one began as a journal entry. I find it freeing to not stop and think about what I’m writing. Especially as these haven’t been written with my blog in mind, I haven’t written them as though I’m talking to a reader. I think that changes the vibe, somehow.
And maybe it’s strange to be sharing with you the things I want. Maybe it’s strange to declare myself in such a way as though I don’t already live with things to be grateful for. But writing like this is more impacting to me than writing a list of goals or resolutions.
Looking at a list that tells me to ‘get fit’ or ‘prioritise writing’ doesn’t inspire me. Or motivate me. Or speak to my heart. But feeling the reason behind each of these things is what pushes me forward. I can’t just tell myself to paint; I won’t do it if I say it like that. But if I tell myself I want to be more childlike, I want to have fun, I want to make a mess and not care about cleaning it up, I want to be free to express myself without the burden of a perfect final product – well, now I want to paint. Now I want to experience those things.
And now I want to vacuum my room. I want a clean floor. I want the fresh feeling of spring.