I spent yesterday afternoon playing chamber music with my friends. We were playing the Brahms Sextet Op. 36. It’s one of my favorite pieces of music. When I play it I feel like I could fly–I mean it, soar, weightless and joyful, and all I can think is, how did humans come up with this? Is this really the same species that invented the Real Housewives of New Jersey, fried Twinkies, and toddler beauty pageants?
Sometimes, people say to me, “I envy you, you’re creative,” like it’s a genetic trait. As if, like detached earlobes and the ability to curl one’s tongue, creativity is inborn and predetermined. There is no fixed pie of creativity. Like happiness, creativity is. You have to be open to it.
I do believe there are some people that are touched by Grace. They have an open channel to their creative selves and they can tap into it almost effortlessly. I don’t think, however, that means the rest of us are screwed. It just means we have to work a little harder. We have to make the time, open our hearts, and dampen our urge to evaluate.
We all have the capacity to create. The vast majority of us are not great at it. Even with practice, and training and work. But that’s not relevant. If I gave up everything I wasn’t good at, my house would look like Hoarders and I’d never leave the couch.
So do something new and different today. Go create something, whether it’s a painting or a poem or a doodle or few whistled notes. Do it, and say to yourself “Hey, I made something!” Tell me what you did, and I’ll tell you how much you rock.
Words by J. B. Everett