So I was walking along thinking about fear the other morning; specifically the things I fear most. I realized one of the things I fear most is my creativity. The other thing I fear most is love. I was surprised at those answers when they entered my consciousness. Afraid of my own creativity? Afraid of love? Those are the two things that I want most in my life. I often dream of playing guitar, composing songs, painting, taking photographs, and writing stories. I believe, in my heart of hearts, that a life in which I use my creativity to make a living would be much, much more enjoyable. I long for love. I am a romantic – always have been. I dream of having a loving husband and a loving extended family comprised of many close friends. If I imagine my perfect life it includes a warm, cosy, chosen with love, decorated with love and attention, and maintained with love. While it is low-maintenance, maintaining it is just a part of loving it. The members of the household include myself, my husband and our cat. I entertain a tight-knit group of friends frequently. There’s lots of laughter and lots of love in that house. The house includes an office and I write for a living in that office. It is sunny and warm with an airy open feel while maintaining a cosy air also. We also have a music room where we both spend time listening to music and playing guitar. Another bedroom is an exercise/yoga room and includes a meditation area and space for aerobic exercise and aerobic exercise equipment like a treadmill or an elliptical. There’s a guest bedroom and air mattresses and futons to accommodate our overnight guests, and with our group of friends, they’re well used. My husband – the man I love – is a partner in every sense of the word. He’s compassionate, charming, sexy, funny, sensitive, intuitive, strong, passionate, creative, smart, adventurous, thoughtful, protective, loving, open-minded, and lots of fun. He has a strong sense of fairness, compassion and commitment. We enjoy each other, respect each other and love spending time together. He can and will take great care of me when I need it and can and will allow me take care of him when he needs it. He’s a leader who can follow. His sense of timing is magnificent. He is a sharer. He follows world events in an intelligent, thoughtful manner. He’s a great conversationalist. He’s confident, but not arrogant. He is not in love with money, but he does recognize its necessity for a pleasant life. We love to travel. We stoke each other’s fire. He is reasonable and rational and emotionally available and giving. He loves life and believes it should be fun and full of love. We may or may not have children, but we love and protect children.
I can tell you so much about this man and about our loving home and loving friends, but I can’t imagine how I can have those things in my life, because when I think of love I realize that it means never-ending obligation and sacrifice to me. I believe the people who love you become an albatross around your neck, always needing something from you which you are then obligated to supply at any cost. My experience of love – what those around me call love – has been painful and exhausting. The love I imagine with my husband and friends is an uplifting experience that brings peace and solace and joy. The love I’ve been given has brought fear and chaos and self-sacrifice. I find myself unable to move forward in my life because of the people I love. When I consider changing my life I have to consider how the financial matters will affect those who claim to love me. I feel obligated to be around, and call some of those who love me and constantly hear the grumblings of those I don’t call. They constantly ask me to call or come by when I feel overwhelmed by taking care of the ones I do see and call. It feels as though I have little enough time for myself, adding another person to my list of responsibilities would take away everything that is me – everything I hold dear about myself. Grasping, wanting, needing, hurting, withholding, ignoring – those have been my experiences of love. When I think of my happy life, those words do not define love. When I think of my daily life, those words define love. Those are the definitions that leave me fearing love and fearing those whom I might love. It is terribly difficult to give love when you believe all you’ll get in return is pain and suffering.
I dream of painting, playing guitar and writing and performing songs. I am working on a story. I’ve enjoyed writing since I was a child. Reading is one of my favourite activities. I procrastinate myself out of writing a lot. I avoid it like the plague at times. Writing always leaves me wanting more. I am highly critical of my writing. I enjoy the process immensely. I greatly admire writers. I almost worship talented singers, musicians and songwriters. Writing brings me much please and much joy. When I think of learning guitar, of playing guitar, of painting, I almost break out in a sweat. My level of anxiety rises immensely. What exactly do I fear? I fear being bad at it. I fear being unable to do it. I fear a lack of creativity. I fear being good at it and being required by it to build my life around it. I fear being passionate about something – really caring about something and putting it out there in the cold, cruel world. I fear the judgement of others. I fear being unable to make a living while doing something I love.
I am analytical – coldly analytical. It is a survival mechanism. In order to survive my life I have had to have the ability to predict the future in the midst of chaos. My problem solving skills are tremendous. My ability to multi-task is legendary. My skills in managing difficult situations top shelf. I can organize the hell out of just about anything. I do these things because I have to. These skills have always been admired by those with power over me. My creative desires have always been ridiculed and debased. I have internalized this way of living. I want to be – to live the life of – an artist. The artist is not valued in the world in which I grew up. The commercial is valued. Monetary compensation is considered a sign of greatness and worth. I have never been compensated for the things I value. I have rarely been encouraged to pursue my passions. I have rarely had them recognized, learning to hide my feelings to spare others.
Occasionally I break out – become rebellious and actually do the things I love. I write, because I want to. I sing, at the top of my lungs. I have taken guitar lessons, because I believe in the guitar. I exercise because I want a fit and healthy life. I eat right, because it feels good. I sketch or draw because I want to. Every once in a while I indulge my passions; almost always in secret, because I fear the pain of exposure. I don’t trust the people in my life who claim to love me to understand or support my passions. They never have before and I’ve never found a better set of people.
This feels like a bottomless pit, an answerless question, a never-ending journey, a black hole of desperation, despair and pain. I long for a comfortable, loving happy life and I feel like I’ve never know comfort or love in my life. What’s a girl to do?
I’ve tried the fake it until you make it path, but find I can’t stick with it. I know I’m faking it, and I don’t like being a fake – I do it too often in the rest of my life. I give the correct responses, because that’s the only way I know to receive any semblance of love and affection. I want a revolution in my life. A real and lasting change. I fear the repercussions. I fear failure. I fear losing everything I have to success. I fear losing myself in a life I don’t recognize as my own. I fear.
This sounds a lot more hopeless than I feel. Strangely I believe I can change my life. I believe there are steps that will lead me to a better life – a more authentic life – a life filled with passion and joy. I am not ignoring the fact of pain in this life. Pain is a part of life and will happen. Since that’s a given and a known quantity, I am focusing on the unknown – love, passion and joy. Those are the miracles to me. Thos are the things I’ve read about, heard about, and glimpsed in passing. Follow my passions? Where? How? How do I tell the analyst in me to back off when she’s kept me sane and relatively healthy so far? I am loyal. She has a place and I’d like to put her there while meeting the creative wild-child that is the real me. The woman who gives freely of herself to make the world a better place – gives freely of her art – gives freely of her passion – gives freely of her time and attention – gives freely of her love and affection. And receives the same in return.