The Stories Begun

I’ve been thinking quite a lot about time the past few weeks, seeing as I’ve had so little of it and now that I leave for Europe tomorrow the previous statement is even more true.

On Sunday, I was privileged to go to a gathering that’s main purpose was to hear a singer of quite some talent.  He’s a friend of a friend and was willing to do an informal performance for a small group of us.  It was a lovely time.  He also opened the floor for questions and in that time the question was brought up, how does one balance talent verses work?  I think, in this case, talent being the inborn ability and work being that which improves the raw material.  I really liked the answer the singer gave.

He said that all creative people are a bit selfish and have that need for accolade and therefore naturally seek out the path in which they can get the most credit for the talent (and work) they possess.  He said that when the creative being makes the decision to give that talent to other people and stick with it no matter what, that’s when the artist can find true happiness.  I couldn’t agree more.

I was talking with one of my brothers earlier that day about a book I recently read that bothered me quite a bit because it was a Bi-Polar author’s view of life with Bi-Polar and her view was SO bleak.  It was the most depressing piece of literature I have read, not because of tone, but because I could sense that the author really did think that the two options of insanity or heavily-drugged “reality” were the only options available to someone with Bi-Polar.  I felt ill.  If any of you follow my personal blog, you know that I don’t shy away from talking about my experiences with Bi-Polar.  Furthermore, many of you know that I even rejoice in them, because of the broad spectrum of emotions and life that has been brought to me because of my experiences with this disease.  However, it has taken almost a full thirteen years with this disease to get to that point.  As I was talking about this with my brother, he repeated the advice that my father had given me when I mentioned my almost physical reaction to the book and its sad message: write about your experiences.  Do it in such a way that people know that this is not the only option.

I’ve always planned on doing just that to some degree, but this experience with the book, my father, my brother, and some random singer from England who I barely know, has solidified my conviction.  And it’s not something to do eventually, it’s something to do every day from today.

So, today I make the decision to share my creativity, to make use of it.  I’ve already tried to do that to some extent and I don’t suppose I’ll be perfect at it right away, but I know that I’ll be happiest in my writing when it’s for others and not for myself.


et cetera