Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Surrendered Pursuit

Over the past several years, I have found myself in a creative rut. One rarely shows up in a rut aware of their surroundings. It usually takes years of obscure intentions and apathetic aspirations until one morning we wake up and say, "Ummm...what the hell happened here?". That is the definition of my life over the past decade. Not that the years held only regrets, but that the years weren't filled with the little details that make life an experience, not just a passage.
Yes, we grow up. We get jobs. We pay bills. The intrigue of our early years becomes shadowed by the reality of our 'adult' lives. But why, oh why must we lose our passions, our childhood hopes and desires? No. Practicality and reality both instruct us that being an astronaut, rock star, or president may not be the path we were meant to tread upon. However, what makes us choose a life that is based purely on the stresses of adulthood rather than the pleasures? Who is to say that the ability to experience life shouldn't be hindered by but rather be encouraged by our passions? For passion does not have to be a 'hobby'.
Creating used to be an active passion of mine. All forms of art. Sketching, writing, singing, instrumentation....all were a visible part of my youth. Then I grew up. (No worries, my antipathy is directed to myself not adulthood in general.) A few months ago, certain events in my life woke me to the fact I had let everything I held dear to me, go. My lackadaisical outlook over the years had finally added up and it hit me with such a force that left me feeling incompetent and completely debilitated. I had both figuratively and literally silenced my voice, my release, my escape. No longer did my fingers light upon the delicate ivory keys of my piano; vicariously releasing my pent up emotions through Rachmaninoff or Saint Saens. My sketch book laid devoid of etchings. Empty pages of my journal glared with hostile desolation. The most wrenching aspect of this revelation was that I had done this to myself. For no one, not anyone can stifle the desires that lay imbedded in your soul.
Many times we do not realize what we have oppressed until we find ourselves in desperation, longing for something that at one point was a conspicuous part of our lives but is now only the vaguest of memories. That's where I was. In a rut. And not only was I in a rut, I was heartbroken and inundated with so many feelings of loss that I had but one way to emerge from that chasm. I reached out and grabbed a rope, that I believe, had been there all along. It had just been camouflaged as another 'thing' that I had no time or capacity for; another stress of adult life. It was my passion. My piece de resistance.
That figurative rope has given me a new lease on life. An inner-joy that can only be eclipsed by the inner-peace that accompanies pursuing passion.
Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead.




  1. i love you. you are a beautiful soul.

  2. Lesli, I love this post! You articulate something I'm uncovering. It's an exciting process!