They happen.
The creative melt down that begins as a melt down with the potential of turning into a full-on temper tantrum. I don’t know how else to describe them, except that depending on where I am, my reaction has to be seclusionary first.
If I’m in my university office, I shut the door.
If I’m in my house, I start cleaning.
If that doesn’t help, I’ll go for a hike.
If I’m in my car, I turn up the music.
And all the while my brain is whirling and my heart is racing. I can’t make a to-do list fast enough and at the same time, I want to do nothing. I feel infinitely inadequate to execute the level of creativity pulsing through my veins. There are new skill sets to learn and while that is usually a pleasurable motivation, during a creative melt down it is not. It is overwhelming. It is tiring and I want to be invisible. In that moment, I don’t want to be an artist.
It’s a strange blend of fear, excitement, dread, anticipation and the overriding knowing that the catalyst for the creative melt down should be the epicenter of my focus, because I am on the cusp of something. Something worth freaking out about. Something that demands my attention.
Creativity is an imperfect process in danger of being delayed by my own gettinginthewayness and need to control every facet and possible outcome.
And so, while I’m mentally rolling around on the floor throwing a fit, I remember that the conflicting emotions aren’t conflicting at all. They’re the gravitational forces that challenge me, nudge me forward, hold me steady, draw me back.
“It is also true that creation comes from an overflow, so you have to learn to intake, to imbibe, to nourish yourself and not be afraid of fullness. The fullness is like a tidal wave which then carries you, sweeps you into experience and into writing. Permit yourself to flow and overflow, allow for the rise in temperature, all the expansions and intensifications.” – Anais Nin
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