I’ve written before about how I like to de-clutter every once in awhile, and yesterday I was forced to confront years of past hoarding. A massive collection of memories from my old childhood bedroom awaited me when I got home from work. Despite once being incredibly sentimental (the reason I had kept it all) these days I associate anything that holds no use as 100% expendable. This might seem callous, but I’ve learned that I can reduce my own stress when the space I occupy is kept tidy and I’m more efficient because of it. Also, sleep comes easier in a room that doesn’t need constant maintenance (i.e. tidying up crap I don’t use, all the time).
As I mentioned, I do have a sentimental streak. So, instead of being ruthless and throwing it all out without a second thought, I went through it all and took photos to retain some evidence. In doing so I took a journey backwards many many years, to the person I used to be and the person I hope I can be again.
I am a Creative Person
The biggest part of this haul was a collection of sketches and paintings from school. I had once been very passionate about art, taking honours art for the Junior Certificate. I honestly can’t believe how many hours all of these pieces must have taken me. I don’t know what changed inside me and stopped me from continuing. Lack of confidence? A mature realisation that I wasn’t really an artist? I instead perused History, Biology and Business Studies. Choosing these subjects out of desire to have a well rounded education, and to keep my options open for whatever college subject I would choose. I wonder what would have happened if I had have kept doing art? After I dropped art I would channel some of my artistic creativity into Photoshop projects, having always been equally interested in computers in my youth, but then I didn’t take that path either. I’m certainly no graphic designer. These days I try to photograph the beautiful things I see, and yet, this frustrates me because what I really see, never seems to translate onto picture.
I am a Writer
English had always been my favourite subject and I had considered, quite seriously, studying this in college. “To Sinéad, an Editor, Author and Poet – and all before you left school.” this is part of a goodbye message written by a teacher, written inside the cover of the school magazine. This is something I worked long and hard on. I edited the magazine when I was in 6th year and from the age of 14 up until I left school at 18 I would write and write and write. Short stories, random articles for the school magazine and (as embarrassed as I am to admit it now) mountains of poetry. The school magazine was a serious creative outlet for me. I can’t imagine being that brave today, putting myself out there like that, creating something of my own and sharing it with strangers. This is why I’m writing this now, in an effort to be more courageous with my writing. I don’t know why I stopped being myself and starting holding my real self back. “Excellent short story, you’re a talented writer Sinead!” I found pages, upon pages of handwritten short stories, many which gained me A’s and A+’s from my English teacher. I don’t gloat, I am simply shocked. Reading them now, I can’t believe these are mine.
“Most people take their time for granted. Most do not take into consideration that many things can happen in a few short seconds. A heart can discontinue beating, discoveries can be made, the human mind can process and file thoughts and memories into single cells.”
Most of my short stories are incredibly long, with many “Keep your essays brief!” “Wonderful, but not exam material.” notes left by teachers in the margins. “Excellent detail, very well expressed. Time Limit?” At 16 and 17 years of age I had no restraints, I was as creative as I wanted to be with my words. I didn’t care about fitting the exam mould and never reigned in my creative self. Poetry was something very dear to me at that time too. I had so much of it published in the school magazine. I personally think this took guts. Or maybe I was just naive? But, how is it that I was stronger and more confident with myself then, than I am now?
No more.
I blog. Yes. But I don’t utilise it the same way that others do. At the moment as part of my college research I am studying why people blog, and it sounds more wonderful the way it is described there. Millions of people blog to express themselves, as an outlet, in an cathartic effort. There are writers like Darragh Doyle that take my breath away with his openness, his honesty and it is courageous, and beautiful. I’ve spoken to my girlfriend, Jen, on many occasions about how I wish I could be just like Darragh. But I blog too seriously. I would rather been seen as an academic, because the reality is I’m terribly insecure about being seen as anything else, because I’m stuck in a job that I dislike, that has no connection to who I am or what I’m passionate about today and I am desperate to be taken seriously. But why? It’s not making ME feel more serious. It’s not helping me with the goals I thought it would help me succeed in.
This blog post is my attempt at connecting with my past self and this, new blog project, is an attempt to be creative, a writer and ME again. And I’m terrified.
Let’s be terrified together? Who did YOU used to be? What parts of yourself do you wish you could connect with again? Write that post. Take that photo. Create that art.
It’s not about whether you are creative enough, but whether you will free yourself to express it.
