I was thinking about you early this morning (yes, you, lovely reader + SHE OF THE WILD community member). I was awake, sleepless, and then my ten month old woke up, too, and could not be consoled. Cradling him in my arms, I paced the room, the two of us, both caught between slumber and wakefulness, needing and wanting a rest.
While I walked, I sang. Hummed, really. It was not meant to be a real song.
But I realized, even through my 3:00 AM bleariness, that it was a song.
In the most unlikely of circumstances, without much in the way of formal training, I was creating music. Out of nowhere and nothing, notes came from between my weary lips and into the world.
In the darkness, it felt like a miracle.
And I thought of you. I wanted to share this miracle with you.
Because maybe you think that you're "not creative" -- which is what we say when we mean that we don't naturally possess near-genius level talent in the arts: writing, painting, drawing, and other fine arts.
But just because you weren't practically born with a paintbrush in your hand doesn't meant that you're not creative.
I think that we are all creative, and my too-early-morning song proves that to me.
I am not a musician. I am not trying to become a musician, either professional or hobbyist. I have not touched an instrument in over a decade. And yet, I sang, without effort, and it was lovely and sweet and sent my son back to dreamland.
Why do we discount such acts of creation? Are they less valuable because they are small, or wouldn't make money, or just done in the middle of everyday life?
What if something like my sleepy lullaby is made more valuable by its smallness, its lack of monetary value, its simplicity, its impermanence?
When did I lose my sense of wonder at such things? When did you?
And -- perhaps most importantly -- how can we take it back?
The only answer I have is to press in to your small miracles even as you chase your bigger creative goals. They are all water from the same well.