Being Creative

Mr. C and I used a portion of yesterday to decorate Easter eggs yesterday.  There were no children with us, we have no set purpose for decorated eggs.  We did it just to be creative.


The thing is, I found it really difficult.  I’m great at coming up with stories – I don’t remember ever suffering from writer’s block.  But, visually, I am not creative.  My version of drawing is stick figures.  Literally.  So, coming up with 12 different ways to decorate these eggs was a huge challenge for me.

And I loved it.  I rarely get the opportunity to create things which are meant to be looked at (food doesn’t count ’cause you only look at it for a brief moment before it ends up in your belly!)  A few weeks ago, I took Mr. C to a pottery painting place to get our creativity on.  We had a great time and are looking forward to going back again.


Why am I telling you this?

Because I think art is important.  As a writer, I consider myself an artist and I think having a creative outlet is very important.  I think everyone should have a way to express themselves.  It could be cooking a fantastic meal.  Or building a gorgeous coffee table.  Or painting a sunset.  Or making a treehouse for your kids.  Or whatever else makes your heart sing.  Even if it’s just something as simple as helping your son decorate his cubscout racecar, it’s getting your creative on.  Get out there!  Have some fun!

And because I think that we shouldn’t let go of “childish” things.  How many people give up on things like decorating Easter eggs once their children leave the nest?  How many of us stop creating fantastical costumes and pretending to be someone/something else one night a year?  How many people give up on the magic of Santa once there are no little stockings hung by the fire?  Mr. C and I still leave cookies out for Santa on Christmas Eve.  Sometimes, we might even leave a more adult beverage out for him to warm him on a cold winter’s night.


When my children were growing up, they asked me a number of times if I believe in Santa.  My answer was always an honest, “Of course.  As soon as you stop believing, he stops coming!”  Luckily for them, even when they knew the Santa Secret, I still believed, so he still visited our house.

I absolutely believe in the magic that is Santa.  And the Easter Bunny.  I am the one playing those parts, but the magic still exists for me.  I get to bring a smile to someone’s face, brightening their day.  I have the fun of selecting what I’m going to put into stockings and baskets and seeing how my choices bring my loved ones joy.  My world is a little more magical because I have held onto my prized childhood beliefs.

Except for the Tooth Fairy.  Losing a tooth as an adult isn’t nearly as joy-inducing as it was when I was a kid.


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