It’s been my experience that people tend to look at creative types in one of several ways (or combinations thereof):
1) We’re crazy
2) We don’t play well with others
3) We don’t care who we offend
4) We don’t play by the rules
5) We don’t even recognize that there are rules
6) Even if we did recognize the existence of any rules, we wouldn’t respect them anyway
Sometimes, when I’m feeling ornery and a bit misunderstood, I’m probably guilty of some or all of the above. There are times when I feel not unlike a square peg in a world of round holes- people don’t “get” my humor, they’re offended by something I’ve written, and/or they just can’t stomach the idea of someone chronically, dispositionally unable to color within the lines…which is pretty much the story of my life.
One of the risks of putting my writing (and accompanying observations and opinions) out into the world is that once I post them on da Interwebz, I no longer have control over them. I can’t control how someone reacts. I can’t account for people choosing to take offense, in some cases for reasons I could never have anticipated. I can’t control people twisting my words and their meaning for their own selfish ends. It’s like a painting hanging on the wall; people will see what they choose to see, based on their own experiences and prejudices. It’s all about interpretation based on indivduals standards…and there’s not much I can do to change or even impact that reality. Such is the box I call home.
I’m someone who takes my art seriously, and like many artists I traffic in what interests and intrigues me. I’ve never been very good at filtering what I do in an effort to avoid offending those who might take my offering for something I never intended it to be. Not only do I not have an effective filter, I long ago decided to tune out my internal critic whenever possible…at least as far as my writing is concerned. Truth is, if I worried about how people might react to what I write, if I fretted over the possibility that someone might take offense, I’d never write another word. I’m not saying that’s necessarily a universally good or rational thing…just that it’s my thing.
Granted, I never set out to deliberately offend anyone, but honesty (at least as I define it) isn’t always universally accepted and/or appreciated. I take pride in the effort I put into researching an issue, with the hope that it will translate into accuracy. Sometimes I fall short of that mark, but over almost 15 years of writing this blog, I think I’ve done pretty well on that count. That I have a small but truly amazing group of regular readers would seem to stand as confirmation of that.
The good news is that Erin never has to wonder or worry about what I’m up to. Some folks drink, some do drugs, some have extramarital affairs or engage in all manner of other unhealthy behaviors. Me? I write; it’s my avocation/obsession/drug of choice…but it’s safe, legal, and (in most cases) socially acceptable. Best of all, I never have to worry about doing a stint in rehab…though there’s been a fair amount of therapy over the years. Turns out that writers by nature tend to be neurotic, and prone to often crushing bouts of self-doubt. Yeah; remind me again why I became a writer??
I’m certainly not (and may never be) a household name. The future- and its contents- is neither guaranteed or known to any of us, so the only way to truly appreciate and enjoy life is to live in the moment…which for me isn’t such a bad place to be. Fame would be nice, fortune even better…but who knows what the future holds?
Like many creative types, I’m frequently beset by a lack of self-esteem and self-confidence. I wonder if what I do makes a difference, if anyone actually cares (yes, I realize this is taking a turn for the melodramatic). Then I remind myself that good art is invariably art done for selfish reasons. If I’m writing to please others, I’m not really creating anything of value…because I’m not being true to myself. Even if it matters to no one else, it matters to me. That should be, and usually is, enough.
I’ve been known to have the occasional existential crisis in this space. When that happens, I wonder if what I do has any value at all. Eventually, I find a way to make peace with myself; the crisis passes, and I move along to the next shiny object that catches my attention. I suppose that’s the good thing about being a creative sort with an ADD diagnosis…even the existential crises don’t hold my attention for long.
I’ve had to accept the reality that I never have and never will be able to color within the lines. At some point, I will aggravate, offend, and/or piss off someone for any number of reasons…and while I’d never set out to do that deliberately, it can, does, and will happen. Hopefully, I’ll learn what lessons there are to be learned, move on, and be better for it. I recognize and acknowledge my not-always-appreciated sense of what’s right and/or appropriate, and I understand I may well fall short of the hopes and expectations of some. Hopefully, that will prove to be a bump in the road and we’ll all move on. As long as Erin isn’t one of those disappointed or offended, the rest is just details.
When all is said and done, I’ll continue to do what I’ve always done…hopefully just a little bit better.
