Sometimes I get discouraged when I’m creative. “What’s the point?” I think. What purpose will this serve? There’s probably several pieces similar to it in the world. No one is going to randomly stumble upon it and deem it the smartest thing they’ve ever encountered. I may not even think that myself.
Then I saw this painting, which may be the oldest landscape art in the world. The person who did that also did not have a purpose. There were not museums, nor the notion of fame (for art, at least), and possibly not even the full comprehension of creativity itself. He or she just wanted to. That’s all.
It’s oddly encouraging. You don’t need to have purpose in order to do something. I struggle with this every day.
I’ve been told that I like things in boxes. My friends, my boyfriend, my family, my things. I like knowing where things are and whether or not I can rely on them in certain situations. I guess this is a way to create security in my life – but shouldn’t that already be there without me having to ensure it? As in, shouldn’t my choices reflect security? I’m not entirely sure that’s my responsibility.
I’ve also been told that I don’t need boxes. But how else do I go about my life? Without knowing what to expect? Without being caught off guard? Maybe it’s just a matter of letting go of that fear, though. Of the possibility of losing someone or something; of something not turning out the way I wanted. Of control, really.
Sometimes you write or paint or sing or walk or talk to a stranger simply because you feel like it. An endpoint isn’t the motivator; nothing is. It’s just something you do as a human. I think that may be what life is about.