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Inside my mind: Of genius and couscous and steam shovels

In order for the sprite to find you, you have to show up

The next few posts are proof that creativity comes from everywhere and that for me, it usually ties back to mothering – or vice versa. From my bulletin board: an old magazine article about children’s book author Virginia Lee Burton. From several friends, reminders about a TED talk by Elizabeth Gilbert that I needed to watch. And from my public library, the largest book I’ve ever checked out: A Day at El Bulli. All of these have been roiling around in me for the past week, doing that cool thing where one Idea sloshes over the other and recedes, like a wave pushing back the sand to expose a series of lovely little shells that weren’t there before. And eventually, each thing, from the world’s most exclusive restaurant to the thoughts of a best-selling memoirist or the legacy of the woman who brought us Mike Mulligan, becomes brighter and more worthwhile to me.

Part of what speaks to me about these three items currently sloshing in my brain is the passion they exude. Passion is what drives us to create, of course. It’s what has been getting my friend Eve out of bed at 5:00 AM all week for our 24-week assignment. It’s what has me here right now when I should be tallying phone bills for my taxes or sending out queries. (Ok, avoidance can do wonders, too.) My experience is that many people with “day jobs” are envious of artists because of our passion. It’s easy to forget the less swell parts of passion, like the unknown payment plan or the lack of benefits. The urge to feel that electric liveness is what appeals. Whenever I talk to my oldest friend who works as a project manager for a pharmaceutical company, a job she’s clearly excelled at over the years, she’s always in awe of what she dubs “my calling.” You are so lucky to know what  you want to do! she exclaims, as though she doesn’t. (And I don’t know what I want to do; I don’t feel I have much choice, actually. But that’s another matter altogether.)   Continue reading “Inside my mind: Of genius and couscous and steam shovels”