I’m turning to you creatives again, for I feel you understand. I felt like crying this morning when I listened to Julia Cameron being interviewed by Maria Forleo.
Why? I’m still processing the why. Maybe it was her absolute belief in her inner voice that touched me. Perhaps I felt validated, maybe given permission to do my intended work—that is it, to write. I have quoted Cameron since her book The Artist’s Way came out, and today she said this year is its 30th Anniversary. And the book is going strong.
She also said that she felt that the power of this covid19 thing cracked people open to their creativity.
Now, isn’t that something? And having her book take off—again is a clue that she’s right. Perhaps staying home for a while allowed people to think and thus tap into their creativity.
Because of Cameron’s comments, I felt empowered to ask more of that inner voice, listen more, and give myself permission to take the time to do the Morning Pages, take that walk, and take that Artist’s date. And to ask for guidance. (Her Four Core tools.)
I trust my voice, and I do listen. So many times, though, I have felt I was stealing time to write. It is work. It requires energy, and it can be heartbreaking when you think it isn’t wanted in the marketplace. And my energy is needed in other places, like a course I am taking and the feeling that I need to make a living, and family, yard, pets, and the house. I’m sure you can relate.
But you go back to your intended work because that’s what you do.
I took Cameron’s Artist’s date to the extreme. I booked a cabin in the forest for two nights next month. (First available time.) For I have been feeling the need for my writer’s retreat that I have taken for a couple of years, and I need nature and the forest.
After Cameron’s talk, I took a short walk by myself, not with the dog, for she says then it’s the dog’s walk, not yours. (And having people along isn’t your walk either.) So, I walked up to a house being built a few blocks away. It was open with no workman on the premises, so I went in and walked through the unfinished rooms. Houses in process exude potential—like writing. And the rain came when I was inside the house, but I wasn’t waiting it out. So, I walked home in the rain, and my light pants and tee-shirt became soaked, but my spirit remained high and dry.