My dad once told me this story of my potty training days. Dad would clap and praise my “accomplishments.” One day he forgot – maybe he was in a hurry. I abdicated (on/in) the throne, looked him in the eye, and said, “Why aren’t you clapping?” According Freud, this is why I create. I produced something that made my dad proud, so today I make things to please others. And no, I’m not saying my work is crap.
All I want. Every day. Is to create. To feel. Alive.
All I feel. Every day. Is to want. To know. How?
Sometime after those first days on the potty, creating became a sin. I apply a generous amount of daily mental flogging. Like Arthur Dimmesdale in The Scarlet Letter, do I believe this will purify me? There is no winning for me once I start the punishment process. I want to write. Whack! I want to quit. Whack! This is good. Narcissist! I’ll sing today. Why aren’t you writing? I’ll write today. Why aren’t you recording?
I guess what I’m really wondering is . . . Why aren’t you clapping?
Walt Whitman said, “I exist as I am, that is enough, if no other in the world be aware I sit content, and if each and all be aware I sit content.” So there’s the goal. Sit content. First privately. Then publicly.
Writers, artists, musicians, bloggers, interior decorators, photographers – we’re all just toddlers, wanting desperately to sit content on the throne of life. This helps me. Like visualizing an audience in their underwear, it makes the process much less intimidating. Thank you Dr. Freud.
– Anita, Noted in Nashville