I woke up surrounded by roots only to think that this is kind similar to the way fear feels. Once planted, then a weak twig that is easily bent, then clinging to the deepest thoughts that fuel our every move; only leaving us paralyzed.Ā
I have grown up next to the coast; water does not beg for permission to move, or wonder if the inhabitants of this area are going to like it whether it chooses to sit still, or completely destroy everything in its path.Ā
Moving to my college town was different, to put it plainly, and as vaguely as I can. Though my motherās family is from this college town, all that I had known before was suddenly not really false, but just warped. It was rung dry of the sweet feeling that came with only visits to my grandmotherās house, and not drawing for hours in a tiny art studio as a college freshman. This place smelled a lot like hard work, as well as a sewer like odor that this town is actually quite famous for. Hatred of this place is not what I am aiming to convey; it is just simply like I said, very, very, different. I was, for the first time, surrounded by just trees. And it was terrifying. The water was something that I always appreciated, but I had not once wanted it to just consume every last shred of my consciousness. Now, I craved the murky ocean water more than anything; I wanted to be evaporated by the sticky, southern heat simply so I could be dropped into this ocean, away from it all. And then in those moments, being alone would not be terrifying, but almost as if I was released from gravityās hold, and into a realm of undefined boundaries of creativity and wholeness. I would not be afraid of not having my toes touch the dry ground; this would only mean that I could move with less boundaries.Ā
You see, I wasnāt simply craving the coast because of the concept of water in this way; I feel that the sedentary lifestyle of trees exemplifies so much of the lifestyle I had to become accustomed to; being so afraid of life that I simply rooted myself into the ground. Rules became oxygen, and that was the only language my brain knew to comprehend. Freedom was not something directly taken, but something I subconsciously decided was not mine to keep.Ā
So I cast it into the ocean and ran.Ā
I left all of my freedom and creativity at home, where in the summer previously, was painting like a mad, and drawing until my fingers were practically bleeding.Ā
Not because I had the mentality me practically throwing darts at my own work constantly, but because I wanted to.Ā
It has been a very long time since I have felt something; since I have been moved in such a way that has led me to create something that I can call my own. I am not quite sure what robbed me of creativity; but my hands are now calloused, but not covered in paint, or any medium for that matter. I scrubbed my hands clean of charcoal for the last time right before I came home for summer, and have not touched it since. And that to me, is something almost melancholy and sad.Ā
This summer, my goal is not to jump from cliffs, play messy Twister, have a bonfire, or to sleep in the bed of a truck like all of these stupid memes that people my age tend to just devour.Ā
My goal is to learn not to be so afraid anymore.Ā
And I am not just speaking in terms of my art work, but in a general sense.Ā
As I woke up two days ago in my friendās cabin, again surrounded by trees, my mind skipped formalities with the morning, and went straight down the highway to my college town.Ā
In the past year, I have grown to be afraid of expression, openness, God, and the possibility of failure. Fear has driven me to do so much, as well as standing desolate, such as the trees that land locked me for two semesters. Though I now also refer to this place as home because of the people, I also wish to call it home because it is a place in which I am not afraid to express my creativity, and that I am not afraid to wake up to the sound of silence.Ā
Yesterday at 7:00 PM, my notification for my nightly devotion echoed across my kitchen. I was slightly hoping it would be a word of advice, but also keeping in mind that it could be something slightly incompatible with my fear of living.Ā
āThen he asked them,Ā āWhy are you so afraid?ā Do you still have no faith?āāĀ
I then knew that my now concious decision of wanting to remove fear as a vessel in my life was not something of a random variation, but something that God planted, and wanted to carry with the roots clinging to Him with every last breath, not the ground with safety.Ā
When I read this verse, I think to how things so seemingly unrelated to faith, such as the harsh realities of art school, have shaken me. These experiences are not exactly to blame for my fear; I have always been a very anxious person to begin with. I have trained myself in the process to be afraid of failing; therefore handicapping my work in a way that is illegible. It does not read asĀ āmeā.Ā
As I was discussing this with my boyfriend in Waffle House (yeah, weāre pretty romantic, I know.), he feels the same way. I said something that I was not even thinking about. I just kind of vomited the words:
āI used to be so wide eyed and hopefulā¦.what happened to me?ā
I was partially joking, because I have learned to be creative within guidelines. But once the guidelines are taken away and I have freedom, I have no idea what to do with it. I know that this whole idea of being creative and and the same time not being creative is really confusing, but believe me, it is so real that itās almost frightening.Ā
So I am praying for the day in which my hands do not ask for permission. I pray for the day that failure is not in my vocabulary; only experience. I hope for the time I look at my work and finally claim it as my own.Ā
And I pray for the day that I can share these moments I can share these struggles with someone who has been through the same things. I have love my time in art school more than anything; do not misunderstand me. But going from having so many rules to none at all is defying gravity in a way that either feels like freedom, or the feeling of falling with no idea of where you are going to land.Ā
I pray for the day that I bleed in full color, and feel no need to mute it with tones of gray.Ā
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