Buckled In
Emily Apuzzo Hopkins | September 20, 2020
In Fall 2019 I read Elizabeth Gilbert’s book Big Magic for the first time. If you haven’t had the chance to read it yourself and you work in any field that requires you to think creatively or you dream of nurturing creative pursuits in any way, it is a must. When I read it then, I was flirting with the idea of devoting more time to creative writing… nothing had been planned - only dreamed about at that point. And then the flood gates opened. I wrote THE book that had lived in me for a decade… then I wrote two more. And then I started another 3. I finally listened to what creativity had been trying to tell me for all of these years. Bless that muse for sticking by me - ever patient.
I re-read her book this summer - curious at to how my experience since the initial reading would affect the perception of what Gilbert so elegantly puts into words. And, wow. I had become a different person in those 9 months between readings. I had turned into a person no longer on the precipice, but a person who had fallen fully into the creativity crevasse. I was in it.
Fast forward a smidge through August - one of the tougher months I have had in a while. Creativity forced to take a backseat while anxiety sat shotgun to my white-knuckled driving with me screaming, “2020 has been bad enough!” Now on the other side of that, my grip has loosened and I am ready for creativity to reclaim her seat as my right hand. And again, she inexplicably obliges.
Big Magic also explores this idea of the muse of creativity being free to move wherever she wants, searching for the outlet of who will listen and allow themselves to be the conduit for her genius. If you are an unwilling participant or at all hesitant, the fickle friend will pack her bags and leave. But for some reason, she decided to stay and I can’t explain why. I can only surmise that she is not done with me and I am meant for big things. Naïve? - Maybe. Hopeful? - Absolutely. But I owe it to the muse to find out.
So, now as I sit here on a Sunday morning at 5:30am writing out my reflection, I realize that while I wasn’t looking, creativity slyly made her way to the passenger seat next to me. And she’s waiting for me to buckle in.
