By GENTLE THUG PRODUCTIONS
“(...) Vivimos
exclusivamente en el presente pues siempre y eternamente es el día de hoy -y el
día de mañana será un hoy, la eternidad es el estado de las cosas en este
momento.”
- Clarice Lispector
“You must live in the
present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment.
Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land.
There is no other land; there is no other life but this.”
- Henry David Thoreau
Y
|
ou
have no tomorrow. You have no yesterday. All you have is now.
Right
here--right now—as you read these words, your life is all about this moment in time.
No
other moment matters.
For
better or for worse. For richer or for poorer. Till death takes you away from
this life and sweeps you into the next, your moment of clarity is right here and right now.
What
are you going to do with this moment?
What
are you going to do now?
As
human beings, we’re all creative
beings. We yearn to have our inner voice heard through a multitude of artistic
expressions.
We
want to write novels.
We
want to paint acrylic landscapes.
We
want to be documentary filmmakers.
We
want to be poets.
We
want to be dancers.
We
want to make the best chicken parmesan in the world.
What’s
stopping you in this moment?
What’s
stopping you now?
Our
heritage of being artists and creative creatures is long, rich, and inviting.
We’re asked to embrace this immense history of human creativity (and beyond) by
giving credence to our birthright as creative souls in the universe. It’s our
God(dess)-given right.
What’s
stopping you in this moment?
What’s stopping you now?
Fear.
I
truly believe that fear is the root emotion of all negative emotions that we
experience and encounter in our lives as human beings.
Fear
is the precursor of hatred.
Fear
is the starting point of oppression.
Fear
is the beginning of apathy.
And
fear is what keeps us from doing our own creative work.
We
want to write those steamy, passionate romance novels—but what would our
parents say if we did?
We
want to paint those acrylic landscapes of the Mojave Desert—but what would our
significant others do if we took time away from them?
We
want to direct a documentary film about the injustices of not being able to
wear white after Labor Day—but what would the editors of Vogue think?
And
what about that chicken parmesan that Grandma used to make (wouldn’t it hurt
her feelings if we tried to top her?)
Fear
keeps us from using the present moment now.
It makes us long for of how things used to be yesterday, and lures us into
thinking that there will always be a tomorrow.
There’s
only now.
Fear
sucks. Big time. Because it erases what we need to do now and replaces it with what we should have done in the past (which is impossible to recapture
because we can’t live in the past) and/or what we should be doing in the future (which is impossible to capture,
because we haven’t arrived there yet—the future is a present moment waiting to
happen).
Stop
doing that to yourself. You shouldn’t should
yourself. It’s a very bad habit, and only leads to heartache and excessive
binging on substances that aren’t good for you.
All
we have is now.
To
help you start fighting against the ravages of fear—and to help you (re)start
your creative process—I have two writing exercises that I’d like you to try
(even if you don’t consider yourself a writer, please do them anyway; the benefits you’ll receive are guaranteed
to boost your creativity and artistic well-being—or your money back).
The
first exercise was introduced by Brenda Ueland in her book, If You Want to
Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit, which was first published in 1938 (Julia Cameron borrowed this same
exercise from Ueland for her own book, The Artist’s Way).
It involves keeping a daily diary.
This exercise is best done first thing in the
morning, even before you have that nice, steaming cup of java (or whatever beverage
you usually indulge in).
All you need is a notebook, a pen or pencil, and
the willingness to commit to doing this exercise every day. Without
fail.
The premise is simple—give yourself complete
freedom to write down whatever random thoughts enter your mind, and write them
down as fast as you can. Don’t censor yourself and don’t worry about grammar,
sentence structure, or spelling (no one is going to read your diary except for
you; your former high school English teacher is barred from perusing your
entries).
Write at least three pages a day. Or more. (The
more, the better.)
After you’re done writing each day, don’t read what
you wrote. Stash your diary away in a safe place until the next morning. Every six
months, you can then go back and read what you’ve previously written
(but continue writing daily).
I know that this seems like a lot of work—but
you’ll eventually find some creative magic in your daily diary.
Trust me on
this.
The
second exercise that I’d like you to undertake is to write your obituary.
No,
wait a second—write two obituaries
for yourself. (Yeah, I know—this sounds incredibly macabre, but do it anyway.)
In
the first one, write about what you’d be remembered for if you were to die right now—if you were to take your last
breath this very second. Realistically look back on your life and ask yourself:
What have I accomplished? What did I hope to accomplish? What did I want to
become? What did I really want to do? Have I done it already? If not, why not? What
disappointments did I have? What obstacles blocked me from doing the creative
work that I’ve always wanted to do? (Were you
an obstacle to yourself? Did you let
others stymie your creative intentions?)
Put
it all into words. Don’t hold back.
In
the second obituary, write about living to the ripe old age of 120—without fear stopping you in your life.
You’ve accomplished everything that you set out to do. You were afraid of nothing—and that’s reflected in your
creative work and the rest of your life. You had everything that you needed at
your disposal to be creative (time, money, freedom, etc.). What did you
accomplish? What did you become? What did you do? What obstacles did you
overcome?
(Did
you tell Grandma to stuff her chicken parmesan recipe because yours is world
famous? Did you proudly wear white after Labor Day and make a documentary film
about it? Did your steamy, passionate novel make Fifty Shades of Grey read like a Dr. Seuss children’s book? Did you
run for a political office? Did you start a rock band? Did you open your own graphic
arts studio? Did you do all those things, and more?)
Now
compare the two obituaries.
Your
first one may only be a shallow representation of who you really are, a shadow
image of what you truly want to
become in this life. It might be full of missed opportunities, failed
realizations, and a straight-out denial of your own creative potential.
There’s
still time to change it.
Begin
making your life a proud representation of your second obituary.
Start
in this present moment.
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