Creativity only knows how to create.

It is an amazing thing to consider that if you take a group of 100 young children, set paper, pencils, crayons, paints, and pastels in front of them, almost every child will dive with joy and confidence headlong into the creative process.  They simply begin to play.  The creative process is natural and second nature.  Once they are finished, they will proudly present their masterpieces to be hung on the wall (or framed for gallery viewing if you can make it happen).

But try the same exercise with a group 'sensible grown-ups' and I can virtually guarantee that, even if you have a remarkably compliant crowd, you will hear all kinds of belly ache noises and protests like," I'm really not artistic," and, "All I know how to make are stick figures."  All kinds of anxious head scratching, and nervous self-critical, cringing laughter is sure to follow.  It's positively painful.  Once the time is up your crew of 'artists' are more apt to strip down naked or sing karaoke than display their creations in public.  What happens to the creative spark from kindergarten to adulthood?

Why is 'creativity' such a terrifying word for adults?  Hae we lost sight and touch with the essence of creativity--the creativity that only know how to create?  It seems so, if we allow the creative spark that lives uniquely in each of us to be stifled by the hyperactive inner critic.  Whether we are aware of it or not, we are all creative beings by nature.  We can't help but create things, whether they are sentences, meals, plans, place settings, or relationships.  But we all rail against the creative process.

Jumping into creativity is something akin to swimming.  The toughest part is getting to the pool, and jumping off the perfectly sound concrete ledge into the bracing initial crispness of the water.  The chill lasts for a lap or two...then it feels great.  Swimming is work of course.  It makes you breathe heavily, and awakens muscles that are accustomed to dormancy, but the gliding sensation, and the pure quiet that envelops you under water are unparrallelled therapy. 

I realize that swimming is not everybody's cup of tea, but the steps it entails correspond to the creative process of the writer, painter, musician, and others.  The blank canvas, score sheet, word document, or silent concert hall give off a daunting emptiness--the off-putting "go do something easier and more comfortable" subliminal message that emanates from the chilly pool.  Beginning is the hardest part--and truly entering into creativity means not letting the inner judge halt the process when the first note or stroke is not one of "genius."  Continue on in the emerging, joyful, messy journey and you may lose track of time, renew a connection within yourself, or create a connection with someone else.  You might be a better person for the effort you have dedicated, and you just might create something beautiful.  So jump in (even if it feels awkward or scary).  Trust that there is creativity inside you that only knows how to create--and longs to do so!