Thinking About Contentment In Creativity

A big personal goal for this new year is to be content.

From Wikipedia: "Contentment is 'acknowledgement and satisfaction of reaching capacity'"

One of my favorite parts about college was the opportunity to do everything that I loved all at once. I got to write and make art and lead. Of course, beneath each of those is a series of sub-groups.

Write:

• Poems
• Essays
• Long nonfiction
• Blogs
• Journals

Art:

• Paint: acrylic & watercolor
• Sketch: charcoal & pencil
• Throw Clay
• Knit
• Play guitar & bass
• Sing

Lead:

• Organize
• Schedule
• Manage

My new job takes care of leadership quite easily. My current role is a project manager: it's really my thing--a quality that I've always seen as a bit of a contrast to my want for creativity (though my personal vision of creativity is quite structured as well). I love to gather ideas and make them happen. Sure, I get some art and some writing at work: visual acuity is a must in PowerPoint (which is actually really fun) and I write a lot of technical stuff (emails, slides, notes, etc.), but none of that fully satisfies my thirst to create.

I can't quite figure out what it was about college that made the days feel longer. I could accomplish so much it seemed. I could go to bed at 11 or 12 and sleep in until 9 and still have enough time in the day to go to class, read like mad, write, do homework, and on and on down the list. 

As it is, I seem to spend every moment engaged in activity. I read on the bus commute to work. I have focused work all day (which passes so quickly; I think the second-hand is broken). I read on the commute home. When I get home, I sift through a variety of options. During the winter/holiday knitting season, I spent much time on that. 

It all just comes in waves: sometimes I'll feel really musical and learn several new songs for guitar, but then I might not play again for a week or two. 

Sometimes I'll just want to be outside and go hiking and not be able to sit in my room with a book. 

Sometimes, I can't do anything until I paint--it might even be a part of a painting, just enough to get through the surge. 

Sometimes I can't even sleep until I write.

I've learned that all of these things brew. I may not do a painting for several months, but during that absence of the act, I think about it in the back of my mind; I mentally paint the same thing over and over until it finally pushes out onto paper or canvas. I write constantly in my mind, but such a small percentage makes it to the page. It's all very fluid.

It's great; it's really great. I feel super blessed to have such wide-spread interests and activities that I whole-heartedly enjoy, to have such a lifestyle that can support these things. I do not know the meaning of "boredom."

Nevertheless, it's so frustrating. I want to do everything at once, be everywhere at once. The result: I dabble into pieces of everything in small quantities. My writing life has suffered because I have wanted to knit. My music has suffered because I've wanted to read. It all swirls in a pitcher of creativity. When you pour a glass, you never know what you'll get.

The glass is full. The flavors are luscious. 

I am constantly in fear that what I do is not enough. Nothing ever seems enough to let me be content. I don't know who I'm trying to please. I just want to feel full and happy and be satisfied with the life I have chosen. I feel so submerged in that right now that it makes me worried that something terrible will come of it. Can such a general good feeling really exist?

I hope so.