I’m 34 and I spent about 30 years sabotaging my (writing) life.
For a very long time, I thought I wanted to live the same life of my parents. A stable job in one place, a house with a mortgage, a life partner, kids to perpetuate the generation. I wrote my first poem when I could barely grab a pen. In school, I always excelled in writing. As a result, I grew up with the idea of wanting to be a journalist.
During the second year of my Journalism BD, life turned upside down. Family tragedies, addictions and whatnot – it took me years to stand back on my feet. When I picked back a journalism course I was 26 but something didn’t resonate. When I wasn’t writing or editing, it all looked like a waste of time – the news, the talks, the thirst to know what happened on that road, the run to the airport to catch the strikers. A hopeless process of putting on a permanent vehicle like paper information about someone as temporary as the human being.
Today I look back and I’m aware that many problems of my life might have occurred because for way too long I did everything except writing. But still, those hundreds of tons of shit are what today fuels my writing. My themes that keep boiling, running back and forth on pages.
For me, at this stage, the hardest part about embracing the creative life is getting rid of all the things I don’t need. A cultural, emotional, familial and existential crust which is rooted inside me. We all have our own, it’s the very matter we’re made of, I believe. The hard part is to select what has to be left out in order to choose what we need today. It’s a bit as the editing phase, ‘darlings’ in need to be killed.
For many years, I wasn’t ready to stand up and say out loud what I wanted. And still, it takes almost a daily inner job to get to this point where freedom is taking up practical responsibilities for the life I want to live. Or else, we can keep going against our nature because of an idea of life we’ve grown up with — and contribute to this planet’s army of depressed people.
For me living a creative life means saying what I can’t bare inside anymore. To do this, I need to be in a spot of easiness. Of accepting feelings, past actions, whatever comes up through the words. I think I got here after many trials and errors, changing lifestyles, jobs, and cities. Now I know that I need simple, basic stuff to feel ‘alive’.
All the money and material things I thought I needed don’t make me as happy as being out in nature, especially close to the sea. I don’t need to own things, I don’t even like the luxury — basic comfort is alright. A place where I can crush. A wifi connection. A fridge with some fresh veggies and fruits and ideally some good friends to contact, my brother.
Most of the times I feel I’m alive when I’m writing or thinking about my writing or being social while secretly dreaming of ditching everyone and go back to my desk. Running next to the beach, laughing out loud with friends, packing my stuff to change place and feeling the thrill for not knowing what’s coming next, hard to beat!
A standing Ikea desk is needed. A partner on a long term basis is a plus, like lots of other stuff my parents needed — and I was taught I needed too. I never wanted kids, looking after myself is already a hell of a job. Thank heaven we live in the Kindle era, where 400 books can fit in one single device and still, I can take the freedom to fill my 40 lt backpack with more notebooks than clothes.
I don’t need 3.000euros per month to live, 500 are more than enough. There are places on earth where life is cheap and can still be the life we love if we’ve chosen and embraced it.
Welcome to my creative life…what’s yours? Leave a comment below 🙂