I had an interesting experience this week that reminded me of a formative experience some time ago.
One of my trainers when I was working towards becoming a psychotherapist rightly identified that I could usefully find a medium for expressing myself. Being a musician, I decided to learn to improvise.
Sadly for the ears of those living close to me I gave it a concerted go. It just wasn't me. I don't like jazz, and I certainly can't improvise with a level of skill that made it spontaneous and expressive, or nice to listen to.
However, in the process of discovering this, I picked up a pen and wrote a poem. It was a revelation. Words just flowed out of the end of my pen, and they were heartfelt and meaningful. Here was MY expression.
I recently decided to learn to paint. It's a commitment I have made to myself for this year, and I will give it my best shot. And yet, as I begin, I suddenly find myself once more writing autobiographical poems. It seems I once more cannot help it, they will not be repressed (and nor do I want to stem the tide).
I am put in mind of the power of being yourself, not an imitation of anyone else. Creative expression is a process of becoming more of who and what you are, of touching in with what is inside and giving it voice.
There are many, many ways to express. Journal, sculpt, dance, compose, draw, paint, improvise...the list is long. No one of them is the right path for everyone. There is only your right path, whatever it is that uniquely expresses your truth.
If one way of expressing what you feel inside doesn't do it for you, try another. And another. Ask yourself, what makes your heart sing? Keep experimenting until you find out.
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