Cultivating Creativity
Spending some time with my Wild Child
I majored in English because I’ve always loved to read and write. My mom always delegated me to write our family thank you notes, as an oldest child I amused myself with books, and after my mom passed in 2006 I embraced poetry as an outlet for feelings that were sometimes too complex to understand. I used my literary and creative bent in my four years as an English teacher, but when I started my masters in public policy, reading and writing receded to become something I did when I wasn’t working. An indulgence, rather than a core part of my life. As an executive director at Summit Public Schools, I occasionally waxed philosophical in our weekly newsletters. I’d talk about love for our students, or the importance of knowing your own power, or identity in the classroom, until I got the feedback that my newsletters were too long. Okay, I thought, motivational quotes and announcements only.
Much of the work I’ve been doing alongside starting my own business is what I would call “re-wholing” myself, finding those branches of who I am that have atrophied or cowered in shadow up to this time. Some of this is what psychologists would refer to as parts work. For many of us, there are three central parts (supported by many others): the Loyal Soldier who rises to the occasion to fulfill whatever society (family, work, friends) expects of us, the Wounded Child (who suffered an injury long ago and has fear/pain as a result), and the Wild Child, whose creativity, personality, and natural joy is dying to be let out. My Loyal Soldier was running the show during my four years at Summit, while I strove to meet the needs of the students and teachers entrusted to me. A principal at 27, I thought I could make up for experience with sheer hustle. Turns out experience is important, and no matter how much hustle you have, you can’t meet everyone’s expectations, though I certainly tried. I’m giving my Loyal Soldier some shore leave now and taking my Wild Child out for a “let’s get reacquainted” adventure.
All of us have a different Wild Child persona. Mine could most likely be found running barefoot through a meadow in a Grecian robe clutching her notebook under one arm and an enormous picnic basket under the other. She’s singing loudly, weaving a flower crown, swimming naked in a creek, napping in the sun. She loves making jokes, throwing parties, snuggling, and telling stories. Her magic power is telling a story about each person, a story that is both true and hasn’t happened yet.
Moving to New Hampshire has given added scope for running barefoot through meadows and skinny-dipping. And, part of embracing my Wild Child is to bring her to life in my relationships with the outside world. To that end I decided to seek out a writing group. Back in San Francisco, I started a writing group that ran successfully for a year and a half until COVID hit. We’d have dinner together, rotating who hosted, and then spend an hour writing to a prompt and half an hour sharing our work. Sometimes our shares were punctuated by fits of giggles, like the time when we passed stories around a table and each person got to add to the writing for one minute before passing it to their left; other times they were met by pensive silence or compassionate expressions. We decided in March of 2020 not to continue this group via Zoom, but by early 2021 I was longing for a community in which I could protect time for my writing, push the boundaries of form and topic, and share what I had written with others.
I put it out on the fabulous Upper Valley listserv, and soon I had assembled a group of 8 participants to join our Zoom writing group. With ages ranging from 20s to 70s, with published authors and hobby writers, we were a diverse group. I facilitated the first few sessions as we got the hang of our ideal format, and then we rotated facilitation around the group, drawing from prompts and inspiration reflective of our unique personalities. There’s something about the practice of putting a pen to paper and letting what wants to come out, come out. It’s one of the ways I let my Wild Child sing. I don’t always feel like writing on Tuesday nights when we meet, but it doesn’t matter, we have a date. It’s time for me to have a commitment to her on par with what I’ve had with my Loyal Soldier for so long.
While I’m not an aspiring professional, I know how much it’s meant to me to make my poems and stories and share them with others. That’s part of what gave me the courage to start this journal and share my personal journey towards becoming a more integrated, embodied, complete version of myself. In honor of that creativity I want to share a few of the pieces I’ve written here:
January 2021, A Letter from My Future Self
March 2021, Inspired By Derek Walcott’s Love After Love
May 2021, The Heroine’s Journey, or My Grandmother’s Life in Myth
And while I love my writing group, and their company during the long dark winter COVID months helped keep me sane, I know that going forward I don’t want my writing to be just a creative “outlet.” It’s a part of who I am and how my mind works. Part of my job from here is to find a way to integrate words and stories more concretely into the work I do. While the “how” of that is not completely clear to me yet, I’ve decided: I’ll just start somewhere, and see where this journaling and my writing group lead me.
I’m curious: what’s your Wild Child like? What’s the thing that, as my aunt asked me, you love to do so much you forget time is passing? Perhaps summer is an invitation to follow what you WANT to do rather than what you SHOULD do, and see where it leads you.
The Guest House - Rumi
Translated by Coleman Barks
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.