I knew this was coming.
I did. I knew that this change, this inevitable change of growing up and moving on would be here. But what I really did not expect is the change in my heart to appear with the physical changes of my surroundings.
There's something about the rain that brings out people's inner emotions, almost like its washing away the facade of emotions and ideas we cake over ourselves. As I write this, you can probably guess that it's raining outside, and I feel like I have to write out my heart for myself to even understand it.
Change is unsettling. Especially change within ourselves.
For me, the most unsettling change in myself is my loss of inspiration. These nights, these kind of late, quiet, (especially rainy) all to myself nights I used to relish because these were the nights that my creative wheel would spin and I was full of stories and characters, emotions and dreams. And now the inspiration seems like an old friend, or a fond memory. Someone who was in my life and we used to have really great times together, and even had a future planned together but we just kind of..drifted apart.
If I could write Inspiration a letter I would ask it to come visit, but, but, I feel like Inspiration's mad at me. That feeling that once ignited me, that feeling that was able to just feel emotion and write and create and dream up stories, is gone.
I suppose I feel like a young child who has just realized the puppet show they have been watching-that the puppets are just peoples hands of normal people moving inside of a cartoon made of cloth,and not the wonderful entertainment I once thought it was.
It's like the wander has gone out of my life.
The wander that I used to look upon people's lives and stories and the world around me is gone. It's been muddled with the reality of my future, and my career, and bills, and.. decisions...
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's motto is Ars Gratia Artis which roughly translates to Art for Art's Sake.
I used to...understand that. I used to love that motto because I understand that Art helps make life beautiful. Art helps us outwardly express and understand what is going on within our lives.
I was born feeling like an artist and I knew that simply because I knew that I understood what art meant to the world. I understood why we have so many versions of art and entertainment. Why art? It's to help us understand what we feel, or sometimes to help us feel things we didn't think we could feel. Art whether that be painting, sculpting, writing, acting, dancing or film, tells some sort of story that takes us out of our reality and into another.
Art shouldn't have to justify itself. But it does serve a purpose, but for those that are skeptical, we say
why not? Art for Art's Sake.
This summer I went to India. And I love India, from the bottom of my heart. I truly, truly do know that I want to live there and have a life there, and be a part of the surrogate Indian family I had the privilege of being a part of while I was there.
And while in India, I started to not think about being in Hollywood. (What I'm getting at people is the decision to give up a film career or not..) But I just felt so happy, so content to be in India. I loved where I was and who I was with and when I would think about starting a career to end up in Hollywood just seemed so fleeting. It still does, when I talk about it. To think about the shallowness and fleeting 'treasures' of the glamorous lifestyle Hollywood is associated with. While in India, I started to be okay with the idea of not being famous.
But I think what was happening is that India, is so extra sensory. It is constantly filled with smells, and colors, and sights, and sounds that you don't have time to be inspired because you're so consumed with this effervescent culture.
Yet, as I've been home I still think that the treasures of Hollywood are fleeting and shallow, but the feeling that I associated with being inspired, and making movies and telling stories, the feelings I associated with what would be my film career feel lost and... I miss them.
So basically I'm just conflicted. I know the emotions and the way I felt in India were real, I know that if I became a doctor and did medical missions that I would be happy once I'm back in India..
but at the same time, I don't know what to do with my old friend Inspiration..
That inspiration feeling is what drove my creativity, that inspiration feeling is what drove me to tell stories and to want to make movies and to be an artist for art's sake.
Why do I feel like I must choose one or the other? I cannot just ignore the aching right side of my brain and turn off my need to create and entertain the rest of my life, but at the same time my only future for those feelings had always been to end up in Hollywood and I don't know if that is a place that I could thrive spiritually and be 100% sure I was doing the work and living the life God wanted me to live.
I've been reading a lot of Robert Frost lately and I really love him a lot. He's one of few writers that makes me truly like poetry, and he's also a writer/poet that can from line to line transport you to wherever he wants to take you, put you directly in the setting and make you feel what he wants you to feel. So naturally, in my current pickle I relate to "The Road Not Taken" I see my two roads, and the yellow wood is clearly my future but unlike Mr. Frost I don't know which one to take. I wish to take the road less traveled but the road as to which is 'less traveled' is not so clear yet.
So for now, I take these things day by day, and see which emotions are fleeting and impulsive and which ones stay, because those are the ones that matter. But tonight, it's grieving. I miss my Inspiration, I miss my stories. I miss the way 'creating' a story felt.
I don't know if I will follow in Mr. Frost's path and take the road less traveled, to be honest I really just want to be on the path that God wants me to be on.
All I know is change is scary. Rain is comforting. And Writing is cathartic.
Til the next thunderstorm-when the rain can wash away and reveal more from my heart.
Your, 'one traveler', Shelby
