When was the last time you felt true, unadulterated, creative joy in your bones?
Not the kind that comes with obligation or the pressures of self-aggrandizement or promotion.
But the purely selfish kind. The kind that feeds that part of the soul that’s unafraid and cares not if it drags us off a couple cliffs (literally or figuratively) to get its fix.
Unfortunately, for many of us, it was when we were kids.
Maybe it was when you were 9 years old playing ice hockey on the frozen lake on Christmas Eve with friends.
Or when you were 12 and you hit that first perfect, effortless golf shot on the seventh hole with your uncle as the sun set.
Or getting completely caught up in the words as you wrote that perfect short story in middle school. To yourself. Without it being assigned to you by your English teacher.
Why don’t we give ourselves the chance to feel that same kind of creative exuberance we felt so often as kids?
When a smaller part of us decides we probably won’t be the best at it — or even make a living at it — we murder it.
Chalk it up to wasted time.
Why do we deprive ourselves?
Why must we tie our creativity to monetary gain?
What about our souls? Our soul doesn’t give two sh*ts about the cash. It just wants to feel itself soar through the individualized expression of infinity that is you.
I hope so.
Now, follow it.
Not that you’re going to get rich from doing it — or even make a living. But to purely express your soul’s longings. And nothing else.
From your soul’s perspective, you can’t afford not to.
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