I cry a pretty healthy amount. Okay, I cry a lot. And no, not because I am a crybaby. Well, at least I don't think I'm the annoying sniveling kind. Real crybabies love the attention their crying brings, whereas almost 100% of the time I try to hide my crying, even amongst my own family, as it makes me wildly uncomfortable. Honestly, a sincere amount of somethings and nothings can move me to tears, as my soul is somewhat like an active volcano; something's always cooking down there, waiting to rise up and start firing in every direction.
I cry at certain dog commercials, or the kind where old people profess their love to one another, I cry over mountains and almost every time I have to leave the U.P., I cry over poetry, or particularly gruesome workouts that somehow shred me to my soul (thanks Bob Harper and EJ Dockery) and recently I cried over this quote:
"Believe with all your heart that you will do what you were made to do."
--Orison Swett Marden
I cannot tell you how many versions of these same words I have heard over the years, and I want to say that most times it has affected me in much the same way, but maybe it's because I really feel on the cusp of some sort of life change leading me in the direction that I deeply yearn to go that this was a beautiful sign, a reassurance that I am not crazy in truly believing I am destined for the sort of epic adventures and artistic grandeur that I long for on a never-ending, non-stop loop.
I watched this show about a week ago called Frozen Planet, about wolves hunting Bison, killer whales hunting seals, sea lions hunting penguins, and while each time I felt real torn up inside over the poor animal being ran down or massacred, I was more struck by the images of the Arctic and Antarctic and wondering about the people who were filming this and how they got that job? Then I got to thinking about National Geographic, the Discovery Channel and the Travel Channel and all those jobs. And how freaking bad I want to be those people.
I really don't know how many other ways there are to say that I want to see the whole world, other than saying I want to see the whole world! Except Ohio, I can live without Ohio, and as far as I'm concerned have seen all I'll ever need to see of Ohio. Okay, I will admit I have spotted a few, an admitted few nice barns or something in Ohio whilst driving through on my way somewhere better, but being from Michigan, the greatest state without a doubt, I cannot possibly pledge any allegiance to Ohio on sheer principle alone.
But I digress, per usual.
Besides crying over that quote, I just minutes ago finished a book my mom sent me called the War of Art, by Steven Pressfield and sobbed pretty much incessantly during the final few pages. Big globs of mascara wreaked havoc down my cheeks as his profound words set up camp and settled in for a nice long winter inside my mind, alerting me to an undeniable truth: I was born to be a writer, a curator of beautiful words, and if at all possible, wisdom. That is what I was put on this earth to do, yet I have been living in a state of ignorance. Not that I have doubted this truth, but I have doubted myself and that has been enough to de-rail me time and time again.
Spoiler, this is the last page of the book, that I read three times in a row and burst into new tears, each consecutive time. It won't ruin the book for you, on the contrary I think you will find you might want to read it more.
The Artist's Life
Are you a born writer? Were you put on earth to be a painter, a scientist, an apostle of peace? In the end the question can only be answered by action.
Do it or don’t do it.
It may help to think of it this way. If you were meant to cure cancer or write a symphony or crack cold fusion and you don’t do it, you not only hurt yourself, even destroy yourself. You hurt your children. You hurt me. You hurt the planet.
You shame the angels who watch over you and you spite the Almighty, who created you and only you with your unique gifts, for the sole purpose of nudging the human race one millimeter farther along its path back to God.
Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It’s a gift to the world and every being in it. Don’t cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you’ve got.
Fucking beautiful. And yes, some things, in my humble opinion deserve a solid F-bomb for good measure, just like some things deserve to be cried over. I personally will continue to use the F word on occasion for punch (though I am consciously trying to be more of a lady and limit its use) and I will continue to cry when my soul is moved, which is somewhere around every other day.
Oh and do yourself a favor and read this book. Life. Changing.