When I was younger? As above. I was fresh faced and innocent. I had a guitar and a pocketful of dreams. I started writing songs, poetry and dreamed of Bohemia. Surrounding me were a bunch of similar fresh faced innocents who drove each other. We all contributed. The ARTS. Music, pottery, photography, poetry. Didn’t matter if it was good or ridiculous. Mistakes weren’t laughed at. It was called ‘experimentation’. We had individual ambition and wore it openly. I loved my life back then.
So talking of then. Then had a turning point. So…..Then? Supporting other people. Their needs and my following them in their own lives trying to hopefully help liaise, work alongside and change those lives for the dreams they envisaged and therefore for the better. Five years training as an interpreter for the Deaf. Resulting in? Either as a supporter for the Deaf community or Deaf students working in Further or Higher Education. Helping their communication needs as an interpreter. Or teaching other hearing adults at College level to realise qualifications in British Sign Language to support Deaf students themselves. Or as a Staff Nurse. Qualified after 3 years nursing qualification and all it entails to get people/patients through illness and trauma.
Now? No longer fresh faced an innocent, but a yearning to drop supporting others. Why? Because it is draining. Unfortunately, I have no more to give. I am a shell. But. Deep inside I am still, so very, very much that innocent. I still play guitar and write songs. I have my camera and want to capture the unimaginable on film. I have a pen ready and waiting to catch flimsy, whimsical stories and poetry. And I have a kiln to pottery clay bake my mythical creations.
Done with the agenda of others sucking the life out of my bones. Done with people who care not a jot that I have an artist’s dream. Done with others who don’t give a damn who I actually am inherently. Done with others’ self centred thinking. I want my own artist self centred thinking back. Thank you very much. LOOK. You’ve had 30 plus years of my life of giving to others. It’s impossible to share the giving with the taking. The enormity of caring for others is profound and relentless. And actually? It damn near kills you in spirit, body and mind. Now I want to give myself to myself again. So. My life will change again back to the arts. Selfish? No. I’ve now paid my dues to others. I am going to begin to write, reflect and capture back my failures as an artist. Don’t mind if I fail again. But at least I’ll die happier.
To die happy! Is that too much to ask?