When Creativity Makes a Difference

I love words! That’s part of why I love being a writer. I love the sound, the look, the power that they bring into life. They make this blog writing both challenge and delight.

When my doctor recently began our visit with the question, “How are you?” I answered, “Spendid!” She chuckled and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a patient use that word to describe themselves!” Splendid. So much more interesting than, “Fine” or “OK.”

Last week, a lovely writer-follower made a comment about the blog which had centered on the term, “mojo.” She used the word, “plucky” to describe me! Plucky! I haven’t heard that word in a long time, and it made me chuckle out loud. “Plucky” reminded me that my elderhood is something to be celebrated!

Sad to say, I’ve not been endlessly loaded with pluck or mojo for a couple of weeks now, though. And I can’t put my finger on just why, which is unusual. No word has appeared to resurrect the restlessness or lack of energy that has marked some days recently. So I’ve waited for grace to show up – somehow.

Grace was biding its time, though, waiting for just the right moment to appear.

It didn’t help that the first teasing snows showed up Tuesday evening and through the night. Just lightly and steadily falling, only leaving a whisp of white on the tops of cars and on the cold stones that mulch some of the parking lot here. Reminders of what is yet to come crept into our minds, and only my oldest son was rejoicing that winter was stepping over the threshold at last.

“Wind chill” has replaced, “Dew point” as the dry, chill winds have brought out winter coats and gloves and hats and made my outdoor exercise of pumping gas a cheerless and bracing exercise in endurance and patience.

No wonder plucky was hiding somewhere. What to do?

I know that the time will come when the brown and grey colors of this season will be covered in delicious, bright white, and the pitiful bare trees will stretch with pride at their new beauty. But what about the meantime?

Where do I find my pluck? What to do?

The answer had been arriving in technicolor for weeks with every delivery from Amazon! Paints and brushes, inks, watercolor papers; felt tip brush pens and calligraphy pens and metallic ink pens in various sizes and colors invited me to create. Hours of tutorials on YouTube and more hours of practice over the past 3 months have been bearing such satisfying fruit that it can be hard to lay down pens or brushes.

I’ve gathered dozens of wise or inspirational sayings. I’ve used calligraphy to make really fine renditions of them, and to do some journaling with them. I discovered that a glass calligraphy pen is pure delight to use. Words become elegant on the page. Joy shows up.

Was this going to be enough to bring me back to plucky?

It turns out that in beginning this new practice in mid-summer, I was creating the foundation for resurrecting my recently grey days. I am good enough at what I’ve learned to do that my spirit has been, a step at a time, healing itself.

It turns out that creativity is the answer for the times when life grows flat or grey or uninspiring. And in this part of my life, that means pen and paper. The mindfulness of it centers me again.

Creativity. We all need it in some form, don’t we?

“Serene” – perhaps that’s the word that comes closer to what I’m finding. Serenity is the grace that is showing up now. Its palette is more pastel than bright colors. But that feels just right.

And I’m very okay with that!