I have grown to love the challenge of a blank page.
I do not and have never claimed to be a great writer. I write because there is an impulse deep within me that is always seeking expression. I write because I love to write. I go through periods where I write pretty consistently. I feel a stirring in my being, and I begin to ponder what is seeking to be put into words. I open a Word document. I look at the blank page before me. And I wait until I feel an impulse to begin typing. Sometimes the blank page feels like an open invitation for creative word play. And sometimes the blank page feels like it is mocking me. It seems to dare me to come up with something that is worthy of filling the space. And on rare occasions it seems to be a bit of both. And so, there are times when I take a break from the challenge and take solace in refraining from the invocation of a blank page.
And so, while I truly have grown to love the challenge of a blank page, I guess I also fear it to some degree as well. The blank page beseeches me to improve upon its pristine emptiness. The blank space is a gauntlet of sorts. My creative muse urges me on, while at the same time my inner critic lies and lurks in wait. If I allow the bulk of my focus to stay steeped in the creative process, I love filling the blank page with playful images and inspired ideas. I follow the leading of where my musings seek to go, with little thought of what the finished product might look and read like. I am always surprised at the unexpected twists and turns of my adventures upon the page. Where I think I may be headed is most often not where I actually land. That is a huge part of the fun for me. It is what makes the blank page a space I love to face.
If I approach the blank page with a sense of what I think should be an accepted finished product the joy is sucked right out of the process. Each word feels laborious and nagging. I can become fixated on the evaluations that are always a part of how creative endeavors are received. Rather than filling the page for the joy of simply filling the page I can get pulled into imagining how my writings will be read and critiqued. The process takes on a weight. My energy droops. My creativity falters. Process is consumed by product. The temptation is to delete the words I have rumbled with and to return to the scrutiny free blank page. It may result in being unfulfilled, but it also means I am unjudged.
Everyday is in fact a blank page.
I am invited into loving the challenge of filling the blank page that is this day. It is a very similar process. It is really all in the approach. If I remain alert and playful, focused on the creativity and the process I flow with the day and what I choose to place upon my page. I can witness and yet not heed the well-rehearsed inner critic that is ever ready to judge what is occurring. I stay centered in process and not upon product. I create for the sake of creating. I listen and give way to what is seeking to be expressed. I do not give sway to what I perceive to be other peoples criticisms of how I am living and expressing. I simply fill my day-page with inspired acts and playful creations. There will be times when I feel stuck. Lodged. When the next right word seems to illude me. And so, I do what I do when I am writing and I hit a snag. I pause. I breathe. I listen within. I let whatever is waiting beneath to rise and to come forth. I do so in trust and in expectancy.
I do not know how many remaining blank pages await my creative fulfillment. That makes each one more vital and more precious. I literally have today and only today. How I choose to fill it is totally and completely up to me. I have lived long enough to know how not to fall into the trap of being governed by the expectations or judgments of those around me. They have their own pages to fill. Rather than waste my energy in fear and resistance I stay focused in my own acts of creation. I intend that the way I live my days will be beneficial to others. That how I use my blank pages will serve and uplift the world around me. That my living will be about something greater than just me.
I giggle with the awareness that this is not the rendering that I set out to formulate when I began to fill this once blank page. This is not what I set out to say. And yet these are the words that came forth. This is how I filled this space. And so, beyond any projected evaluation, I am content in knowing that I followed my cues. That I dictated the words that sought to come forth. That I filled the blank page with words and ideas that matched the moments of my musing.
I wrote simply for the love of writing.
And tomorrow there will be another blank page and another opportunity to create anew. There is always a chance to begin again. No matter how many and how I may have filled previous pages a new blank page appears before me. As long as there are additional pages there are additional opportunities. There are new pages to fill and new stories to tell.
It is why I grown to love the challenge of a blank page.
