Creativity by Darylynn Starr Rank

The sun is still here.  (At least it is as I write this at the end of an extraordinary summer.)  If the rains have come by the time you read this, they'll have only been here for a whisper of time.  A moment. 

We have to move into fall, soon.  I know it's coming.  The days whoosh by a little faster.  I had to put on a sweater last night as darkness came.  We're heading into that in-between time.  A seasonal transition.

It's now, at the beginning of September, of fall, of school starting, of holidays being over, when we look at the coming of the study/work/winter year and think about what we're doing.  We'll do it again at the New Year.  Resolutions and so on.  But in our western world, September is almost the stronger of those moments.  Again, that transition.

I can almost hear the murmurings in the breezes.  I want to do something… different.  I want to try something new.  Take a chance.  Make a change.  Use
my time… better.  Oh, hell.  I've always wanted to try…  Why can't I just….

Some part of you that wants something else.   Not instead of.  Not throwing out all the wonderful parts of your world.  Just something… also.

And this happens so often at the very special moment of transition, transition from summer to winter, from full-time employment to retirement, from working outside in the world to staying at home working (the taking care of your kids kind), from quitting your job or being laid off or fired, from noticing a painting you never noticed before, from realizing your local coffee shop has a new art exhibit every month (why not you?), from wanting to learn how to fix your car like you always promised yourself, or writing down something that happened to you, from suddenly realizing how much you miss dancing, from wondering what it would be like to ride your bicycle again, from thinking 'I used to love to sing'… 

It's so often at that moment that people suddenly remember those other things they always wanted to do.  That moment between things.  At the end of something and the beginning of something else.

And it's such an easy moment to miss.  It's just that whisper again.  A tiny lurch in your stomach that tells you this has meaning.  It's a flicker of your eyes as they catch sight of something.  A whiff of scent that reminds you of another thought.  It's a visiting soft-spoken angel, a voice from inside, from your past, from your future, from your cocker spaniel.  From your cat. 

But the rest of your world is so much noisier.  Makes it almost impossible to hear that whisper, feel the angel's feathery touch. 

But if you listen very, very carefully, it might just be the most precious thing you do. 

As you may know by now from my previous columns, I teach courses on "Finding Your Creative Voice".  It's one way to listen, but only one.  There are thousands of ways:  courses and workshops on practically everything, clubs and groups, libraries (now that's the place to listen to voices), museums and art galleries, organizations and teams, volunteer work, choirs, and dance troupes, bookstores, shows on boats, houses, tools, quilting, equipment of every kind, gardening fairs, environmental outings, computer tutorials, even observatories (did you get a chance to look at Mars?).  The list is positively infinite.  

Darylynn Starr Rank (psychologist/writer) works part-time for Family Services of Greater Vancouver as a group facilitator. Her articles appear bi-weekly in The Record (New Westminster) and the Richmond Review.

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